Radioactive

First  Hospitalization

On the stereo: Good Mother by Jan Arden
In my bloodstream: chemical remnants of a quarter century of treatments



In my seventh year, I had been suffering constant ear aches and dizzy spells for about a full year.  I was regularly treated by our family doctor with no improvement. There seemed to be no answer.  I was losing balance, occasionally falling,  and suffered headaches and earaches almost constantly.  My left ear had, for months, continually oozed some kind of liquid and I had to keep cotton in it to contain the drainage.  I had been to our family doctor, Dr. Leeson,  for about a year, with no resolution.  He did take out my tonsils at one point, believing that might be the solution.  He might as well have removed a testicle.  Nothing got better.  It was an inner-ear problem, doc.

My symptoms eventually culminated, leaving me lying on our couch, so dizzy that I could not stand or even sit up.  I can, to this day, remember the disorienting sensation of falling.  I could feel the couch under me, but I couldn’t close my eyes for fear of losing all perspective.  Our doctor was called and he told Dad to get me to Sick Children's Hospital in Toronto.  He told Dad to get there fast, and he would arrange for a doctor to meet us there.  I do remember him telling me that he was driving as fast as he could- so I guess that it was really fast.  The trip was about 90 miles and I felt lost.  I could not fathom what was going on with me.  I continued to fall.  There was no seat. There was no floor.  Only floating, falling, sickly dizziness.  It was unfathomably scary.  And Dad telling me to hang on.

When we arrived, a team of professionals were waiting for us.  They whisked me away from Dad immediately and proceeded with tests, x-rays, scans and discussions.  I needed a mastoid operation that required urgent surgery.  My dad was told that a mass had developed and was already exerting pressure on my brain which would prove fatal if they didn’t act.  The attending surgeon, Doctor Whaley, said he would operate immediately and try to save my life.  He was quite concerned that we had waited far too long and I was at a critical stage.  The operation was successful (I'm still here).  However, a second surgery was needed to clean up the operative damage.  The head trauma needed some time to heal before the second phase.  I was hospitalized for the duration and it would be three months before I would see my home, my friends, my school.

When I was moved from the ICU a day later, my dad arranged for me to have a television in my room before he left to go home.  I was placed in a room which I had to share with a boy about my age, who had undergone a similar operation.  His name was Donald.  We were both enjoying my 12 inch black and white television, when suddenly Donald began crying, thrashing about, screaming.  He was generally in a state of hysteria.  A nurse came and removed me from the room.   I was left, with no explanation, in another room, alone and with no television!  I was most upset to leave my room and my television!  The next day, I learned that Donald had died that night.  I know that I was young and egocentric, but I will never forget and will always regret my selfishness.

I finally went home for three months, with a bandaged head for the duration, and then, back to hospital for the follow up treatment and three more months in hospital. I was in a hospital, 90 miles from home, while my parents needed to work to provide me proper care.  I was far too young to realize the severity of the situation.

In the six months away, my parents could only afford the time and money to drive to see me for one day each week.  The could not afford a hotel room, so each visit was down 90 miles and then back.  They sometimes came together, but more often it was just my Dad.  Mom's job did not allow for much time off.  And besides, he could drive the car - Mom never learned for years - and even then, her record wasn’t sterling.  Dents followed her forever.

Elvis Presley came to Maple Leaf Gardens on April 2nd, 1957.  I called home, long distance, reversed the charges, on the day of his concert.  I asked Mom if she could arrange for me to get out of hospital to see him.  Truthfully, I didn’t even know who he was, but there was a lot of talk from the nurses and a lot of advertising on my tv.  It was Elvis, Elvis, Elvis.  My mom explained that she was unable to do that and after a short conversation, we hung up.  The concert really didn’t matter much to me, I just wanted to get out.  But I cannot even nearly imagine how horrendous that stupid call was to her and my Dad.  Another regret.

I had been in the hospital for three months, home for three, and was back for three more.  I was a regular fixture there, watching other kids come and go, having wheelchair races down the halls, missing my parents and crying at night.  I missed my parents unbelievably.  It was not a good life for a nine year old.  When all was done, the hearing in my left ear was gone for good.


Kathy tells people that I have selective hearing loss.  I only hear what I want, she says.  She has always been a smart girl.

                                              She married me.  Obviously not that smart.


Early the next summer when I was finally back to some normalcy,  we were at the end of the school  year, having a school picnic.  We were playing baseball.  I broke my left leg at the shin, tagging someone out at second.  My foot was in front of the bag.  The runner's slide was high and accurate.   Funny thing - as I was laying on the ground, with my lower left leg, below the knee, at a complete right angle to its normal direction, one of the teachers asked me to wiggle my toes, which I did.  "No problem", he said.  "It's not broken."  I almost laughed.  I could see it.  My left heel wanted to be acquainted with my left elbow.  It was surely broken.  At the hospital, I was asked if I had eaten in the past two hours.  If two hot dogs and a Coke count, then I had.  As a result, they set the leg without anesthetic.

All summer on crutches.  At least I was not in a hospital.  I bicycled to school in a cast up to my thigh that fall.  Bummer.

Are you getting the idea that my life has not been as smooth as most?

See you in a week.  We are going to talk about cancer and my upcoming surgeries.  Pics included.

p.s.  If you are viewing this on email, I suggest  that you take a moment to click on the web site as the formatting makes much more sense.  I think you will enjoy it better.  Thank you