them with a hearty, “Hey, want to see my butt sore?”
The doctor who performed the surgery was a well-known plastic surgeon. His technique for closing the wound involved intertwining muscles and blood vessels before draping the skin and securing it with stitches. While the surgery was complicated, the recovery would be the worst phase. For the sutures to take and allow the skin to heal, I had to be bedridden again, unable to move even an inch for thirty-five days. The doctors told me that research indicated a much higher failure rate at four weeks than five, so the plan was to keep me still for five full weeks—which took me into the middle of May.
I’d already spent almost seven weeks lying still in a hospital bed at Sky Ridge, and several more weeks at Craig getting ready for my three to four month stay there. I had been fitted for physical therapy equipment and had set up my exercise and physical therapy programs before preparing for this—my third major surgery in two months. Again, they gave me medication for the pain, but this time around, I wasn’t kept in a semi-comatose state for the recovery. As a result, I was painfully aware of every moment of time as it slowly ticked away.
Since the skin they used to cover the hole was extremely thin from pulling it tight, I had to be particularly careful not to bruise, scratch or overstretch my body or I’d risk reopening the wound and the healing process would have to start all over again.
When the surgeon finished the procedure, he was convinced that this was some of the very best work he’d ever done. The nurses came to check my sutures every two hours and invariably they’d say, “Time to roll over and look at your butt, Dave.” It got to the point where all I could do was find humor in the situation, so I’d always respond with a boastful, “Isn’t that the prettiest ass you’ve ever seen?”
“No doubt about it,” they’d say.
Before all of this happened, I had buns of steel—not squishy ones like they are now. But I did whatever I could to make the best of it all.
Other doctors from the hospital and even medical students came by to see me. When they arrived, I’d just laugh and tell them there was a tip jar in the corner. Looks weren’t free. Once a businessman, always a businessman, right?
Wrong!
When nobody put money in the jar, I tried one last attempt to make everyone laugh.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” That didn’t get me very far either.
Although I was making light of my situation, I was extremely lucky that the surgery was a success. The majority of paraplegics and quadriplegics who die each year die from these very types of sores. When you are paralyzed from the neck or anywhere below, you have no sensation in your body, so you can’t feel the pain from developing sores. Often these patients don’t even know they have sores unless somebody is looking for them. When you don’t have a nurse to turn you every couple of hours, it can and often does become a life-threatening condition.
FROM THE DESK OF MARGARET KELLY
3/30/12
I’d like to update you again on Dave Liniger’s health.
As most of you know, Dave checked into the hospital about eight weeks ago with severe back pain. Doctors determined that his discomfort was due to pressure built up through a severe staph infection.
He has since had two successful back surgeries to reduce the pressure and provide relief from the pain. The first occurred in February and the second in March, during R4. Both went very well.
Dave is still in the hospital and will be on antibiotics for another month or more, which is normal for a staph infection. He has also begun physical therapy, and it will take months for him to regain his strength. He’s receiving the best care possible and his doctors are pleased with his progress.
Dave and Gail feel your love and support. We don’t want to overwhelm Gail and the family while they are focused on Dave’s recovery - so please,
The doctor who performed the surgery was a well-known plastic surgeon. His technique for closing the wound involved intertwining muscles and blood vessels before draping the skin and securing it with stitches. While the surgery was complicated, the recovery would be the worst phase. For the sutures to take and allow the skin to heal, I had to be bedridden again, unable to move even an inch for thirty-five days. The doctors told me that research indicated a much higher failure rate at four weeks than five, so the plan was to keep me still for five full weeks—which took me into the middle of May.
I’d already spent almost seven weeks lying still in a hospital bed at Sky Ridge, and several more weeks at Craig getting ready for my three to four month stay there. I had been fitted for physical therapy equipment and had set up my exercise and physical therapy programs before preparing for this—my third major surgery in two months. Again, they gave me medication for the pain, but this time around, I wasn’t kept in a semi-comatose state for the recovery. As a result, I was painfully aware of every moment of time as it slowly ticked away.
Since the skin they used to cover the hole was extremely thin from pulling it tight, I had to be particularly careful not to bruise, scratch or overstretch my body or I’d risk reopening the wound and the healing process would have to start all over again.
When the surgeon finished the procedure, he was convinced that this was some of the very best work he’d ever done. The nurses came to check my sutures every two hours and invariably they’d say, “Time to roll over and look at your butt, Dave.” It got to the point where all I could do was find humor in the situation, so I’d always respond with a boastful, “Isn’t that the prettiest ass you’ve ever seen?”
“No doubt about it,” they’d say.
Before all of this happened, I had buns of steel—not squishy ones like they are now. But I did whatever I could to make the best of it all.
Other doctors from the hospital and even medical students came by to see me. When they arrived, I’d just laugh and tell them there was a tip jar in the corner. Looks weren’t free. Once a businessman, always a businessman, right?
Wrong!
When nobody put money in the jar, I tried one last attempt to make everyone laugh.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” That didn’t get me very far either.
Although I was making light of my situation, I was extremely lucky that the surgery was a success. The majority of paraplegics and quadriplegics who die each year die from these very types of sores. When you are paralyzed from the neck or anywhere below, you have no sensation in your body, so you can’t feel the pain from developing sores. Often these patients don’t even know they have sores unless somebody is looking for them. When you don’t have a nurse to turn you every couple of hours, it can and often does become a life-threatening condition.
FROM THE DESK OF MARGARET KELLY
3/30/12
I’d like to update you again on Dave Liniger’s health.
As most of you know, Dave checked into the hospital about eight weeks ago with severe back pain. Doctors determined that his discomfort was due to pressure built up through a severe staph infection.
He has since had two successful back surgeries to reduce the pressure and provide relief from the pain. The first occurred in February and the second in March, during R4. Both went very well.
Dave is still in the hospital and will be on antibiotics for another month or more, which is normal for a staph infection. He has also begun physical therapy, and it will take months for him to regain his strength. He’s receiving the best care possible and his doctors are pleased with his progress.
Dave and Gail feel your love and support. We don’t want to overwhelm Gail and the family while they are focused on Dave’s recovery - so please,
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