Farming – a risky occupation, continued

As the last column described my emergency visit to the local hospital in 1995, this column will explain the next phase.

My first helicopter ride was cold but fast, and in 20 minutes, I was in Gundersen Hospital in LaCrosse. The ER was very much like a barn raising bee, where everyone knows their job and does it. Time is so critical in that room. What is the most significant injury? I had nine broken ribs on one side, and that caused my lung to collapse. I was having trouble breathing.

The doctor told me, “This might hurt.” He used the scalpel blade and cut between my second and third rib under the armpit without anesthetic. I could feel the blade going through every layer of tissue: skin, muscle, ligaments and the lining of the chest cavity. It was the most painful but most necessary thing I’ve ever endured. A small tube was inserted through the incision and into the chest to suck out the air, thus re-inflating the lung. The tube was left in place until my oxygen levels returned to normal a couple of days later.

Despite the pain, I still did not lose consciousness. A portable x-ray unit got a picture of my leg and hip injury. I could hear the orthopedic docs discussing the problem. My left leg was bent 90 degrees at the knee, and I couldn’t move it. The radiograph showed that my femur had been punched through my hip joint, kind of like a stuck skeleton key in a lock. The docs tried to pull the leg bone out, but it didn’t work. The 5’ 2” ortho doc actually stood on the bed over my leg and tried to pull the femur up and out; that didn’t work, either.

The next plan was surgery, and I was put to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I had a pin through the middle of the big bone below the knee. The pin was attached on both sides with a weight-and-pulley traction device. The plan was to keep tension on the leg in hopes that the hip joint would pull itself together. I had an infusion pump that allowed me to get a dose of morphine periodically with the push of a button, and push that button I did.

Being in the hospital for 42 consecutive days was something I would’ve never imagined before the accident, but I was determined to survive. I had no other options. I just did it. I was going stir crazy looking at four walls all day long. After about 30 days, the hospital staff moved my bed — with all the IVs and tubes — to an elevator and parked my bed outside the main employee entrance at six o’clock in the morning for a few hours every day when the weather was nice. I’m sure the fresh air helped me heal quicker, but that was 1995, and you probably couldn’t do that today.

In the 42 days, I had between one and 15 visitors every day: friends, relatives, clients and even strangers. Many brought videos for me to watch; it was often hard to concentrate enough to read. My family and friends kept the farm functioning well through that time. I was worried about being shipped to a nursing home, but the docs kept that option away.

After being released from the hospital, I moved to a hospital bed in our living room and started physical therapy. Three months later, I complained about a bad backache I was getting from riding a stationary bike. The physical therapist asked for more x-rays which revealed a broken vertebrae (my T-11). It had been crushed. More therapy and wearing a Jewitt brace for nine months followed.

Two years later, the orthopedic doctors decided the hip joint was never going to heal together and performed my first hip replacement. Five years later, another one was done on the same side because the glue used in the first operation to secure the femur implant caused the femur to deteriorate. The femur implant part of the hip joint became loose and did not stay inside the bone. To strengthen my femur, a cadaver femur was split in half and attached to my femur with stainless steel zip ties. A third hip replacement was done 20 years later because the previous one had worn out. Thankfully, that replacement was uneventful. I am extremely fortunate to be able to walk as easily as I can today.

Just after COVID, I fell through a hay chute in our old barn. I didn’t know that a heifer had fallen through the same chute two weeks before. It was covered nicely with loose hay and bedding, but it was a lousy cover. Fortunately, I hit a hay bale before the concrete in the basement and only broke my collarbone and another vertebrae in my back. One of my grandsons looked down the chute at me lying on the floor and asked if I was OK. I couldn’t say what I was thinking. Another pickup ride to the ER.

A PA at the hospital failed to read my whole medical history and was sure I had developed osteoporosis recently. However, when a scan was done, I only had two bones that were a little low on calcium. I have had 42 broken bones – from fingers to ribs, ankles, skull fractures, arms and more — but they have all healed properly, except for the back bones. I’m just glad to be healthy and able to work and play.