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September 1, 2009

A  very strange illness eventually diagnosed

Part 1 of a 2 part series

By Duane Crawford - Unionville, Mo. correspondent

People know me as an outdoorsman and exercise freak. During the early morning hours of June 15, 2009, I felt great after a two-hour workout. That evening my blood pressure skyrocketed, and I experienced severe chilling. The next day I skipped my workout, because I felt unusually weak. Stubborn to the core, I didn’t go to see my doctor, Dawn Anne Fairley.

On June 17, I realized my condition was worsening and decided to visit the doctor. She analyzed my blood work and chest x-ray and diagnosed my illness as bacterial pneumonia. I was promptly admitted to the Putnam County Memorial Hospital in Unionville, Mo.

Though I was given antibiotics and other medications, my condition continued to deteriorate. On the third day I began to hallucinate, and my mind had no clue where I was. I began to loose blood and my immune system was being attacked by something. Because I had a “hot cell” in my blood, efforts were made to find the right match for me. A blood clot formed in my upper abdomen and that caused me great pain. I was given shots of morphine.

A blood match was found at Boone County Regional Hospital in Columbia, and my critical condition warranted my being air evacuated there. The only thing I remember on the flight was a paramedic saying, “This fellow is in bad shape! We’ve got to hurry!” 

Upon arrival I was put in the hospital’s intensive care unit, placed on life-support and my diagnosis was changed to viral pneumonia. I can remember very little of the next two weeks. Despite much medication, my condition continued to worsen.

Some visitors were allowed in my room and many were turned away. Former students and athletes from my days of teaching and coaching were allowed in at certain times. I remember a few being there. They were indeed an inspiration.

My wife, Kay, and daughter, Sandy, were terrified because they knew that I was always in excellent health and maintained a regular fitness program. My young brother Mike, a former Marine and Vietnam veteran, came from Texas to see me. Some time passed before I realized who he was.

Even though I don’t remember much of our conversations, the visits of several Marines I’d served with in Vietnam came from both the East and West Coasts to cheer me up. They had never seen me in such a state. On one visit, they wore their dress blue uniforms, stood in a line at rigid attention at the foot of my bed and saluted. I barely recall that act of respect, which was designed to encourage me.

Captain Ron Hoover, retired, was one of those patriots. He and I had served together as enlisted, and we were awarded battlefield commissions to second lieutenant on the same day in 1966. Later, during our second tours in that war, we were both company commanders in the same infantry battalion. On March 9, 1969, he was critically wounded by an enemy mortar. I would carry him aboard a medical evacuation chopper. He lives in Carlisle, PA.

My hallucinational state caused me to dream that I was in Chicago and then Minnesota. I even imagined that I was walking on the beach in San Diego, Calif., wearing a gown and pulling my IV pole. A policeman approached me and promptly put me in jail. My mind was in outer space.

All the doctors were baffled, and they couldn’t find the answers. They had what had been a perfectly healthy and physically fit 74-year-old patient in their care, but nothing seemed to work.

According to my family and friends, my unconscious state did create some humor many days later. Apparently, the hospital had student nurses doing blood pressure and pulse checks, and I unconsciously flirted with them. I am told that I tried to do some horse-trading. I said to them, “If you get me out of here, I’ll pay for your tuition.” I quickly became one of their favorite patients.

Because I was pulling at the tubes that were keeping me alive, a thick padding was used to cover my hands. I do barely recall trying to fight those protective measures.

After almost two weeks in intensive care, the doctors informed Kay that they had little hope and to expect the worst. According to them, my body functions were beginning to shutdown. They told her that a decision had to be made about removing me off of life support, or I’d be a vegetable.

With this depressing news, my family returned to Unionville to decide what to do. That evening a remarkable telephone call came from another Marine who I’d served with in Vietnam. His actions would save my life.

Look forward to Part 2:  A Miracle Happens!

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So, the question this week is, “Will it stay or will it go?” The United States Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. wants to close three Farm Service Agency offices in southern Iowa, which includes the FSA office in Centerville, and consolidate the operations in order to save money. Tuesday afternoon a meeting was held at Faith United Methodist Church to allow farmers and other producers who use the Centerville FSA office to make comments about the closing to John R. Whitaker, state executive director Iowa FSA. Many questioned if the meeting Tuesday was necessary because the decision had already been made.

A. Yes, because Washington will listen.
B. No, because the decision to close the Appanoose County FSA office has already been made.
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