WHAT THE HECK IS A SPLEEN?
Six years ago, on February 27th, I lost my father. Six! It is an inexplicable feeling to not have a parent. To date, my father’s death has been the single most devastating yet, defining thing to happen to me in this life. It is a loss I am still coming to terms with even after all these years.
The list of things my dad never gets to do for or with my siblings and I are endless. I mean, he never gets to marry off any of his children; he did not witness my graduation.
A fond memory I have of him is how he would jokingly tell us the only reason he took us to school was so we could be indebted to him for life and return the favour by caring for him in his old age. He had a wicked sense of humour but I guess so did the universe right? I mean we’re free of that debt now. Honestly, I would love to be indebted to him once again.
I was 17 just about to write the final set of examinations in Secondary School when he died so suddenly. Well, later on, I found out it wasn’t as sudden as I had initially thought. It just so happened that typical with many Nigerian homes, where parents usually play a game I like to call the mum-game, my parents did not inform us about my father’s health problems; he had an enlarged spleen.
See, the funny thing is, I never knew what a spleen was until my father died from post-surgery complications after what was an otherwise “successful” splenectomy removal.
I remember when I was first told my dad had an enlarged spleen, my first thought was “what the heck is a spleen”? How had I lived my life up to that point without knowing about the existence of this organ in the human anatomy? I mean, blame my ignorance on the formal education system for failing me.
Anyways, later on, when I was going through the anger stage of grief, I remember thinking my dad couldn’t die of cancer or some sort of virus I was familiar with? A little crash course for dummies like my former ignorant self, a spleen as Allan Wolf so poignantly points out in a children’s rhyme book, is found;
To the left of your stomach, a deep violet-red, a filter at work filling blood cells with dread: The red blood cell graveyard! It’s not Halloween. I’m talking about that blood basher, the spleen.
On a more serious note though, according to a simple internet search precisely WebMD, the spleen is a fist-sized organ located beneath your left rib cage.
Just like any other organ in the human anatomy, a spleen may develop several problems; blood disorders, an enlarged spleen otherwise known as splenomegaly, hypersplenism (an overactive spleen), blunt force trauma sustained through maybe accidents, or sports.
My dad developed splenomegaly (I don’t know if I used the term correctly in this sentence) and had to get a splenectomy (total removal of the spleen through surgery). One of the symptoms of having an enlarged spleen is eating less and as my mother would later attest, my father wasn’t eating much in the months leading up to his death.
Do you know how many articles I have read about the spleen and splenectomy in the last six years? I mean, hand me a scalpel right now, a willing cadaver, and you will have a spleen in your hands within ten minutes. My coping mechanism since the departure of my father has been dark humour with a pinch of cynicism. Honestly, it works, it’s just that sometimes I find myself bursting into uncontrollable tears in the middle of a bellyaching laugh.
I once came across an article some time ago that noted the occurrence of splenectomy was at 6.4–7.1 per 100,000 people per annum. I am yet to get a definite estimate on the success rate for this surgery. However, just as with any surgery, sometimes intraoperative complications may lead to death and sometimes, the fatality occurrence is at post-operative care.
Honestly, the mum game my father played with his illness is irrelevant. Me not knowing what a spleen was at the time is clearly inconsequential. The true foe in this story is the degenerative health system or “death system” if you must, in this country. The lack of accountability and sheer carelessness is what I’m mad about.
After a splenectomy during post-op, it has been noted by many physicians that intensive care and monitoring is imperative else, patients may develop post-splenectomy sepsis (full-blown flu that leads to deterioration of other organs), splenectomy thrombocytosis (simpler definition) right from the hospital. According to BJA education formerly published by Oxford University Press, “overwhelming post-splenectomy sepsis is an often fast and catastrophic complication of splenectomy with mortality rates of 40 — 70%”.
It is worth knowing that less than 24hours after my father was wheeled out of surgery, he was taken to a ward to recuperate. What happened to the intensive care unit? After having a major surgery that literally took an out organ that would leave him immunocompromised, he was taken to a ward. A ward! A place that germs party all day long
So get this, my father was operated on Thursday evening and by Friday morning he was transferred into a ward? By Friday afternoon, he was allowed to use the bathroom unaccompanied. As he was making his way back to his bed, he just slumped and that was it. My father was gone! Now his medical report only documents medications given and the dreaded time and cause of death; cardiac arrest. What are his post-op vitals? Blank page. Granted, either post-splenectomy sepsis or the splenectomy thrombocytosis would’ve led to a cardiac arrest but my thing is where is the record showing any of these?
Sometimes I do wonder if my father had survived the surgery, how would he have managed his health. He’d be immunocompromised for life and with this health care system? Something else would’ve finished him off in the end because the post-operative care after splenectomy has been said to be a long road to recovery.
In the end though, no matter the circumstances surrounding my father’s demise, my faith won me over. His death wasn’t untimely, it was fated. My father was meant to die nearly alone and away from family in Kano, on the 27th of February 2015. His fate was sealed even before he came into this world, as all our fates are. His end was destined and sealed. Now it’s what I do with my experience and the information I’ve gathered that counts!
Rest In Peace .
