Living without a pericardium, continued.

[This essay begins here]

♫ Happiness is Lubbock, Texas, in your review mirror ♫

My wife arrived in Lubbock, Texas, in November, bringing along my two sons, the youngest born in Florida without me in attendance. I had to tell her about the Surgeon General’s letter and try to assure her that everything would be okay; I felt fine and told her I had no doubt I would again pass the medical board. But would I?

The Air Force was about to spend several thousand dollars putting a guy through an advanced degree program who’d been sick with a debilitating disease and had his chest opened not once, but twice in an effort to combat it, only to find it cropping up again, albeit in less severe form. Why take a chance?

My wife remembers me shopping for Thanksgiving and coming home with Cornish Game Hens. It was our first Thanksgiving together as a family of four, and the last time we had Cornish Game Hens for our Thanksgiving dinner.

I managed to get a delay in reporting to Sheppard AFB so that my time there would coincide with Texas Tech’s Christmas Holiday break. I threw a few clothes in a suitcase, stuffed my school work in my briefcase, said goodbye to my anxious wife and little sons, jumped in my trusty VW, and headed to Wichita Falls, Texas, about 4 hours east of Lubbock through some of the flattest, driest,  most boring country in America. Nothing to occupy my attention, but my future.

Sheppard AFB Hospital

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I returned to Lubbock a few days before Christmas feeling pretty good about my experience at USAF Sheppard Hospital. My tests had been normal, my consultations with the medical staff had gone well; they seemed well-informed and friendly. But I’d have to wait for their decision.

I went shopping for presents, a Christmas tree, and the makings of Christmas dinner. I came home with what turned out to be a stewing hen for the main course. It was our first Christmas together as a family of four, and the last time for many years that I was assigned holiday meal shopping responsibilities.

I returned to class after the holiday and tried to concentrate on passing Statistics. In January, one year after my pericardiectomy, I received the Sheppard Medical Board’s report, dated December 28, 1966.

Although the patient has had one episode of “pericarditis” [in quotes because this episode was thought to be an artifact of the surgery] since surgery two years ago (in comparison with nine episodes...prior to pericardiectomy), his prognosis appears to be excellent. It is possible that he will have recurrent episodes; however, the paucity of attacks since the pericardiectomy appears to be an excellent prognostic sign. He has absolutely no evidence of reduction of cardiovascular function and is totally asymptomatic in the interval between attacks and at the present time. The patient can go worldwide.

I spent another 15 years in the Air Force retiring in 1981 as a lieutenant colonel. The Air Force sent me back to graduate school again during that time and I earned a PhD. The board’s finding that, “It is possible that he will have recurrent episodes.” was prescient. I’ve had mild bouts of pericardial pain on and off all my life. None have been so severe as to require hospitalization or even extended bed-rest. None have required ACTH (steroid) therapy. Pain has been controlled by nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs).

For many years I was unable to sleep on my right side -- the side of my original thoracotomy -- because I felt my heart beating. I think this was psychological. I always checked in with a cardiologist wherever I was assigned. And I got a waiver to the flu shot required by the Air Force, because there was a worry that I might get a repeat of whatever caused the inflammation of my pericardial tissue. I don't worry about that anymore; I worry more about getting the flu.

I wouldn’t recommend anyone without a pericardium playing football (although I did play touch football during my assignment to the Pentagon in 1968). Certainly a person without a pericardium is more vulnerable to cardiac injury, say as the result of an automobile accident, but beyond that, people without a pericardium can, and do, live a relatively normal life.

I went for 11.5 minutes on my stress test last year. That's 1.6 minutes less than I did in 1966 when I was 28 years old. My EKGs are normal. My blood pressure is usually about 114/76.

Prepped for for a heart monitor. Right scar was the window, left scar was the pericardiectomy.

Today, whatever pericardial pain I may experience is masked (confused with?) by the more banal discomforts associated with aging; arthritis, osteoporosis, gastritis, and who knows what. I’m 73 years-old. I’ve lived longer than the surgeon who did my pericardiectomy (he died at 71). I’m grateful for these old-age associated aches and pains. I know what the alternative was.

The one thing I'd change if I could is how self-absorbed I was when I was going through the worst phases of the disease, the operation, and the medical board. It was a very difficult time for my wife and I didn't spend enough time with her talking through things and listening to her concerns. It's a testament to her courage, loyalty, and love that she not only stuck with me, but supported me all along the way.

What's it like living without a pericardium? Great! That's the whole point. Before I had this life- threatening experience, I was a moody fellow who wanted to get out of the Air Force as soon as my 4-year obligation was up and write poetry about love and death. Being face-to-face with death changed that. I realized I wanted to live, and I realized that life was a gift. As strange as it seems, having pericarditis and all that went with it, made me a much happier person.

The End (?)