Cheri Olson, M.D., La Crosse, WI – 51 at the time of the event (2008)
Where is the best place to have a major medical emergency? In a hospital, where there is a plentiful supply of doctors and nurses. And so it was. Dr. Cheri Olson was seeing one of her more sprightly patients, Edna Athnos, and both will remember that consultation forever. Edna watched as her physician promptly died before her very eyes. Cheri had fallen onto the exam room floor and was “just gone, with her eyes open.”
All that Cheri can remember is feeling very dizzy, and not the sort that will go away with the shake of the head. Then she remembers a colleague holding her hand and saying, “You needed help. You had a little problem,” as they put her on a backboard to carry her into the emergency department. But her memories in between are just blank.
After Edna had raised the alarm, one of the clinic staff had run down the hall to get an AED, before anyone even thought to get the crash cart. Once attached, the device announced that it was a shockable rhythm. None of them could believe this was happening, and yet they deal with just such matters as part of their day job! Just one shock and Cheri had regained consciousness. She also remembers immediately starting to worry about the inconvenience of the event, as the whole family had plans to vacation in Hawaii the following month. She wasn’t frightened, after all, she knew more than most victims. In fact she’d assisted a resident who had collapsed while out running the previous November. Dr. Olson was well aware of the workup that was to come.
Her husband is also a physician, working in that Franciscan Skemp hospital, and was able to be with Cheri for most of the emergency protocol. She said it was reassuring to have him hold her hand and talk, while they cut off her clothes and attached the EKG leads and IVs. Surprisingly she also found it comforting to know the names and faces of those attending to her, despite regurgitating her lunch all over them! Rather than be embarrassed or ashamed, she knew that she was receiving the best care and could communicate precisely with them.
On the second day, Dr. Olson had an ICD implantation procedure. She also had an echocardiogram, angiogram, and MRI scan just prior to the implant procedure, so it was a busy morning for the family health care physician—except she was the patient.
Unfortunately, Dr. Olson understood the technical language of medicine, and was shocked at the magnetic resonance (MR) imaging results. The physician’s simple words “ myocardial scarring” and “inflammatory infiltrate” may not mean very much to laypersons. Often patients don’t understand the clinical terms used in their diagnosis. Dr. Olson knew those words, and that they imply a death sentence, or at the very least a heart transplant. She may not know for many months yet, and lives with the knowledge of how perilous that “affliction” can be. Maybe it was an error of her colleague to disclose those “interesting results” with such professional enthusiasm. Cheri has learned how disconcerting it is to be an unusual case.
Dr. Olson has also learned how important nurses are to their patients. She sees them with a distinctly different perspective nowadays. She noticed how careful they were to announce what they were about to do, and how they would always speak in friendly and caring terms. She couldn’t help notice the difference to her peers’ communications with her as a patient. So, it is as a survivor that Cheri now looks at the world. For example she is so aware of her heartbeat that it makes falling asleep difficult.
Dr. Olson has, however, embraced the sentiment; “don’t sweat the small stuff,” and recommends all survivors stay in dialogue about their event, and to keep learning.
- Jeremy Whitehead