Susan Hattie Steinsapir Susan Hattie Steinsapir
It's near midnight, Saturday night. Susan's nurse just came in and said
that there is a possible heart donor. The person's heart is still beating;
an angiogram is being performed now: a catherer (tube) is inserted into a
neck artery and a device that lets one look into the heart, somewhat like
a video camera, is being used to look at the heart. It's fifty/fifty right
now as to her getting this heart.
In an hour, they will make a decision. It'll be midnight. If it happens,
then it'll be around six o'clock in the morning.
I'm here with the laptop at Susan's side. When the nurse told us, Susan
began panting with fear. She's asking for a rabbi. I feel weak in the
knees. Susan just said "isn't life odd?" I put a blanket over her to keep
her warm.
Keep an eye on the time stamp for these e-mails.
--
Yrs,Andreas
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm keeping a notepade next to the table.
When the nurse told us that there was a possible heart, Susan's heart
monitor jumped from her normal 112 to 120.
11:30 pm: Susan asked for a rabbi. The UCLA on-site minister, a
protestant, called around to find a rabbi. While waiting, Susan had to
use the toilet, a portable chair toildet that is brought into the room.
While she was sitting there, the rabbi called. Yes... nature called and
God called. She's laughing.
11:42 pm: Susan wants to brush her teeth and wash her hair. With two
nurses in the room, she brushes her teeth. I promise her that if there is
a go on the heart, we'll wash her hair. There's her hair dryer here.
11:45 pm: Her nurse, a very charming, very funny Australian named Judith
(that's right: the Tin Man went to Oz for a heart) came in to draw blood
for the laboratory.
11:50 pm: Susan and I hug and hold each other. She looks forward to
having a normal life again...
11:54 pm: Judith came in again to give Susan some morphine to calm her
down. The injection went into a tube that leads into her. She sits still
for a bit, and then says "whoa!" A warm, flushing feeling goes through
her whole body. She slowly sinks back into her bed, with a soft smile.
12:02 I walk out of the room to answer Bill's call from Seattle. Another
nurse cheerfully asks me "Is she going?" It's like getting called to win
a contest. I reply that there's no final decision yet.
12;06: Susan is very dozy on the morphine. Judith came in with a cup of
potassium. Susan has to drink it. Very foul tasting stuff, like chalky
salty brine. She followed it with iced tomato juice.
--
yrs, andreas'
12:45 AM, past midnight.
It's a go. Judith got off the phone, looked at me with a beaming smile
and gave me the thumbs up. She says "it's a go! Do you want to tell her?"
I go into the room. Susan's smiling dozing. I wake her with a kiss and
say it's a go. She so zonked she says "I was just dreaming about lamb,
roasted, with a yoghurt marinade. and lots of garlic."
She's discussing food with a nurse right now. An hour ago, I was very
tired, at the end of a long day. Right now, I'm wide awake and sweating.
------------------------------------
01:20 am. One of the doctors from the transplant team came in. Susan has
to give an informed consent, to agree to what they are going to do. He's a
big fellow, unshaven, with a grin and a Tennessee accent. He looks up and
says "are you a lawyer? uh, oh..." Susan says "that's right. You better
cure me or kill me, or I'll sue!"
He starts off. "We're going to perform a heart transplant. That means that
we will remove your heart."
Susan says "whoa! nobody told me about this part!" :)
He says "You are Number 603: the 603rd heart transplant at UCLA."
He reads through three pages of what the problems could be, so that Susan
is aware of this. Zonked on morphine, how aware can she be? She keeps
talking about food.
In the first 30 days, 5% will die. After that, only a few die per year.
Surgery will take about 4 to 6 hours. I can go home (but I'll have to
clear out her room first, of hundreds of get-well cards, etc.) She'll
sleep for about 12 hours. I should be able to see her again by Sunday
evening.
When he finished, Susan said "sounds good to me. Let's do it!" She signed
the consent forms.
It's going to be a busy night at UCLA: they are doing three transplants
tonight. One starts in an hour. Susan will be next and the third is after
her. He is being flown up from San Diego tonight. The donors are young
males. I don't know if they are from one accident or separate. Susan says
"his heart will live on through me." She plans to write to his family.
Another nurse came in and put ID tags around her foot and wrist. In a few
hours, they'll paint her with antiseptics and shave her front torso. Her
heart monitors look great: good steady pulse, etc. She'll be wheeled down
the hall to the other end of the hospital where the surgery rooms are.
Susan continues to talk about food. She's very anxious. Judith the nurse
gives her yet another dose of morphine. After ten minutes, she's finally
asleep. I'll be awake all night, here with her. Before they take her to
surgery, I'll remove her wedding ring, it's a huge emerald that I got for
her in Colombia. In the next few days, I'll tell you'all the story of her
emerald.
Before Susan fell asleep, I told her that when she sees the bright white
light and the old man in flowing robes, be sure to ask for Monday's
lottery numbers. She gave me the thumbs up. She says to play all varients
of her #603. I sang her one of her favorite cat songs. She's sound asleep
now. I'm wide awake. It's 2:20 am.
--------------------------------------------------------
5:15 AM: Two nurses came in and removed Susan's clothes and bed sheets.
they shaved her and painted her with an antibacterial solution. The
lights in the room are turned up: it's bright surgical lights. She asks
for her sunglasses. She lays there, basted in a shiny orange color.
They give her the first of her anti-rejection pills; she'll take these
for the rest of her life.
5:30 AM: Judith shows me the Surgical ICU (SICU) where Susan will be
brought afterwards. It looks like sickbay from the Starship Enterprise.
Outside, on the floor, sits a family, holding each other, some are weeping.
6:10 AM: The anestheia people come in and tell Susan what may happen.
More informed consent. Death, brain damage, etc. By this time, Susan has
had so much morphine that she smiles and says "sure, whatever..." :)
6:30 AM: Everything is ready. All the forms are signed; the team is
getting ready. We wait.
The nurses and doctors whom Susan has gotten to know over the past two
weeks drop by, to say hellow and wish her luck. Susan is napping. I'll
walk with her to the surgical theater in the basement.
Afterwards, it's home to sleep. They'll call me sometime this Sunday
afternoon. It looks like a beautiful day in Los Angeles. I'm crashed from
emotion and exhaustion. I'll post when I hear something.
--
yrs, andreas
I just received a phone call from Andreas. He called to say that it's
happening. Surgery started at 8:00 this morning PST. Now we just wait
to celebrate Susan's new birthday. Andreas said he will be posting as
he hears more.
I have to say that Andreas sounded very excited. He was out of breath.
He said he was exhausted. I said he would never be able to sleep. He
told me that he took something to help calm him down. Hopefully he
will be able to get some much needed rest before Susan wakes up from
the operation.
I'm sure that all of you are thinking of Susan. She has not left my
mind all morning. Take care, all.
Kay
Bill from Seattle is here again. We went to see Susan.
She's stable; the bleeding has stopped. She's still in a very critical
condition. Her chest is still open. By late Tuesday, they may began to
close. She reacted briefly to a nurse's command to squeeze her fingers
and flex her toes. She's still heavily sedated. I slept, but only with
sedation.
Yrs,
Andreas
I just talked to a very physically and emotionally exhausted Andreas.
The surgery is over. It was a success! The quote Andreas gave me from
the thoracic-caridiac surgeon is that the operation "went extremely
well."
Susan is currently being moved from surgery to Surgical ICU (SICU).
She is still unconscious. She should be waking up around midnight
tonight. Andreas will be there when that happens. Andreas thinks she
will wake up ravenous. I'm not convinced. She will be on IV for two
days.
Susan still has all sorts of tubes going in through her mouth. (Is
that right? Andreas made me take notes but maybe I could have done a
better job of that.) The tubes are helping her breathe. The tubes
will come out in about 9 hours.
Andreas says that Susan will be running all of us ragged now. He said
it will be like she got a change of batteries. I look forward to a day
in the near future when I can say to Susan, "Slow down. I can't keep
up. You're going too fast."
OK. We can all breathe now.
Kay
I spoke with Andreas right after Kay. He also told me she is doing fine.
The new heart is beating so well that she has high blood pressure. Her
kidneys are pumping away so she is getting cleaned out real good.
She will sleep for the next 12 hours. After that she will be on IV fluids
for 48 hours. We will then discuss with Andreas what Susan will be able to
eat and how soon we can bring it to her.
Andreas said that it was better that the heart came this week rather then
last week because Susan was much stronger after the dialysis last week. We
were all dissapointed last week when they passed on a heart for her. Maybe
God was telling us it was better to wait.
Your prayers have all helped,
JB (for Mimi)
(Bill Kim) 05 PM
Susan came up from surgery and is in the Surgical Intensive Care
Unit (SICU) where transplantees are held.
Susan's chest has began bleeding. Due to the radiotherapy for her
Hodgkin's cancer 20 years ago, the left lung is mostly scar tissue. The
periacardial sac, which is a membrane around the heart, was also
scarred. This made the chest a difficult area into which to place the heart.
Susan began bleeding and the chest filled up, which put pressure on the
heart. The new heart stopped beating. The team had expected that and
she was revived right away. Her chest was then reopened so that they
could have access to the sites which are bleeding and to reduce
pressure. She was taken back to surgery, where the transplant team
examined her closely, especially the area under the new heart.
I waited outside until 7 PM, when her family came and took me to
dinner. We ate and returned.
Andreas just called me with the latest news at the hospital. Here's
what is happening.
Before I start this story, let me say that everything will be OK.
Susan is in the SICU. She began suffering a lot of internal bleeding.
She developed a blood clot. The clot caused too much pressure for the
heart and the heart stopped. This was forseen by the medical staff.
Her chest has been reopened. The bleeding is coming from tissue
scarring from her previous cancer treatment. In 10 minutes they are
taking Susan back to surgery. They will raise up the heart and clean
her up. She will be in surgery for about an hour.
Susan was briefly awake. She looks healthy. The staff says that she
is in good condition. The doctors also say that she received an
excellent heart.
Andreas says he will call me with a new report when Susan is out of
surgery. I will repost then.
Don't let down your guard. Keep your thoughts going in Susan and
Andreas's direction. The battle sounds like it is not over.
Kay
(Kay) 20:22 PST
I just received another call from Andreas. I can't tell you enough how
tired the poor man sounds. I wish there was something that could be
done for him. As he told me, the only thing he wants now is for them
to tell him that it's all over and everything is going to be OK.
Susan is out of surgery. She is stable. Andreas is going to be
allowed to see her in about a half hour. Personally, I'm glad he can
go in. The thought of them being separated tears me to pieces.
Have a good night. Keep sending all of those positive thoughts to UCLA
medical center.
Kay
Her condition is sufficiently stable that I was allowed to enter.
I wash my hands and put on surgical gloves, mask, and cap. The SICU is
far more advanced than CCU. These folks really like technology. I'll
bring my camera tomorrow and take photos so that you can see.
Susan is on a surgical bed, a large flat bed. She is completely
unconscious. Her hands and feet are restrained. A small doughnut, the
size of a frisbee, is a pillow to hold her head still. A single sheet
covers her. Four doctors and nurses watch her constantly.
I held her hand and talked to her but she is unconscious. I held her
and talked to her anyway. She looks a mess: tubes lead in and out of
her mouth and nose; a number of tubes into every available artery,
including tubes for urine. Her nurse told me that I could look under
the sheet if I liked. I carefully lifted the sheet. Her chest is open.
A sheet of clear adhesive plastic, like Saran Wrap, covers her chest
and seals it. A plastic tube, as thick and as large as a finger, holds
the sides of the sternum apart. Inside her chest, her new heart is
beating strongly. More tubes lead away from the chest with suction to
remove blood. Her toes are a good pink color, which means that the
heart is moving blood well through the lungs and her body is getting a
good supply of oxygen. Her kidneys are working strongly.
Susan is extremely critical. She has only barely made it off of the
surgical table. They will keep her chest open all day Monday and most
of Tuesday. If the bleeding stops, then they will began to close her
chest slowly, a centimeter at a time. If upon reaching the final
centimeter her bleeding stopped, then they will close her chest. She is
on several powerful sedatives and pain suppressors. She won't remember
any of this. By early Wednesday, she will began to wake up.
The heart transplant teams knew about her lungs before they started.
They were aware of the possible problems. They've dealt with this sort
of complication before and they feel confident that she will recover.
It will be slow and critical, but Susan's in great condition, young
(40), and has a strong will to live.
I covered her up, tucked in the sheet around her neck, and brushed her
hair out of her face. I walked out of the hospital in shock and began
weeping in the car and couldn't stop until I got home and sat here for
a while. She's a very sick little kitten and I love her very much. I
keep her emerald wedding ring with me.
It's Sunday night. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight.
Update for Susan Hattie Steinsapir
Sunday, Jan. 21th, 1996
(Andreas) 00:15 AM
(Andreas) 07:30AM
(Kay) 10:29AM
(Andreas) Noon.
(Kay) 03:23PM
(JB) 04:00PM
(Kay) 18:24
(Andreas) 9 PM
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