Potempa: Blessed with a 96-year-old father on the mend from heart surgery
My father came through bypass surgery after spending six hours in the operating room at the University of Chicago Hospital. He was attended by heart-care specialists, including his surgeon Dr. Valluvan Jeevanandam, who were able to repair his leaking heart valve rather than having to replace it. My mom and siblings visited him in the intensive care unit every day, and he had the constant care of a private nurse at his side, which led us to be hopeful and confident he would continue to improve.
That column ended with a reader recipe for Greek roast lamb, since that was the menu choice Dad wanted for Easter family dinner, which happened to be the day before his surgery.
Last week, my 96-year-old dad Chester found himself back at the University of Chicago Hospital 18 years later at the advice of his cardiologist in Valparaiso, Dr. Maya Kommineni, and his general physician, Dr. Hector Marchand Jr.
In recent months, tests showed my dad's heart was in need of a valve replacement. This time it was the associates of Dr. Jeevanandam, such as Dr. Atman Shah and Dr. Takeyoshi Ota who responsible for the much less invasive procedure of nearly three hours accessing the heart and arteries through the groin rather than breaking the rib cage.
Dad spent three days in the intensive care unit before being moved to regular floor unit room and then sprung this weekend for some helpful rehab. The Aug. 17 Sunday date of this weekend is my mom Peggy's 94th birthday, and her best gift this year is that Dad's surgery went well and he's on the road to recovery.
Last Sunday's dinner on Aug. 10 was my dad's last full family meal before we transported him to Chicago. His menu wish this time was far simpler than the roast lamb with rosemary and mint jelly. He asked for a hearty farm summer menu of Sloppy Joes on sesame seed buns, with smoked provolone cheese slices, sweet bread and butter pickle chips, mustard potato salad and fresh peaches and cream variety boiled sweet corn with a cold dessert finale of ice cream cones.
Faithful friend and reader Diane Traher of Dyer makes the most delicious Sloppy Joes, a near tie with the scrumptious recipe from our late neighbor farm wife Joann Scamerhorn, which I printed in this column in 2016. Diane's recipe dates back to 1952 and comes from a small treasured hardcover cookbook titled 'The Anniversary Slovak-American Cook Book,' described as 'a commemoration of the 60th Anniversary of the first Catholic Slavic Ladies Association,' which was launched in 1892 in Cleveland, Ohio. 1 pound ground beef
1 large chopped onion
1 chopped green pepper
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon mustard
1 tablespoon vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup ketchup
Directions:
1. Brown meat in a tablespoon of hot fat until it is crumbly but not hard.
2. Combine and add remaining ingredients.
3. Cover and simmer gently for 30 minutes.
4. Serve on toasted buns.
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Chicago Tribune
2 days ago
- Chicago Tribune
Potempa: Blessed with a 96-year-old father on the mend from heart surgery
In an April 11, 2007 newspaper column that is included in my 'Further From the Farm' cookbook published in 2010, I detailed my dad's experience with open-heart surgery and thanked readers for their e-mails, cards, and voicemails I received wishing him well. My father came through bypass surgery after spending six hours in the operating room at the University of Chicago Hospital. He was attended by heart-care specialists, including his surgeon Dr. Valluvan Jeevanandam, who were able to repair his leaking heart valve rather than having to replace it. My mom and siblings visited him in the intensive care unit every day, and he had the constant care of a private nurse at his side, which led us to be hopeful and confident he would continue to improve. That column ended with a reader recipe for Greek roast lamb, since that was the menu choice Dad wanted for Easter family dinner, which happened to be the day before his surgery. Last week, my 96-year-old dad Chester found himself back at the University of Chicago Hospital 18 years later at the advice of his cardiologist in Valparaiso, Dr. Maya Kommineni, and his general physician, Dr. Hector Marchand Jr. In recent months, tests showed my dad's heart was in need of a valve replacement. This time it was the associates of Dr. Jeevanandam, such as Dr. Atman Shah and Dr. Takeyoshi Ota who responsible for the much less invasive procedure of nearly three hours accessing the heart and arteries through the groin rather than breaking the rib cage. Dad spent three days in the intensive care unit before being moved to regular floor unit room and then sprung this weekend for some helpful rehab. The Aug. 17 Sunday date of this weekend is my mom Peggy's 94th birthday, and her best gift this year is that Dad's surgery went well and he's on the road to recovery. Last Sunday's dinner on Aug. 10 was my dad's last full family meal before we transported him to Chicago. His menu wish this time was far simpler than the roast lamb with rosemary and mint jelly. He asked for a hearty farm summer menu of Sloppy Joes on sesame seed buns, with smoked provolone cheese slices, sweet bread and butter pickle chips, mustard potato salad and fresh peaches and cream variety boiled sweet corn with a cold dessert finale of ice cream cones. Faithful friend and reader Diane Traher of Dyer makes the most delicious Sloppy Joes, a near tie with the scrumptious recipe from our late neighbor farm wife Joann Scamerhorn, which I printed in this column in 2016. Diane's recipe dates back to 1952 and comes from a small treasured hardcover cookbook titled 'The Anniversary Slovak-American Cook Book,' described as 'a commemoration of the 60th Anniversary of the first Catholic Slavic Ladies Association,' which was launched in 1892 in Cleveland, Ohio. 1 pound ground beef 1 large chopped onion 1 chopped green pepper 2 tablespoons sugar 1 tablespoon mustard 1 tablespoon vinegar 1 teaspoon salt 1 cup ketchup Directions: 1. Brown meat in a tablespoon of hot fat until it is crumbly but not hard. 2. Combine and add remaining ingredients. 3. Cover and simmer gently for 30 minutes. 4. Serve on toasted buns.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
My breast reduction left me with huge open wounds – but I still don't regret it
I always felt like an alien growing up – an alien with double H breasts. They were just too big for my frame and it was awful. So, when I first discovered breast reduction surgery at 19, I immediately knew it was what I needed to do. Unfortunately the transformation itself wasn't as simple. My body rejected the initial surgery, triggering a relentless 11-year journey of corrective procedures to fix the damage. At least 12 operations later and now 31, I pray that I am nearing the end of this surgical nightmare. I grew up with my mum, my dad and my older brother. As one of the oldest girls in my year at school, I was one of the first to go through puberty. I started gaining unwanted attention from around 14 – all the boys would make jokes about my breasts. I didn't have many relationships growing up as all the attention was solely focused on my chest. In any event, I didn't want anything to do with anything sexual or intimate, because I hated them so much. Even outside of school I received attention from men in the street. They would scream things at me – 'Look at the t--s on her!' When you're that young, you can't process things like that properly – it was horrific. By age 16 I was a double H. I would wear baggy clothing all the time – hoodies, shirts and never anything that would show cleavage – but you never feel you can hide them. They always felt extremely tender; the sensitivity was unbearable. My mental health also suffered. I was a very sad teenager, who struggled with depression. I've been in and out of therapy since I was 17. Exercising was mostly impossible. You could completely write running off – even star jumps or yoga. I'd strap them down in two sports bras. When that didn't work, I got a personal trainer. My PT was an ex-military man who was lovely, but had zero experience in training a young teenage girl with massive boobs. The route to surgery For the longest time I just accepted my fate. I didn't know what a breast reduction was, let alone that it was an accessible procedure. My mum was the one who brought my attention to it. I was 19 when one day she said to me, 'If you ever want a reduction, me and your dad will take care of it.' Immediately I knew that it was something I wanted to do – I was ready to be booked in. From then, it was full steam ahead. In that same week, I had an appointment with a Nuffield Health private surgeon who was recommended to me. He looked at me and confirmed he would be able to fix my boobs. I told my surgeon if he could make them an A cup that would be ideal. I just hated them so much that I preferred to have no breasts at all – I wanted to be flat chested. The surgeon wouldn't do that, but he would make them a 'normal' size for my frame and give me a B-C cup (I was around a size 14 at the time). He showed me a book with prints of his previous work before and after. They were all beautiful and perfectly healed to the point where you wouldn't even know they'd had surgery. I remember thinking, 'Sign me up and book me in!' The surgery was going to cost my parents about £6,000 but we didn't even try to have the surgery with the NHS because I was too desperate to wait and just wanted to get it done. There are very few women who get breast reductions this way. In order to qualify, you almost have to be verging on disabled – you can't just have back pain, you have to not be able to sit or stand up straight. I went in for the private surgery less than a month later. My first surgery The experience leading up to the procedure was extremely uncomfortable because my surgeon had no bedside manner – none whatsoever. I remember the nurses really overcompensated for him, making conversation to calm my nerves. About half an hour before the surgery he came in to 'draw me up'. He took a marker pen and spent a long time with a ruler and tape measure drawing all over my chest. He circled my nipples and marked where he'd be moving them to. Once he'd finished he said, 'Right – see you in surgery,' and that was it. When I woke from the surgery, everything seemed fine. After the first night, I went home. The recovery was hard – because I was all stitched up, everything in my body was super connected. Even if I moved my elbow, I could feel the pain on my chest. I was practically immobile for two to three weeks – I needed help to sit and stand, to eat, even to go to the bathroom. Luckily, I was living at home with my parents, so I had their full-time support. When the surgery starts to go wrong After a week, I changed my dressing as the surgeon had instructed me to. That's when I noticed that my left breast had a hole at the T-join. It's the most common place for a split (I believe there is a 20 per cent chance of wound separation) because there's a lot of tension from the three points of flesh joining together. It was horrible to look at but the smell, too, was horrific. At its worst, the hole [seen below] was roughly the size of a bulging 50p coin, so we went straight back to the surgeon. He was so unbothered by everything – he said: 'Oh, that happens, let's just stitch it back up in two days.' That was a quick anaesthetic procedure, but as soon as I got home from that, every other stitch on me started to burst open. We pushed him to explain what was happening to my body, but he refused to explain or offer any sympathy. He would just say, 'You knew this could happen,' without explaining what 'this' was. It felt like he didn't want it to be his problem, so his defences immediately went up. In hindsight, we think that I was allergic to the stitches the surgeon used because my body seemed to completely reject them. Over the space of a week, my breasts began to look more and more deformed – and infection was thriving. We went back to the surgeon and this time my mum challenged his indifference. He suggested that I come into the hospital every other day to get redressed. My mum felt strongly at that point I needed another surgery. After a couple of days, he came back and said he would have to charge me thousands of pounds to essentially redo the original surgery. He offered no sympathy. This wasn't an option for us any more. We didn't want to trust this person with another full surgery. We chose to go back to the hospital every other day to get redressed. For the most part, my body was left to heal these huge open wounds. It took nearly a year of this for the skin to fully close. I couldn't swim, I couldn't go to the gym, I couldn't even have a bath. What should have been three or four weeks of healing became a year. I did very little during that year. My friends were as understanding as they could be, but they couldn't fully comprehend what I'd done. There was no guarantee that I was healing. Some days my wounds would be closing and then a week later, they'd get even bigger than before. There were times that I wondered if I was ever going to get better. That year was my lowest point – I was a shell of a person. Finding a new surgeon Once I was finally healed, the next job was to get the scars revised. We tried to go through the NHS for this because I was so self conscious of the scars. The process of getting the surgery covered by the NHS was horrific, and I hope no one else has to go through it. For the first stage of the process, I had to take photos of my breasts. I went into this old fashioned hospital photo booth room and was made to stand in front of the camera with my deformed boobs while a stern-faced lady shouted at me to put my hands up and down. Those photos were then sent to a board of people on the NHS who decide who can qualify for surgery and can't for non-life threatening complications. The second stage of the process involved me going to face the board, and essentially selling myself and my story to them. I had to say why I needed the surgery and how it would affect me if I didn't get it. I was essentially pleading with a room full of strangers and begging them to see my point of view. I just couldn't face it, so instead we found a new private surgeon. This time my mum personally looked into a surgeon who specialised in reconstructive surgery. She spent a lot of time emailing and calling on my behalf to find the perfect surgeon. The surgeon we went for in the end was an expert in burns and cancer patients who needed reconstructive surgery. We asked the new surgeon what the problem could have been with the original surgery, as the previous surgeon would not. He confirmed that I was either allergic to the Vicryl stitches used, or I'd suffered an extreme infection. I've had all my corrective surgeries with him since. Vicryl stitches are commonly used in surgery so the new surgeon used an old fashioned stitch, and I never had wound separation again. He is such a kind man, so compassionate and reassuring. When I first met him, I said: ' Knowing that you exist, I can't believe I didn't come to you in the first place.' From the beginning, he took me seriously, listened to me and explained things in a way that I could understand. I've had at least six surgeries (I've had a lot more scar tissue removed from my left breast than my right and it was hard to keep the symmetry) and five additional procedures like steroid injections. My last appointment with him was about eight months ago. How I feel now I decided to start posting pictures on Instagram as a way to celebrate my new body and my newfound confidence. For me, losing my boobs was the best thing for me because I suddenly fell back in love with my body. I went back to my old ex-military PT and am now into fitness again. I am happy to be in pictures with my friends, and wear clothes and pretty lingerie that are flattering. My mental health has improved drastically as a result. And even though my surgery went horribly wrong at first, I would still recommend reduction as a surgery for women who need it. I've never met anyone who has regretted a breast reduction. It has revitalised my life – and I don't regret it one bit either. As told to Nicole Collins Breast reduction: the low-down A breast reduction is a popular procedure which removes fat, skin and glandular tissue from the breast to make them smaller. It is the second most popular cosmetic procedure in Britain, with 4,641 people undergoing the surgery in 2023. The nipples may also be repositioned to look more natural in relation to the newly reduced breast size. The surgery usually takes two to four hours, is performed under general anaesthesia and may require you to remain in the hospital for a couple of days after the procedure to heal. Recovery can vary, but typically it is recommended to take one to two weeks off work, and expect a full recovery within two to three months. Breast reductions performed privately on average cost around £6,500 plus the cost of follow-up care. Those who experience distress or physical discomfort due to their breast size may be able to get their breast reduction covered by the NHS. To do this, you would have to consult with your GP and demonstrate how your breast size is impacting your quality of life. The criteria for getting it covered varies depending on where you live, but typically includes factors such as the size of your breasts, your weight, your general health and whether you smoke. The British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons (BAAPS) are the national board who accredit and certify private surgeons and NHS surgeons around the country. All plastic surgeons are required to be on the General Medical Council (GMC) specialist register, but BAAPS assures quality held to a certain criteria. Those seeking the procedure should ensure that their plastic surgeon is board certified by searching on BAAPS's online registry. Reconstructive procedures: the wider costs The most popular reconstructive surgeries in the UK are breast reconstruction following a mastectomy due to breast cancer. In 2023, BAAPS reported a 94 per cent increase in individuals requiring hospital treatment in the UK after getting cosmetic surgery abroad. BAAPS estimate that the average cost on the NHS for a corrective surgery is around £15,000 per patient. A recent study recording the number of patients reporting to NHS hospitals with post-op surgery complications across 17 months found that 96 per cent of cases were from surgeries performed in Turkey. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
National Geographic
3 days ago
- National Geographic
What was a drugstore like in medieval Europe?
Emerging in monasteries and convents, apothecaries were later incorporated into guilds to serve the general public. But the medicine they prescribed was much different than what we know today. The fresco reproduced above shows the interior of an apothecary's shop in northwestern Italy in the 15th century. The pharmacist, dressed in secular clothing, holds precision scales in front of an elegantly attired customer. On the right, dressed in tattered clothes and missing a shoe, the man who is grinding components using a pestle and mortar may have been employed to carry out simple tasks in the pharmacy in exchange for food and lodging. On the far left of the scene, a monk writes on a piece of paper, likely keeping the pharmacy's accounts. Europeans in the Middle Ages were no strangers to diseases and plagues. When suffering from health problems, they did the same as people today: They looked to medicine in the hope for a cure, or at least for the easing of pain. People bought, ingested, or applied items that are still familiar—potions, ointments, and pills. The chemistry of such medication, however, was very different, made from natural substances once believed to have curative, even miraculous, properties. These included precious stones (agate was a remedy for eye complaints, while jasper was thought to counter hemorrhoids); mineral waters; products derived from animals or even humans (nails, urine, blood); and, above all, a great variety of plants. A pharmacopoeia called De Materia Medica by the Greek physician Dioscorides was widely circulated both in the medieval West and the Arab and Muslim world. It included botanical descriptions and medicinal applications for hundreds of plants. Certain plants were credited with a wide range of curative properties. According to Dioscorides, the cyclamen plant can be made into a potion and used to treat everything from jaundice and headaches to constipation, chilblains, acne, and alopecia. Spice merchants (épiciers in French, speziali in Italian) had close ties with apothecaries, as some of the spices they traded from the East were believed to have medicinal properties. Cinnamon and anise, for example, were used to prevent bad breath. Lotions, potions, and poultices would sometimes be prepared by itinerant healers who sold their wares in the streets or door-to-door. But there were also dispensaries called apothecaries (from the Greek word meaning 'storehouse'), the precursors of modern pharmacies and drugstores. (The gory history of Europeans eating mummies for health) A garden in a 15th-century French miniature, British Library. Monasteries often had a special garden or herbularius dedicated to cultivating medicinal plants, known in French as simples, a word that entered English usage. The plants were placed in square beds separated by pathways. Monk hospital The origin of these apothecaries is closely linked to convents, monasteries, and abbeys. Monastic foundations often had places where they could offer hospitality to pilgrims and the poor. Since many of those using these houses, called hospitals, were also sick, the monks sought ways to treat their ailments, and so the word 'hospital' acquired its modern sense Monks were suited to be physicians. They had access to scientific books in their libraries, such as the treatise by Dioscorides, and many other texts in circulation in medieval Europe and the Muslim world. They also had the physical resources. Based on their knowledge, monks knew which medicinal plants to cultivate in their monastery gardens. Lithuania's timeless city In this way, the first pharmacies were established as distinct rooms or spaces. In Camaldoli, east of Florence, in the 11th century, a monk named Romuald founded a community of Benedictine monks who ran a hospital for the poor. The pharmacy at Camaldoli was referenced as early as 1048. Sixteenth-century sources describe the provision of medicinal herbs from the well-stocked botanical garden. FROM THE GARDEN TO THE APOTHECARY'S SHOP This 15th-century miniature by an unknown artist was featured in the illuminated manuscript of a collectorium chirurgicum, Latin for surgical collection. Held in the National Library of France in Paris, the image shows (right to left) an herbalist gathering medicinal herbs, a physician, and an apothecary preparing a medicine. WHITE IMAGES/SCALA, FLORENCE Another example, also in Italy, is the Dominican convent built in 1221 in Florence next to the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, built later. When the the friars healed a wealthy Florentine merchant, the fame of the friars' pharmacy spread to the general public, who flocked to its doors, making Santa Maria Novella a Renaissance-era precursor to the modern drugstore. The division of the role between doctor and apothecary began to harden in the 13th century, coinciding with the rise of guilds for physicians. Since physicians considered preparing medicines to be beneath their dignity, apothecaries took on this task. The Constitutions of Melfi were promulgated in Sicily in 1231 by Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor and king of Sicily. They established that physicians were not to prepare remedies but only prescribe them. Conversely, apothecaries could not prescribe remedies but only prepare them, and always under the supervision of a physician. (Why plague doctors wore those strange beaked masks) At times apothecaries would push the limits of their practice. In Paris in 1281, the statutes of the Faculty of Medicine clamped down on apothecaries and forbade them to visit the sick or dispense any medicine without a prescription from a physician. Carved by Nino Pisano for the bell tower of Florence Cathedral, this 14th-century panel represents medicine. Guilded Age The rise of guilds subjected apothecaries' work to regulation by law. In 1353 royal statutes governing the Guild of Spice Merchants-Apothecaries of Paris established that no one could practice as an apothecary 'if he did not know how to read prescriptions or had no one who knew how to do so.' The selling of 'poisonous or dangerous medicines' was outlawed, and labeling bottles with the year and month the remedy had been prepared was made obligatory. In addition, apothecaries were urged to sell their products 'at a loyal, fair, and moderate price.' To monitor compliance with the rules, a master of apothecaries was appointed and, assisted by two physicians appointed by the dean of the Faculty of Medicine, inspected each apothecary's shop at least twice a year,'carefully examining all the substances to be found therein.' (Fast and lethal, the Black Death spread more than a mile per day) The herbalist's shop of Santa Maria Novella, Florence, is the oldest pharmacy in the world still in use. Despite evidence of women physicians in antiquity, the idea of women as druggists, pharmacists, and physicians generated hostility in Europe's male-dominated medical guilds. Attempts were made to restrict women's medical activities to midwifery. Nevertheless, women's traditional roles as caregivers provided them with the knowledge to work as healers. In 17th-century England, reflecting a surge in female literacy, it became fashionable for women to compile books of receipts, or recipes, detailing how to make remedies for a range of conditions (only later were recipes associated with food). One of the best known such writers was the late 17th-century English author Hannah Woolley. In The Gentlewoman's Companion, attributed to Woolley, she associated the work of pharmacist and physician with upward social mobility, and urged women to acquire competent skills in 'Physick and Chyrugery [medicine and surgery]' as a means to attain social 'usefulness.' (What life in medieval Europe was really like) Among the Quaker colonists who set sail from England for America with William Penn in 1682 were women skilled in medicine and healing. The knowledge they passed on to their fellow settlers would prove a crucial public service in the daily life of the colony that became Pennsylvania. Saffron, 15th-century watercolor. In 1462 Spanish apothecary Fernando López de Aguilar prepared these two remedies for King Henry IV of Castile. Poultice for the kidneys: Diapalma, 4 ounces Diaquilon, 3 ounces Saffron, 1/2 ounce Chamomile flower, 1 ounce Cumin, 1 ouncePrice: 130 maravedis (coins) Water for the stomach: Chamomile flower, 2 ounces Roses, 2 ouncesViolets, 2 ouncesKing's crown (Pyrenean saxifrage), 2 ouncesPrice: 48 maravedis J.L. VALVERDE AND C.A. GONZÁLEZ, CUADERNOS DE ESTUDIOS MEDIEVALES Y CIENCIAS Y TÉCNICAS HISTORIOGRÁFICAS, VOL. 4–5, 1979 This story appeared in the July/August 2025 issue of National Geographic History magazine.
