I Should Have Died A Long Time Ago
August 28, 2004
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, was running out. The night before was filled with excitement and apprehension.... Let us travel back in time. I am a bright, young, and energetic fourteen-year-old.
Mom just started dating after her divorce, and we were going to meet his family.
The journeying for this quest was long, the knight (aka the date) lived in a faraway kingdom. We traveled far from the safety of our blossoming township to barely more than a rural homestead, which had more livestock than persons.
We finally arrived in their courtyard. Not too shabby for such a remote place... The knight had his adventurers (children) out to greet us. After pleasantries, it was proposed to have a nice romp out in the barren wastes (sand dunes) on their shiny steeds (ATVs).
The adventurers had already picked their favorite mounts. I had never personally encountered such odd creatures in my life, nor had any formal training on their operation. I did; however, get the biggest one (Polaris Xplorer 400cc).
With fair maiden riding in back (my sister). We donned our helmets, and set off a few miles out of town. Unfortunately, my helmet did not quite fit my smaller head, and it liked slapping me at every corner. I enjoyed it nonetheless, learning the throttle, brake, and not running anyone over by staying in the rear.
Once the barren wastes were on the horizon, the companions speed up and continued to fly over the first hill. I was scared and broke rank, but doing so fell into the sand trap. Embarrassed and flustered for being stuck not even a hundred yards into the wastes, I sent the maiden for help.
Returning with the knight and mother, they proceeded to render aid. Grateful, I asked another boon -- May I please take off this ridiculous motocross helmet, it keeps slapping me? Granted! Before they departed, I made one last request -- Kindly let the fair maiden ride in your chariot until I break in this steed? Also Granted!
As they departed, I promised to meet them over there (pointing in a direction).
...
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, was running out. My absence was noticed before too long; mothers have intuition about these things. Time, time gathering the adventurers for a search party. Time, time spent searching. Time, time spent getting everyone too me. Time, time spent checking my status, clearing my airway, making sure I could breath. Time, time spent flying like hell demons from holy magic to the nearest phone to dial for help. Time, time for them to get their gear. Time, time to call the helicopter before departing. Time, time to travel to the remote barren wastes. Time, time to carefully, take me to the waiting ambulance. Time, time driving much too fast to the local hospital. Time, time spent cutting off my shirt, time spent on a physical examination, time spent on an x-ray. Time, time spent flying me to a different facility. Time, time spent waiting for my mother to arrive. Time, time I rightly did not have…
She was not given much information, just a location (only 139 miles away...), and they broke every traffic law they could to hasten their chase. Mom was racing against a helicopter, a race she could not possibly win.
They make it! They ask the nurses where I am. A social worker quickly greets Mother, but insists on almost running, the surgeons were waiting. “WAIT! What kind of surgery?” “Heart surgery”, the sound hits like a sledgehammer. Mother was hoping for a bone-set or something, “Are you sure we are talking about the same child?” “Spencer Carter, ATV accident?” “Yes” “Please, we have to hurry.”
The lead cardiologist was informative and supportive as he explained what was going to happen. “Your son has torn his aortic arch … This is fairly serious … we believe this is an internal tear; otherwise he would not have made it this far … We will call every thirty minutes with updates … It should only take about three hours … May we begin?”
As promised, there were updates. We are going to try stitching it back together … Things are a bit more serious than we initially thought, we are going to try bypass … we can try a fairly risky procedure with some potentially serious side effects …
Eleven and a half long, stressful, hours later, it is over. The surgeon walks out, anxious looks on their faces. "Thank you for saving my son [mom]" "There is no clinical or logical reason for your son to be alive” (Oh God please let him say something else [mom]) “, but he is. I may have performed the operation, but I did not save your son. It was a higher power than me that saved your son. Your son’s aorta was tore externally one and a half inches and looked like a blown tire …”
...
Two weeks later: Just waking up after the induced coma, I am trying to open my eyes. The television is on. I feel foggy and in pain. A polite nurse is telling me I won bingo (somehow?) and I could pick a prize -- I chose the blue spotted blanket. I knew I was in a hospital, but that did not quite register.
...
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, almost ran out.
Today, the only evidence I spent an hour clinically dead, while I was in Deep Hypothermic Circulatory Arrest are a few scars, which most people will never see. One on my chin where I hit the handle bars – if I were wearing that floppy motocross helmet with the beak, I could have broken my neck, and been permanently paralyzed. One across my rib cage where they spread my ribs, and collapsed my left lung to operate on me. Two more, one on both thighs where they hooked me into the bypass machine.
The odds were impossible. In every logical, rational, and clinical sense, I should have bleed out in minutes, if not seconds, after I tore my aorta that bad -- long before I was even found!
One little bump, one wrong movement could have dislodged the clot that held back the torrential geyser from erupting every drop of life sustaining blood into my body cavity. The odds were astronomical, too long without a pulse; the brain is deprived of oxygen. Even in a refrigerated sterile environment, I could have been irreparably changed – having spent just over 56 minutes clinically dead.
Remarkably, unfathomably, I woke up knowing how to talk, communicate, do math, everything was retained, at least mentally. Physically, I was quite broken.
...
I could go on about recovery, or about the challenges I have faced since, or about so many other things, but the sheer magnitude of this experience is too vast to even verbalize let alone transcribe.
My story is unique, as far as I know I am the only person to survive an external aortic arch tear. It honestly changes you, living through that… You find a new appreciation for simpler things, and… I do not even know what to say anymore.
Additional Medical Related Materials:
1) https://www.east.org/resources/treatment-guidelines/blunt-aortic-injury
2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_hypothermic_circulatory_arrest
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, was running out. The night before was filled with excitement and apprehension.... Let us travel back in time. I am a bright, young, and energetic fourteen-year-old.
Mom just started dating after her divorce, and we were going to meet his family.
The journeying for this quest was long, the knight (aka the date) lived in a faraway kingdom. We traveled far from the safety of our blossoming township to barely more than a rural homestead, which had more livestock than persons.
We finally arrived in their courtyard. Not too shabby for such a remote place... The knight had his adventurers (children) out to greet us. After pleasantries, it was proposed to have a nice romp out in the barren wastes (sand dunes) on their shiny steeds (ATVs).
The adventurers had already picked their favorite mounts. I had never personally encountered such odd creatures in my life, nor had any formal training on their operation. I did; however, get the biggest one (Polaris Xplorer 400cc).
With fair maiden riding in back (my sister). We donned our helmets, and set off a few miles out of town. Unfortunately, my helmet did not quite fit my smaller head, and it liked slapping me at every corner. I enjoyed it nonetheless, learning the throttle, brake, and not running anyone over by staying in the rear.
Once the barren wastes were on the horizon, the companions speed up and continued to fly over the first hill. I was scared and broke rank, but doing so fell into the sand trap. Embarrassed and flustered for being stuck not even a hundred yards into the wastes, I sent the maiden for help.
Returning with the knight and mother, they proceeded to render aid. Grateful, I asked another boon -- May I please take off this ridiculous motocross helmet, it keeps slapping me? Granted! Before they departed, I made one last request -- Kindly let the fair maiden ride in your chariot until I break in this steed? Also Granted!
As they departed, I promised to meet them over there (pointing in a direction).
...
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, was running out. My absence was noticed before too long; mothers have intuition about these things. Time, time gathering the adventurers for a search party. Time, time spent searching. Time, time spent getting everyone too me. Time, time spent checking my status, clearing my airway, making sure I could breath. Time, time spent flying like hell demons from holy magic to the nearest phone to dial for help. Time, time for them to get their gear. Time, time to call the helicopter before departing. Time, time to travel to the remote barren wastes. Time, time to carefully, take me to the waiting ambulance. Time, time driving much too fast to the local hospital. Time, time spent cutting off my shirt, time spent on a physical examination, time spent on an x-ray. Time, time spent flying me to a different facility. Time, time spent waiting for my mother to arrive. Time, time I rightly did not have…
She was not given much information, just a location (only 139 miles away...), and they broke every traffic law they could to hasten their chase. Mom was racing against a helicopter, a race she could not possibly win.
They make it! They ask the nurses where I am. A social worker quickly greets Mother, but insists on almost running, the surgeons were waiting. “WAIT! What kind of surgery?” “Heart surgery”, the sound hits like a sledgehammer. Mother was hoping for a bone-set or something, “Are you sure we are talking about the same child?” “Spencer Carter, ATV accident?” “Yes” “Please, we have to hurry.”
The lead cardiologist was informative and supportive as he explained what was going to happen. “Your son has torn his aortic arch … This is fairly serious … we believe this is an internal tear; otherwise he would not have made it this far … We will call every thirty minutes with updates … It should only take about three hours … May we begin?”
As promised, there were updates. We are going to try stitching it back together … Things are a bit more serious than we initially thought, we are going to try bypass … we can try a fairly risky procedure with some potentially serious side effects …
Eleven and a half long, stressful, hours later, it is over. The surgeon walks out, anxious looks on their faces. "Thank you for saving my son [mom]" "There is no clinical or logical reason for your son to be alive” (Oh God please let him say something else [mom]) “, but he is. I may have performed the operation, but I did not save your son. It was a higher power than me that saved your son. Your son’s aorta was tore externally one and a half inches and looked like a blown tire …”
...
Two weeks later: Just waking up after the induced coma, I am trying to open my eyes. The television is on. I feel foggy and in pain. A polite nurse is telling me I won bingo (somehow?) and I could pick a prize -- I chose the blue spotted blanket. I knew I was in a hospital, but that did not quite register.
...
Time, the one thing that you never have quite enough of when you actually need it, almost ran out.
Today, the only evidence I spent an hour clinically dead, while I was in Deep Hypothermic Circulatory Arrest are a few scars, which most people will never see. One on my chin where I hit the handle bars – if I were wearing that floppy motocross helmet with the beak, I could have broken my neck, and been permanently paralyzed. One across my rib cage where they spread my ribs, and collapsed my left lung to operate on me. Two more, one on both thighs where they hooked me into the bypass machine.
The odds were impossible. In every logical, rational, and clinical sense, I should have bleed out in minutes, if not seconds, after I tore my aorta that bad -- long before I was even found!
One little bump, one wrong movement could have dislodged the clot that held back the torrential geyser from erupting every drop of life sustaining blood into my body cavity. The odds were astronomical, too long without a pulse; the brain is deprived of oxygen. Even in a refrigerated sterile environment, I could have been irreparably changed – having spent just over 56 minutes clinically dead.
Remarkably, unfathomably, I woke up knowing how to talk, communicate, do math, everything was retained, at least mentally. Physically, I was quite broken.
...
I could go on about recovery, or about the challenges I have faced since, or about so many other things, but the sheer magnitude of this experience is too vast to even verbalize let alone transcribe.
My story is unique, as far as I know I am the only person to survive an external aortic arch tear. It honestly changes you, living through that… You find a new appreciation for simpler things, and… I do not even know what to say anymore.
Additional Medical Related Materials:
1) https://www.east.org/resources/treatment-guidelines/blunt-aortic-injury
2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_hypothermic_circulatory_arrest
31-35, M
