Fred Taylor Golf Classic

Early in the morning on Friday, April 19, 1996, Fred underwent an outpatient procedure to remove a cataract. In preparation for it, he had been taken off his Coumadin, a blood thinner he took due to his atrial fibrillation. His cataract surgery went without a hitch and Fred expressed his wonder at the marvels of modern medicine. He was sporting an eye patch when he asked to go to the Chef-O-Nette for lunch afterward. He was jovial, happy, joking. This was the Fred of everyday.

 

Standard protocol after a cataract operation requires a follow-up visit the morning after the surgery. By the time of his appointment, he already had a headache. He was quiet. The doctor found everything to be fine with his eye, and mentioned that some people do get headaches following the procedure. How bad Fred's headache was is something only he knew at the time. He was not one to complain when feeling ill. Growing quiet was almost always the only indication that he was experiencing any illness. The eye doctor told him to resume taking his Coumadin, which generally takes a week or two to reach the desired level in the body.

 

The headache continued unabated. He missed work, something practically unheard of for Fred. He would set out for work at The Golf Club, but turn around and come home. His headache made it too difficult for him to make the long drive. A phone call to his eye surgeon regarding the pain resulted in Fred receiving a prescription for the painkiller Vicodin. He took it. He needed it. But the pain never went away.

 

On Friday, April 26, 1996, Fred made it out to The Golf Club. One of his daughters called him to ask how he was feeling. His soft reply was, "Oh, honey, I am just so tired". He came home early that day. He was in excruciating pain. What could it be? Perhaps a dental issue? He was taken to his dentist to have his teeth checked. There was a small pocket of debris, but nothing else was amiss.

 

Once home from that appointment, Fred climbed into the bathtub. That was always a place where he was able to relax completely. But not that night. He wanted to get out of the tub, but his body would not cooperate. He was totally unable to coordinate his limbs. He called for help. Eileen, a quite petite woman, was unable to assist Fred. She phoned her sons-in-law, Dave Zimmerman and Peter Kelley, Jr. to get to the house quickly. Pete was not home, so his wife Nikki swept up a friend's husband, Dan Carlstrom, to go to Fred's house. Dave arrived first and lifted Fred out of the bathtub and took him to his bed. This was such an abnormal and frightening event that the emergency squad was called. Nikki and Dan arrived while the paramedics were there. Some blood sugar testing had been performed, which showed a slight glucose elevation. Fred was seemingly both embarassed and hurting. The paramedics asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, and he said he thought he should. Dan Carlstrom later said he knew something was horribly wrong with Fred when he looked at him on the stretcher being taken out of the house.

 

The hospital emergency room. A nightmare for everyone in the family. Fred was examined. One test was performed--an MRI. It showed nothing wrong, according to the radiologist who looked at it. Fred's temperature was elevated. He was barely speaking. The doctor felt he likely had a virus, along with a dental problem. There were words of protests from family members--"But the dentist said it was only a small pocket of debris, nothing more!" "His lack of coordination prevented him from being able to rise!" "Something is very, very wrong with him!" And the result was that he was sent to an observation room for the night. He looked so painfully exhausted. A nurse would ask if he wanted any Tylenol, and he would tell her no. Then he would tell his family his head hurt, and he wanted something for it. He was not thinking straight. He was not the Fred who had a minor problem. He was the Fred who had a severe problem that the hospital staff did not seem to realize. Perhaps he had been written off as just an old man.

 

In the wee hours of the morning, he lost control of his bladder. He did not realize he had. He could not answer questions, such as what his name was, unless it was given in a multiple choice format. His son-in-law Pete was alarmed. How could he not know his name? A nurse questioned Pete to find out Fred's norms. It was clear that she was concerned.

 

The morning ER doctor looked at Fred. Read his chart. And discharged him. Eileen and daughter Krista were shocked. Eileen expressed her fear, but the doctor simply said, "If he gets any worse, bring him back." She replied, "Oh, we will be back." Fred could not walk unassisted. A wheelchair was required to get him to the car.

 

That weekend was the one from hell. His close friend and physician came to the house. The eye surgeon came to the house. His family took shifts to be sure Eileen was never alone with Fred. He slept a lot. He would put his hand on his forehead even during his sleep. He asked what was wrong with him. He could barely eat anything except watermelon. Family had been told to keep him moving about as much as possible. So, they would wake him and help him to a chair. All the while, his Coumadin blood thinner was slowly but surely becoming more regulated in his body. Thinning the blood that would have been thicker for his cataract procedure.

 

Middle of the night saw Fred trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, but instead falling to the floor and wetting himself. Again, he was embarassed and did not understand why all of this was occurring.

 

Sunday night, another physician from the family practice came to see him. Fred was able to perform the task the doctor asked of him. But there was still something "off" about him. The doctor told family members in private that if Fred was like this on Monday, he would need to return to the hospital.

 

Monday morning, Fred passed out across the foot of his bed, his robe stained with urine. He had obviously attempted to reach the bathroom by himself. The emergency squad was immediately called.

 

This time at the hospital, a spinal tap was done on Fred. It showed blood in the spinal fluid. The following test, a cerebral angiogram, confirmed the presence of a brain aneurysm. Surgery was set for Tuesday morning, because the hour had gotten late and also because his blood needed to be thickened via medicine.

 

Monday night, Fred's right hand curled up into a ball. His speech became garbled. So much damage had already been done.

 

His surgery on Tuesday was considered successful. He survived. And it was the beginning of almost six years of physical and occupational rehabilitation, heart-wrenching scares, nursing homes, extended hospitalizations, and multiple permanent disabilities before his death on January 6, 2002.

 

A comment made by one of Fred's Neuro ICU nurses haunts the family to this day, "Tell everyone if they EVER have a headache like his to go from hospital to hospital to hospital until one of them finally discovers the brain aneurysm."