CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rallying Allies

MUCH HEAVINESS LIFTED AFTER THE TRAIN EPISODE. I COULD THINK more clearly now. Increased clarity led me to accept the fact that I needed more help than Linda or Leaf could provide. I’d need additional allies—people who would assist me in the battle for my life.

Being a private person, I’d always found it difficult to ask for help. Besides, I didn’t want to be obligated to anyone. And I’ve been the one who solved problems and gave assistance when asked. I repeatedly told Linda that nobody should know about my personal medical situation. She talked me into telling a few friends, so she could have support too during the process.

Arlene and Aubrey were two friends we relied on. They had taken care of Leaf the day I stayed at the hospital for the IVC filter procedure. In preparation for my brain surgery, their friendship also helped me come to a better state of mind. Because Arlene was a nurse, her approach to what I was about to experience had the practicality that would jolt me into becoming more proactive.

“Allen,” she told me over the phone one night, “you need to visit the hospital floor where you’ll be recovering after surgery.” Her voice conveyed the experience and authority she must have mastered during twenty years of nursing and managing a ward of nursing staff. “Introduce yourself and Linda to the staff. Let them know your surgery date. Find out what the hospital’s infection rate is. What percentage of nurses are independent contractors, not regular hospital staff? How long will you be in ICU? I have two pages of questions for you to ask. I’ll e-mail them.”

The conversation with Arlene made me feel empowered. Her generosity gave me an enthusiasm I hadn’t felt since the fateful call from Dr. Lucas. From her real-life experience, Arlene made me realize that visiting the hospital and introducing myself to the neurosurgery ward’s head nurse and staff would show that I was invested in my care.

When I received her e-mail, I saw that it included many more important items, such as:

• Make sure to have adequate pain management. It helps the healing process when pain is under control.

• Find out what kind of name badges are worn by hospital staff members.

• Have advocates throughout the experience who stay with you. Let them know where to take breaks. Let them get familiar with the hospital layout.

• Be sure licensed nursing staff are actually doing the daily care, and no one else gives shots.

• Find out what medications you’ll be taking and their side effects.

• In addition to getting to know the head nurse in charge of the unit and the nursing supervisor or director, ask to meet the floor nursing staff.

Most of all, she emphasized that Linda and I shouldn’t be shy about asking direct-care staff to wash their hands before touching me. With Arlene’s special brand of humor, she added, “You don’t need no stinking infections!”

I knew that Linda and I could be watchful, to the best of our abilities. We’d bring bottles of hand sanitizer and place them in strategic locations around my hospital room. But the main line of defense would be to encourage hospital staff to view me as someone they cared about rather than a faceless, nameless patient.

My new plan was to talk to the head nurse in an effort to emotionally engage her in my survival and full recovery. So many people come in and out of recovery wards. I knew from my father’s many hospital stays what slipshod places they can be. I wanted to make myself stand out in a good way.

I also borrowed a page from Leaf’s playbook. He had placed his favorite toy in our home’s picture window with the intention of attracting a friendly doggy playmate. I’d use our Angel Animals books to befriend the head nurse and staff of the neurosurgery ward. Armed with my typed-up sheet of questions and stash of books, Linda and I made an unannounced visit to the head nurse’s office a week before my surgery.

“Hi, my name is Allen. I’m going to be a patient here next week,” I said softly to the nurse who typed at the nurse’s station computer. Why did I suddenly sound like someone who was tentative? What happened to Proactive Allen? Hospitals can be such intimidating, formidable places, I reasoned. And I’d be coming to this one without the certainty of leaving it alive. No wonder I’d lost some steam.

With an easy sweet smile, the head nurse, Amy (not her real name), held out her hand, and I shook it. “Very nice to meet you,” she said.

The conversation we had with Amy was similar to friends chatting at a social gathering. This busy head nurse didn’t rush us. Instead, she seemed pleased that a patient would make the time to have a tour of her ward. She liked that we wanted to be introduced to people who would be taking care of me. I guess this type of previsit was a novelty.

Amy was delightful and oriented toward giving quality service. She loved our gift of books. We signed each one for her and the staff. Even though we had sprung the visit on her, she was attentive with careful answers to our prepared questions. I shook hands and chatted with the ward nurses, orderlies, residents, and other medical staff assigned to the neurosurgery recovery unit.

That day I became an individual to them with a full life ahead of me. I’m not saying they don’t view everyone in this manner. They’re professionals who take great pride in their work. But for me, the visit gave me my power back in a positive way. Until then, I had felt mostly powerless. Arlene hit a home run with her suggestion. Leaf was also an inspiration.

The fact that everyone we met at the hospital had an animal story to tell didn’t surprise me. This kind of thing happens to us all the time. It was fun listening to escapades and experiences the staff had with their pet dogs, cats, birds, horses, and other animals.

One of the last things I needed to take care of before my surgery was to make a list of my unfinished business. Of course, Leaf was at the top, with his name in all capital letters. I had promised him a forever home with both Linda and me. That commitment alone would keep me going. Other items on my list included taking a long, oceanfront vacation; having more fun, laughter, and play time with my wife and our family; and moving to a more spacious home. I even wrote “take dance lessons”—a real stretch for an uncoordinated guy like me.

As I thought of everything I wanted to achieve, I let myself dare to hope that someday I would at least attempt all of it. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath the murky waters of my future.