FOR MOST OF THE CENTURY: PATIENT RETURNS TO HOSPITAL (PART 58)

Jean Bell Mosley's new autobiography, "For Most of the Century, is only available in serialized form in the Southeast Missourian. Return each week for her continuing story.

By 1990 little bits and pieces of my body were beginning to feel like Old Timers too, particularly my heart which had been pumping so faithfully since that September morning in 1913 when "all the church bells rang as I was born!"

On June 1, 1990, late in the afternoon, almost 5:00 p.m., while walking up the back walkway, I was so weary of being short of breath, coupled, this day, with a vague chest discomfort, I decided to call Dr. Robinson.

Knowing my health history, the nurse said for me to come to the office "right away."

I drove to the office, No. 60, Doctor's Park. There followed an electrocardiogram, mounting chest pain, liquid procardia, nitro pills, pain shots and a call for an ambulance and quick ride to Southeast Missouri Hospital.

As the ambulance crew wheeled me into Intensive Care Unit, I heard loud voices shouting, "Patient arriving," and I knew they meant me.

That's a hard way to become the center of attention but for a brief time I was. Never did those long ago "scenes" Lou and I indulged in include such as this.

Into my nose went the oxygen tubes. Into my arm went the needle, making an entrance for whatever they had in mind. On went the heart monitor and up went the pain.

Nurses and doctors hovered around and when I could converse with them, I was asked, "On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the top, how would you rate this pain?"

Being somewhat of a perfectionist with the outcome of numbers, particularly balancing my check book and adding accounts, I hesitated for a long time so as to get it exactly right and then said, "Minus 7." I meant 7 minus. I saw the doctors looking quizzically at each other. But it was a new little numbers game for me. I think once I replied, "6.8 squared."

Little robots took their place beside my bed. Some seemed to make a noise like coffee slowly percolating. Another, more vocal, did small screams and brought someone immediately through the doorway to hush it and make adjustments in the wires, tubes and floating bags.

Meanwhile the heart monitor was making its little peaked ocean waves.

I did, in early years, semi-master "Ocean Waves" on the piano and, at times, having nothing else better to do, tried to make my fingers move on the bed sheet to the timing of the "ocean waves heart monitor," until some strange looks from a suddenly-appearing nurse were cast my way.

These strange looks made me turn my attention to the plastic and rubber tubing. That might not have been the name of the materials that get stuck in here and there, but it looked like it. However, at that particular time I didn't want to start questioning the nurse about the real or synthetic qualities of these appurtenances. Combined with playing "Ocean Waves" on the sheets in time to the zig-zag of the little green monster, er, monitor, might have been enough for the nurse to shake her head, sadly. And I didn't want to be transferred somewhere else where long sleeves go all the way around and it in the back.

When the pain just would not stop, a conference of doctors surrounded my bed and I was told that I needed the balloon surgery, or angioplasty as it is more technically called. "Who would you like to do it?" they asked. Since Dr. Spitler had done the earlier angiogram back in 1984, I mentioned his name. Upon being told he was out for a few days, I said, "Well, let's just wait and see what develops and maybe he'll be back." Saturday and Sunday went by with no improvement. By Monday morning, Stephen said he thought I shouldn't wait any longer and I was ready for any doctor to do anything.

By this time the reconstruction of that part of the hospital was complete and I was wheeled down shiny hallways. Dr. William LaFoe, a young doctor, did the angioplasty. Stephen and Viney watched the procedure on a TV monitor in the nearby waiting room. At one point I heard three voices (doctors) exclaim at the same time, "There's the trouble!" It was comforting to hear such a consensus. So they went to work inflating the balloon and pushing the obstruction back into the artery wall.

Immediately the pain ceased. The catheter had to be left in for 24 hours. So, on Tuesday it was removed and bad luck struck! A false anuerysm occurred at the incision place of the catheter entrance. The rarity of this was explained. Another conference of doctors confronted me with the news that it must be removed. Dr. Ramsey (unknown to me) did this and I chose to be put to sleep for the procedure.

Upon coming out from the anesthesia, it seemed I was being hit by big boards from all sides. Soon, though, I realized where I was and the board banging stopped.

On Monday, June 11th, I was dismissed. Procordia, tenormin and an aspirin a day has been the medication since. Aspirins again!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.