Class Note 1979
Issue
November-December 2021
Gina Barreca texted friends and family, “Michael and I are headed to the emergency room right now: I believe he had a stroke.”
Gina believed her 76-year-old, otherwise-healthy husband had a stroke because of telltale global forgetfulness, fogginess, and repetitive questioning.
“For nearly three hours the small hospital administered every apparently useful test—CAT scans, MRIs—but nothing seemed definitive. His transient global amnesia, as I learned to call his forgetting of central facts but not all information, did not necessarily indicate a stroke.
“During the admission process that May night, Michael’s heart stopped beating. Just stopped.
“His blood pressure had been astronomically high; he was attached to multiple monitors, but these monitors had not been—because of error of a new staff member—connected to the central nurse’s station. There were no alerts except on his private monitor. Nobody was coming. Nobody knew he was flat lining.
“Michael had stuttered, ‘The lights are going out,’ and looked at me. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw fell open, and his skin went whiter than the pillowcase.
“That’s when I started to yell. I went to the door because I wouldn’t let myself leave the room and, like 50 generations of women screaming into the abyss, yelled, ‘My husband is dying! Get somebody in here! He’s dying now!’
“Everybody came. The staff member who hadn’t connected the monitor applied CPR. Then the crash cart arrived, and a doctor administered, intravenously, a drug that brought Michael back.
“He did indeed return; he had been gone. They took him to a larger medical center, yet more trouble was to follow: The pacemaker they inserted pierced his pericardial sac, there were complications. It went on for weeks.
“He’s recovering now, but it was tough.
“What did I learn?
“I learned to ask physicians to explain and repeat their explanations until I understood. I plan to work harder for healthcare for all, since I had the best of it and it was nevertheless a dizzying challenge.
“When family and friends asked if I needed help or company, I wished I had cried out, ‘Yes!’ in the same loud voice I used to cry for help for Michael. I recognize now that spending the first days on my own was foolish and arrogant.
“One way I learned this was by joining a class of ’79 gal pal Zoom that happened to be scheduled for two days after Michael’s cardiac arrest. There was no set agenda. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to get myself together, but I decided to sign in and tell our group (some I know, some I’d never met) what I was going through. I asked for advice, patience, and support.
“The response was more personal, fierce, formidable, and encouraging than I could have asked for. Not only were our classmates kind and helpful—they were sincere. Many followed up, sent notes, told their own stories. I felt a gathering of community that I hadn’t realized was essential…or available.”
—Janie Simms Hamner, M.D., 7327 Centenary Ave., Dallas, TX 75225; jshandkids@aol.com
Gina believed her 76-year-old, otherwise-healthy husband had a stroke because of telltale global forgetfulness, fogginess, and repetitive questioning.
“For nearly three hours the small hospital administered every apparently useful test—CAT scans, MRIs—but nothing seemed definitive. His transient global amnesia, as I learned to call his forgetting of central facts but not all information, did not necessarily indicate a stroke.
“During the admission process that May night, Michael’s heart stopped beating. Just stopped.
“His blood pressure had been astronomically high; he was attached to multiple monitors, but these monitors had not been—because of error of a new staff member—connected to the central nurse’s station. There were no alerts except on his private monitor. Nobody was coming. Nobody knew he was flat lining.
“Michael had stuttered, ‘The lights are going out,’ and looked at me. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw fell open, and his skin went whiter than the pillowcase.
“That’s when I started to yell. I went to the door because I wouldn’t let myself leave the room and, like 50 generations of women screaming into the abyss, yelled, ‘My husband is dying! Get somebody in here! He’s dying now!’
“Everybody came. The staff member who hadn’t connected the monitor applied CPR. Then the crash cart arrived, and a doctor administered, intravenously, a drug that brought Michael back.
“He did indeed return; he had been gone. They took him to a larger medical center, yet more trouble was to follow: The pacemaker they inserted pierced his pericardial sac, there were complications. It went on for weeks.
“He’s recovering now, but it was tough.
“What did I learn?
“I learned to ask physicians to explain and repeat their explanations until I understood. I plan to work harder for healthcare for all, since I had the best of it and it was nevertheless a dizzying challenge.
“When family and friends asked if I needed help or company, I wished I had cried out, ‘Yes!’ in the same loud voice I used to cry for help for Michael. I recognize now that spending the first days on my own was foolish and arrogant.
“One way I learned this was by joining a class of ’79 gal pal Zoom that happened to be scheduled for two days after Michael’s cardiac arrest. There was no set agenda. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to get myself together, but I decided to sign in and tell our group (some I know, some I’d never met) what I was going through. I asked for advice, patience, and support.
“The response was more personal, fierce, formidable, and encouraging than I could have asked for. Not only were our classmates kind and helpful—they were sincere. Many followed up, sent notes, told their own stories. I felt a gathering of community that I hadn’t realized was essential…or available.”
—Janie Simms Hamner, M.D., 7327 Centenary Ave., Dallas, TX 75225; jshandkids@aol.com