{"id":761,"date":"2012-04-09T12:26:13","date_gmt":"2012-04-09T19:26:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/?p=761"},"modified":"2015-04-03T00:07:54","modified_gmt":"2015-04-03T07:07:54","slug":"a-heart-operation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/?p=761","title":{"rendered":"\u201cLeon, Handle the Heart as You Would a Woman\u2019s Breasts with Gentleness, Love and Respect.\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"108\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Leon performing heart surgery.<\/strong><\/p>\n

On this blog I have taken the time to expound on the human body\u00a0as seen and understood throughout the ages, mainly because I am in pursuit of accepting the aging process with a different set of eyes—a different perspective. I’ve\u00a0already posted a poem written by my grandmother about aging, and today I’m posting a poem written by my father, Leon Levinsky, not so much about aging but very much about\u00a0an aspect of it that I have not made my main focus. Heart disease is a problem that many experience at a certain stage\u00a0of their life; there are so many ways to prevent heart disease from happening in the first place, and yet there is so much ignorance revolving around this important health topic.<\/p>\n

Usually, when we hear about surgery, it’s solely about the patient’s experience; what makes this poem so unique is that rarely do we get a glimpse of what goes on through the surgeon’s mind as they engage in this life-threatening procedure. Leon’s poetry shows that there is more to him than meets the eye—usually very shy and mostly reserved—this poem gives you a rare glimpse at a man who is very much an artist as well as a serious surgeon. He demonstrates a knack for being able to draw you into his world by navigating through a complicated procedure, yet artfully shuttling back and forth between technical jargon and grisly details that allow you to live through his experience of bringing a heart back to life.<\/p>\n

This has given me a renewed appreciation for what he does. However, I have to say that I still scratch my head when thinking of all the times I would see him handing my mother one of his socks for mending; I mean, the guy knows how to sew up a heart, and yet he could never fix a hole in his own sock!<\/p>\n

As a heart surgeon’s daughter,\u00a0I grew up privy to detailed conversation around the dinner table, watching the way my father would react in emergency situations—hardly having him home for that matter—I am proud to say that Leon Levinsky represents a special breed of surgeons. I remember the odd neighbor that would stand outside our door, waiting for my father to arrive home from work—my father tired, exhausted—yet, still sensitive enough to listen to anyone’s medical problems and resolve their issues. I’ll never forget the day that an old Russian woman (I think she was Russian, but not sure), knocked on our front door\u00a0holding a large box filled with oranges in one arm, and in the other, grasping the hand of her young grandchild. Leon had operated on her husband and saved his life, and she insisted on expressing her gratitude by traveling from her home, having ridden a few buses, and trekking up the hill where we lived, in order to come bearing oranges for my father. As I peeked through the kitchen door, I could see the woman’s gold teeth glimmering through a bashful smile. My father would immediately make anyone in his presence feel comfortable, so the nerves soon\u00a0melted away. As she sipped from her cold drink and nibbled on a few biscuits, Leon learned about each one of her family members.<\/p>\n

There were some unpleasant memories as well, like a family who had threatened to kill Leon because their father had died on the operating table; it was not my father’s fault, but nevertheless, he found himself having to hide from them out of fear for his life.\u00a0 When there was a knock on the door one evening,\u00a0and we opened it, forgetting about Leon’s warning—it happened to be one of our friends—but\u00a0regardless,\u00a0he yelled at us for almost getting him killed. Usually, when\u00a0a heart operation is successful, people tend to thank God but when things go wrong it’s the surgeon’s fault. A few years ago when I gave birth to my son Jack, the anesthetist in the operating room yelled at me for shaking too much before\u00a0I was given an epidural. I was completely shocked by his mood and temper. Then, while lying down awaiting the surgeon to begin the C-section the anesthetist yelled at one of the\u00a0nurses for not introducing herself to him in “his” operating room. The poor nurse looked just as shocked and terrified as I was. My IV popped out of my vein mid-surgery and I’ll never forget how brutal he was in pricking the back of my hand over and over again to get it back in, at which point I began to throw up and he looked completely infuriated with me. My son’s birth will always be tainted by that doctor’s terrible bedside manner, but fortunately I have some good experiences as well with nice doctors. And most important, I have wonderful\u00a0memories of my father’s patients whom I’ve met occasionally over the years—giving their praise of how sensitive and caring Leon had been during their time of need. Now it’s time to learn about how surgeons develop wrinkles.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

“A Heart Operation”<\/strong><\/p>\n

A scalpel slices skin<\/p>\n

In the midline<\/p>\n

A saw divides the sternum<\/p>\n

With a sickening sound<\/p>\n

Bleeding is stopped<\/p>\n

A retractor is wound open<\/p>\n

There is a hubbub<\/p>\n

In the operating room<\/p>\n

Christie is harvesting a vein<\/p>\n

From the leg<\/p>\n

While I preside<\/p>\n

At the chest<\/p>\n

Like the captain<\/p>\n

Of a ship<\/p>\n

\"TOSHIBA<\/a><\/p>\n

Like a captain of a ship.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Joe administers anesthesia<\/p>\n

So the patient is unconscious<\/p>\n

And will not be aware<\/p>\n

When his heart has stopped<\/p>\n

Sylvia hands over instruments<\/p>\n

Never has to be asked<\/p>\n

Always the right one<\/p>\n

So reassuring for me<\/p>\n

\u00a0\"116\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Sylvia in perfect sync with Leon.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Linda sits at the pump<\/p>\n

A giant machine<\/p>\n

Of tubes and cylinders<\/p>\n

Instead of the beautifully designed<\/p>\n

Heart and lungs<\/p>\n

Amy is circulating<\/p>\n

Darting around the room<\/p>\n

Music in the background<\/p>\n

Pagers are beeping<\/p>\n

Phones are ringing<\/p>\n

Gossip is exchanged<\/p>\n

But there is a person<\/p>\n

Beneath the drapes<\/p>\n

For whom this<\/p>\n

Is no routine day<\/p>\n

It is the second most<\/p>\n

Important day of his life<\/p>\n

The first was his birth<\/p>\n

\"115\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Concentrating on the task.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I am oblivious<\/p>\n

To the surroundings<\/p>\n

As I concentrate<\/p>\n

On my task<\/p>\n

To fix this heart<\/p>\n

And bring it back to life<\/p>\n

There is a puff of smoke<\/p>\n

As I use the bovie<\/p>\n

To open the pericardium<\/p>\n

And expose the heart<\/p>\n

In all its sick glory<\/p>\n

Covered in a layer of yellow fat<\/p>\n

With red arteries and blue veins<\/p>\n

Barely discernible in the depths<\/p>\n

\"DSC00183\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The heart covered in a layer of yellow fat.<\/strong><\/p>\n

From the front\u00a0 the damage<\/p>\n

Is not so evident<\/p>\n

But then I lift the heart<\/p>\n

And my own heart<\/p>\n

Misses a beat<\/p>\n

As I realize<\/p>\n

That this one<\/p>\n

Is too heavy<\/p>\n

Too\u00a0 thick and sluggish<\/p>\n

With a pale patch<\/p>\n

At the back<\/p>\n

Testament to muscle<\/p>\n

No longer alive<\/p>\n

I\u00a0 inspect the arteries<\/p>\n

\"DSC00158\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I inspect the arteries.<\/strong><\/p>\n

That need to be bypassed<\/p>\n

I have made my plan<\/p>\n

Purse string sutures are placed<\/p>\n

On the aorta and atrium<\/p>\n

A knife jabs a hole<\/p>\n

Blood spurts and<\/p>\n

Cannulas are inserted<\/p>\n

And connected to<\/p>\n

The heart lung machine<\/p>\n

Now Linda is alert<\/p>\n

As I tell her<\/p>\n

\u201cStart the pump\u201d<\/p>\n

Purple blood exits the heart<\/p>\n

On its way to the machine<\/p>\n

And\u00a0 is miraculously transformed<\/p>\n

Into red blood<\/p>\n

To be pumped<\/p>\n

Back to the aorta<\/p>\n

And so to the brain and other organs<\/p>\n

\u201cStart cardioplegia” and now<\/p>\n

The heart slows and stops<\/p>\n

Under the influence of potassium<\/p>\n

Ice slush is poured on the heart<\/p>\n

To lower the temperature<\/p>\n

Fifteen degrees that\u2019s good<\/p>\n

\"DSC00187\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Three pairs of hands.<\/strong><\/p>\n

There are now three pairs of gloved hands<\/p>\n

Over that small space<\/p>\n

One pair holds the heart<\/p>\n

Now lifeless<\/p>\n

Like a slab of meat<\/p>\n

While I use a knife<\/p>\n

To make an opening<\/p>\n

In an artery,<\/p>\n

One or two millimeters<\/p>\n

Another pair of gloved hands<\/p>\n

Assists me as I join<\/p>\n

The end of a vein<\/p>\n

To the opening<\/p>\n

Using a sewing technique<\/p>\n

I learned in this very hospital<\/p>\n

Over thirty years ago<\/p>\n

From my teacher, George Schimert<\/p>\n

Who said to me<\/p>\n

\u201cLeon, handle the heart<\/p>\n

As you would a woman\u2019s breasts<\/p>\n

With gentleness love and respect\u201d<\/p>\n

\"TOSHIBA<\/a><\/p>\n

Handling the heart as you would a woman’s breasts.<\/strong><\/p>\n

And reflect on the Man beneath the drapes<\/p>\n

Essentially he has no heart\u00a0right now<\/p>\n

And his family waits outside and wonders.<\/p>\n

The position of the heart<\/p>\n

Has been changed many times<\/p>\n

And I have completed two ,<\/p>\n

Three or four anastomoses<\/p>\n

The last using an artery<\/p>\n

Prepared from the back wall<\/p>\n

Of the chest<\/p>\n

The internal mammary artery<\/p>\n

Supplies blood to the breast.<\/p>\n

So George was right.<\/p>\n

\"123\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Stitching up the patient.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I use a thread<\/p>\n

Not much thicker<\/p>\n

Than a human hair<\/p>\n

But to me it appears<\/p>\n

Like a piece of string<\/p>\n

Through my magnifying loupes<\/p>\n

Warm blood is perfused<\/p>\n

To the cold heart<\/p>\n

The clamp is released<\/p>\n

And I look with awe<\/p>\n

As the heart slowly starts beating<\/p>\n

And resuming its pumping action<\/p>\n

With a twenty degree twist from<\/p>\n

Stem to stern<\/p>\n

The machine is stopped<\/p>\n

The heart is on its own<\/p>\n

Reborn, stronger, healthier<\/p>\n

Supporting the brain<\/p>\n

Kidneys liver intestines<\/p>\n

I am relieved and breathe<\/p>\n

A sigh of relief<\/p>\n

Slowly the chest is closed<\/p>\n

Using steel wires to bring<\/p>\n

The two sides of the sternum<\/p>\n

Together and then suture<\/p>\n

The fascia and skin<\/p>\n

The drapes are removed<\/p>\n

\"DSC00160\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Surgery is over.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Surgery is over<\/p>\n

I remove my gown<\/p>\n

My shirt is drenched<\/p>\n

With sweat from the heat<\/p>\n

And emotion and relief<\/p>\n

I change my shirt<\/p>\n

And go to tell his wife<\/p>\n

That all is well<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Leon performing heart surgery. On this blog I have taken the time to expound on the human body\u00a0as seen and understood throughout the ages, mainly because I am in pursuit of accepting the aging process with a different set of eyes—a different perspective. I’ve\u00a0already posted a poem written by my grandmother about aging, and today … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-761","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/761","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=761"}],"version-history":[{"count":27,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/761\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1908,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/761\/revisions\/1908"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=761"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=761"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=761"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}