Josh Marant

Professor Fielding

WRTC103_0045_FA17

September 18, 2017

The Time My Chest Collapsed

Pectus excavatum: the slow and painful killer. Scientists first discovered and named

pectus excavatum in the 1820s, however a proper resolution wasnt found until the 1930s. They

couldnt identify why the chest wall was caving in, why it only happened among a certain age

group; they couldnt answer questions such as Why does it target teenagers? or Why does the

pace at which it occurs vary over time?. That is, not until the 1960s. After over a century of

unanswered questions, as research went on and new technology was invented, the questions were

finally answered.

So what actually is pectus excavatum? Well, now we know that it is a congenital

deformity of the anterior wall of the chest, in which several ribs and the sternum grow

abnormally (UMPC). It occurs in males and females in between the teenage years, while they

are still growing. People are most susceptible to get pectus if they rapidly grow taller throughout

these years. If left untreated, pectus can potentially be life threatening. Luckily, since the first

recorded discovery of pectus, symptoms have been found and recorded, making the identification

of pectus much easier. They include the inability to take deep breathes, shortness of breath,

lack of stamina, anterior chest pain, and a variety of respiratory complications (UMPC).

My name is Josh Marant, and I survived the fight against this killer. Throughout my

childhood, I was always one of the tallest, skinniest people in my classes, so it should have been

no surprise that I was a prime candidate for pectus. Even so, I never felt the symptoms; I never
knew what was coming. Ive had asthma all my life, and figured that my lack of breathe, that my

inability to exercise normally was just a side effect of the asthma; Ive never been more wrong.

By the time I had learned the extent of my condition, by the time I had surgery to correct

it, pectus could have very well killed me; as I said before, I was a prime candidate: I was skinny,

tall, and still growing rapidly. Instead, I think it actually healed me; it gave me a new take on

life, one of which I had never thought of before. Pectus taught me how to survive, how to thrive;

pectus taught me to never give up and lose hope. Through all my hardships and struggles, pectus

taught me how to become the person I am today and to enjoy life while it is still in my grasp.

Another Day at the Doctors Office

It was sometime in the middle of June 2014. I dont recall the exact date, but I am able to

remember all of the details. Everything was normal about the appointment: I opened the door to

the doctors office, signed my name on the patient check-in paper, and sat down in one of the ten

waiting chairs. My mother and I waited the standard fifteen minutes before being called back

into the u-shaped hallway full of at least twenty different doors, all leading to the same cold

patients table. I sat here and waited with my mother, who was allowed the luxury couch in the

corner, until the physicians assistant finally came to check on us. Then the usual routine for six

month checkups happened once more: I would follow the assistant to a weighing station that

would take my weight in kilograms (I never could estimate my weight in pounds before the

assistant told it to me, but it was a fun little game to play); next up, my height would be

measured. Boring details really, everyone goes through this. If I remember correctly, I weighed

somewhere around one hundred and forty pounds, and was about five feet and eleven inches that

day. Everything about the appointment was normal, everything was going well. That all soon

changed when the doctor finally walked in and started the exam.
 My World Is Flipped Inside Out

As slow as the day already was, the exam felt even slower. They never did appeal to me;

Ive always been quite an introvert, so having someone literally leaving nothing more to the

imagination of my body has always been disturbing and unwelcome. Either way, the

examination went on, and I continued wishing I was somewhere else.

The stethoscope was ice cold to the touch, rubbing all over my body in search of a

heartbeat and healthy lungs. First the front, then the back; everything sounded great! The

checkup was finally complete! Or so I thought.

While reaching to put my shirt back on, my doctor noticed something rather strange,

something that only a true professional would notice. She asked me to keep my shirt off so she

could do one last examination, and thats when she found it.

Asking me to keep my shirt off was bad enough; when she started feeling around my

chest and saying Turn this way. and Do this. Do that., I knew something was up, but

couldnt tell what. Even my doctor was confused by what she was seeing. No solid details were

given to us about what the problem might be, just a cautious why dont you go here to check it

out?.

A couple months later, and my family and I were heading up to Norfolk, Virginia, to the

Childrens Hospital of the Kings Daughters. CHKD was highly praised for diagnosing and

fixing whatever it was my doctor thought I had, so we decided to give it a try.

It was about a two and a half hour drive from Midlothian (where I lived) to Norfolk, full

of beautiful highway after highway. Sure there could have been amazing scenery on the way

to Norfolk, but I was more focussed on getting some sleep before all our money was wasted on a

useless appointment.
 The hospital was six stories tall and probably about as wide as Chesapeake and Potomac

Halls combined. My family and I walked into the hospital after finally finding a parking space,

only to be greeted by confusion. It felt as if we were in a giant maze. After several missed turns

and wrong corridors, we finally found the elevator that would take us to our destination: the fifth

floor. Once again, we didnt have a clue where to go; luckily a passing employee pointed us in

the right direction. Another twenty minutes of waiting, and we finally were escorted back to a

room to wait, again, for the doctor. After all this preparation and confusion, I still thought that

this luxury trip would be all for nothing, and that my doctor back home was just being extra

cautious. I was so wrong!

Doctor Obermeyer finally arrived. He didnt even have to put one of those freezing

stethoscopes on my chest in order to identify what was wrong. Within two minutes of the

examination, he knew exactly what was wrong, and it shocked all of us. Here we were thinking

that it was a simple mistake by Doctor Grosberg (my doctor back home), but this simple

mistake turned into something life threatening: pectus excavatum.

The doctor told us the news, and gave us a quick rundown of what it meant. In his words,

pectus excavatum is a condition in which, as one grows, the rib cage has a potential of not being

able to keep up with the growth. The chest wall will start to cave in on itself and form a sort of

bowl or cup shape in your chest cavity as the condition worsens.

To make matters worse, he explained the statistics for those who are susceptible to the

condition. According to research, teenagers undergoing a growth spurt are the most susceptible,

as their body is still growing and their bones need to keep up with it. If someone were to grow

rapidly for an extended amount of time, their chance of pectus would increase, as their bones

might not be able to keep up (CHKD). One of the less prevalent, but still important, causes of
pectus is body type. If someone is both thin and rapidly growing, the condition can get way out

of hand. As was my case: five foot eleven and still growing, and twenty pounds underweight. I

was the perfect candidate. In fact, I was so perfect that I got an extra reward: an extremely

severe case that needed to be treated within the next year in order for me to live! What I thought

was going to be an easy in-and-out appointment did not go as planned.

Doctor Obermeyer spent the rest of the time discussing possible surgeries to undergo and

their risks and rewards, the first of which is called the vacuum bell. This method entails placing

a suction cup on the depressed area of the chest for one hour, twice a day, with a specific time

interval in between each placement (CHKD Vacuum Bell). Unfortunately, this method has

never proven to be too useful, as many people have reported pectus returning in the long-

run. My school schedule would have never allowed me to have two free hours in one day with

any time interval over one hour in between, therefore that idea was scratched the moment it came

about. All that was left was the Nuss procedure.

The Nuss procedure was created in 1987 by a name of the same name, Doctor Donald

Nuss. Its a minimally invasive procedure where one or two (depending on how bad the

condition is) metal bars are inserted into ones chest and placed in between their chest wall and

rib cage (CHKD Nuss Procedure). This stops the chest wall from being able to cave in any

further, and therefore stops the symptoms of pectus. While there still is a small margin of cases

returning after the removal of the bars once the growth spurt has passed, it is less than five

percent.

In the end, my family and I decided to go with the Nuss procedure for several

reasons. Just to name a few, the margin for pectus to return was significantly lower than with the

vacuum, and the man who created the procedure worked and trained doctors at CHKD. The man
who invented the procedure originated from that hospital! Unfortunately, he was retired by the

time my condition was identified; however, his top student, Doctor Obermeyer, my surgeon,

took his place. Not only was my surgeon trained by the man who invented the procedure, my

surgeon invented the tool to take the bars out! Despite the risks of infection and discomfort that

came with this procedure, we figured that there couldnt have been better hands to place my life

in.

Now that we had finally decided which procedure for me to undergo, it was time to

schedule a surgery date, and it had to be within the next year. This really complicated things, as

the timeframe they wanted me to have surgery in was directly in the middle of the school

year. There was no way I could have gone through with the procedure, as the recovery time was

way too long. Expected recovery time for people who undergo the Nuss procedure is about six

months, two of those being home bound. There was no way I was going to miss two whole

months of school. With a stroke of luck however, we found out that December would work

perfectly! In high school, December is the month where all your midterms take place, so the

plan was to take my midterms in early December so that I could have surgery as soon as

possible. After about a month of debating with the school and scheduling around important

events, I was finally able to get the school to agree to let me take exams a week and a half early

and get out of school directly after. The surgery date had been set for December 15th, 2014, and

now all that was left to do was wait.

The Hardest Five Days of My Life

December finally came around, and my nerves were not letting up. Two nights before

my surgery, my mother, father, and I travelled to my uncles house in Norfolk, which was only

about a fifteen minute drive from CHKD. While there, I tried my best to calm my nerves by
walking around town with my uncle and playing games such as billiards with my father, but

nothing worked. I was shaking all throughout both days. The only thing that could calm me

enough to allow me to sleep was a Melatonin pill (a sleeping pill). Unfortunately I wasnt

allowed to take it the night before surgery, so I was stuck shivering in my bed all night. When I

finally did fall asleep, I was forced to wake up just a few hours later. Morning surgeries are the

worst.

Back at the hospital for the second time, we now had to report directly to the third floor,

where I would be prepared for surgery. Ive broken bones before, Ive been to plenty of

hospitals before, however I never had to put on a hospital gown. God, I hated that thing! It was

a plain blue hospital gown with a matching pair of blue socks, and that very disturbing hole

where the butt shows. I was still so shaken up that my surgery was about to happen, that it

actually took me more than five minutes to put the gown on, when it should have taken one or

under.

While putting the gown on, the nurse and my parents had to wait outside. After I was

finished, they all came back in and we said our goodbyes. I was placed on a hospital gurney and

pushed by several nurses to where I would meet my surgeon and his team. I couldnt tell where I

was going, I was that nervous. All I knew was that we went through and elevator and several

different long hallways, until we finally rolled into the preparation room.

There were young and old people alike, all preparing me for surgery, all part of Doctor

Obermeyers team. The first thing I remember was getting a face mask full of gas to numb me

and put me to sleep. I remember looking up at them helplessly, not able to move a muscle, while

they stuck all sorts of tubes in my hands and body. Despite my body already numbing up, I
could still feel slight pricks in every spot where a tube was inserted. It was not a comfortable

feeling to have while trusting these people with your life.

Five hours later, around three oclock, I woke up. Everything hurt. I couldnt move my

head side to side, and could barely even keep my eyes open for ten seconds straight. I knew that

I was being rolled somewhere, I assumed to my recovery room, but couldnt ask as there was a

tube in my throat. Finally, when the nurses saw that I had woken up, they took the tube out, and

told me to press the pain button. There was a button attached to my hand that, whenever I felt

uncomfortable, I could press and receive doses of pain medicine. I slammed my finger on that

button maybe fifty times in around fifteen seconds, I hurt that badly. Unfortunately that was all

for nothing, as the machine had a set amount of medicine it could give me every so often, so I

was stuck feeling pain everywhere throughout my body. Luckily though, I was on such heavy

drugs that I passed out shortly after waking up.

The next time I woke up, I was in my recovery room in the Nuss center. There was a

whole hallway/cul de sac dedicated to us pectus patients. When I woke up, I saw my parents

standing over me talking with the nurse in the room. It had been a whole hour since the first

time I woke up, and I wasnt feeling any better. Once again, I was pressing that button like

crazy. My parents tried to have a conversation with me, but all I could manage were blinks and

grunts before passing out once more. That was basically the itinerary throughout the day: wake

up, attack the pain button, attempt to look at/converse with my parents, pass out. All the while

my body felt like absolute hell.

Unfortunately, the second day wasnt much different. For the first while of the day, I was

passing in and out of consciousness; it wasnt until around twelve in the afternoon that I finally

could maintain consciousness for more than five minutes. During those five minutes, the nurses
lifted my bed up and made me drink some liquids. Even drinking hurt. I could barely even do

one sip at a time, but I had to keep drinking if I wanted to stay well. Shortly after, I passed out

again, only to be purposefully woken up by a nurse. She wanted me to be able to sit up by the

end of the day so she, with the help of my parents, began to help me up. My mother stood by my

legs while the nurse stood at my chest (the task at hand was to get my feet off the bed and my

body straight up in the air); she helped me push my legs off the bed, as even that couldnt be

done by myself. Next was my body; in order to lift my body up, the nurse and my father had to

lift my back while I had to focus on my breathing just to maintain consciousness. After pushing

me up, the nurse held my body where it was, and my mother held my feet so I wouldnt fall

forward. I was so hyped up on drugs that day that I couldnt stay put by myself. Nevertheless, it

was a success and I was sitting up. We did this two more times on day two, as well as drinking

water and attempting to eat sherbert. At the start of the day, I felt like crap, there wasnt a single

thing I could do; by the end of the night however, I had sat up with the help of my parents and a

nurse three times and was able to drink plenty of water. I was still hurting throughout the day,

still crushing that pain button, but not nearly as much as the first day; I was slowly getting better.

On the third day, I was pushed even farther. Day two made me sit up; day three made me

stand up and walk a few steps to a chair where I had to sit down for about thirty minutes at a time

(This was so I could gain better posture. Before the surgery, I slouched quite a bit; with the bars

in, I wasnt allowed to slouch otherwise my bars could have shifted). The nurse woke me up

around seven in the morning and got my day started. First we practiced sitting up again, which I

was getting much better at. Then, she helped me eat breakfast while sitting up (Sherbet, yogurt,

and water makes for an excellent breakfast when you hurt all over). Surprisingly, I was pressing

the pain button less and less by the end of breakfast (maybe only five times every thirty
minutes). I went through the same routine from morning until lunch. After lunch, only the nurse

helped me sit up, as I was finally able to do the leg part myself. She had told me that we were

going to walk to the chair, which was only five steps away, but it felt like an eternity. I felt like a

ninety year old with arthritis. It took me maybe around two minutes just to walk five steps, and I

was out of breathe by then so sitting down was almost a blessing. By dinner time, I had done

this another three times, and it had gotten easier each time. Unfortunately, since walking had

gotten easier and I was able to walk by myself, they also decided that I could now go to the

bathroom by myself. I dont even want to describe my experience with the catheter; just know it

wasnt a fun one. Now I was tasked with going to the bathroom; for the first few hours, I was

unable, but when I finally went, it felt so good. That was day three; I walked a few feet by

myself, I went to the bathroom by myself, and I started to gain a better appetite for food. Things

were really looking up for me now.

The fourth day was upon me, and now my task was to walk around the Nuss

center. They also wanted me to start eating solid foods, so I was given cereal for breakfast along

with my sherbet and yogurt. After breakfast, I did the chair routine a couple more times and

started the path down the Nuss center. I was only able to walk around one hallway before I had

to turn around from exhaustion, but while walking I made friends with another pectus

patient. We decided to walk together the rest of the day, as we were both on our fourth days out

of surgery. Back in my room, my mother, father, and I played some cards until lunchtime, where

I was served more solids as well as my sherbet (sherbet was my favorite meal while in the

hospital). Then my new friend and I walked together and pushed each other to walk further than

we had in the morning. Having a friend go through the same thing at the same time as me was

really motivating. We were able to push each other and, by the end of the night, we were able to
walk for much longer than we had earlier that morning (it was only one loop around the Nuss

center, yet it was extremely reassuring). Despite this step up, there was one thing missing from

that day: I was supposed to go number two. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldnt

go. Apparently that was a sign that I might have had to stay in the hospital an extra day ( just

because my bowls werent working properly yet).

On the start of the fifth day, I was doing all the exercises I had before: sitting up with

only one nurses help, walking to the chair and sitting in it for half an hour, and walking one lap

around the Nuss center with my new friend. I was eating more and more solid food, but I still

couldnt do the two. My parents didnt want me to stay another night, so they gave me some

prunes. Less than ten minutes later, I was in the bathroom, finally releasing what I had held up

for the past few days. I was allowed to leave!

We were prepared to leave by three that afternoon. I wasnt going to be able to walk all

the way to the elevator and then all the way to my parents car however, so I was put in a

wheelchair and rolled all the way there by one of my nurses. I was able to lift myself out of the

wheelchair when we got to the car, but I was having trouble lifting into my mothers car and

needed the nurses help to get into it. Once I was finally in though, we were on our way to my

grandparents house thirty minutes away, where I would spend the next day.

Home At Last

My grandparents house consisted of laying in bed, sitting in a chair eating food, and

chest exercise after chest exercise (oh and ice cream, lots and lots of ice cream). At this point

after my surgery, my exercises consisted of raising and lowering my arms. I wasnt allowed to

move them straight out though, as that had a chance of opening the scars. There were about ten

reps of this exercise, a short break, and another ten reps. The exercise had to be repeated once
every hour, each day (CHKD Pectus Exercises). Not even a day passed before I became

extremely homesick, so my parents agreed to take me home the next day.

The ride home wasnt a pleasant one, but it was so worth it. I had missed my dog so

much, and now I was finally with him again. He was able to tell that something was wrong with

me, and snuggled with me to the point where he knew he wasnt hurting me. I loved snuggling

with him. No wonder I was so homesick, I wanted to be back with him and the rest of my

family, especially since Christmas was right around the corner.

Luckily, we had gotten home before Christmas, and my relatives (aunts, uncles, cousins,

and grandparents) had all agreed to have our family Christmas at our house that year. Before

coming home, I had only seen so many faces; now that I was home, I was greeted by so many

more. Friends came over to check on me, schoolmates sent Get Well Soon cards, even my

church prayed for me to get better and sent gifts. For the past six days, I had been confined to

two different jail cells that I wasnt allowed to leave; I couldnt see or visit anything outside of

my confines. Now that I was home though, I craved to get out, I wanted to be able to go back to

my normal life. Unfortunately that wasnt allowed just yet. Before I could start travelling to

places again, before I could start being around other people again, I had to wait for my scars to

heal enough to the point where I could go out and not risk tearing them. This meant that I would

be stuck, homebound, for as long as it took until the scars healed and the tape surrounding the

scars fell off.

Rush to Beat the Clock

It took about two weeks for the tape to finally fall, and once they finally did, I was free of

my chains. The first trip I took out of my house was to a church Confirmation retreat, I wont go

into detail about this though, as I dont want to upset anyone who is not Catholic; however, I will
say that, at the retreat, I finally saw faces that I havent been able to see in what felt like an

eternity. The amount of love and support I felt while there was mind boggling. I never knew so

many people could care about me the way they did. I gave them a little update about how

recovery was going, and broke into tears just because I was finally able to be with people other

than my family once more.

A few days after the church retreat, I was finally allowed to start homebound instruction

for my school work. I had a math and science teacher bring me daily assignments and notes

from my high school and discuss lessons and homework with me every day, Monday through

Friday, from four to five in the evening. My math teacher was a teacher from our local

community college, John Tyler, and my science teacher was from Monacan, my high

school. Originally, homebound was supposed to last a whole month; I was so desperate to get

back into the real world however, that my parents and I tried our hardest to convince my surgeon

to let me go back. When we finally got to him, he agreed to let me go back as long as I was

confident I could make it through the long six to seven hour days, and as long as I would keep up

with my homebound work. I told my homebound teachers about this, and they agreed to do

whatever they could to help me go back early. At the time of this surgery, I was only in tenth

grade, and had a lot of easy classes. The classes I was assigned homebound instructors for were

Honors Chemistry and Honors Algebra Two, as those were the only classes where we had daily

assignments; all other class work was brought by a third homebound instructor, however this

work didnt require a teachers help as it was all material that had already been covered in class

before I left. My math teacher from Monacan assigned a decent amount of work, however it

consisted of problems from the textbook or a worksheet; therefore my math instructor only came

twice a week to check up on me. It wasnt so easy for science however; as soon as everyone got
back in school in January, our chemistry teacher was teaching new material. I had a ton to catch

up on. Luckily though, my chemistry homebound instructor was actually the AP Chemistry

teacher at Monacan. The work that was sent home was unnecessary to memorize; however,

being as she was an AP Chemistry teacher and her class had to memorize the same material, she

made me memorize it anyway, and I am so thankful that she did. She helped me get ahead of my

Honors Chemistry class, as she was teaching me new lessons that they hadnt even learned yet. I

loved it! Finally, after two weeks of homebound instruction passed, I was approved to go back

to school, but recommended to only do half days for the first week.

I was so desperate to go back to school that I was actually saddened by that news, but

obeyed it nonetheless. The first day I came back, no one was expecting me; I didnt inform the

principal, my teachers, or even the clinic; I wanted it to be a total surprise, and what a surprise it

was. A little background information: high school has four classes a day. Instead of spending

my half day during the first two classes of the day, I decided to go to the last two. Therefore, my

first class that day was Honors Algebra Two. I made sure to come in about twenty minutes after

class started so that the hallways would be completely empty and no one would see me

coming. When I finally got to my math class, I opened the door to all my classmates

amazement. The teacher was in the middle of teaching, and even the principle was in the room,

but everything just stopped. For those brief moments, everyone just stared before shouts of

welcome came my way. Before my surgery I could have sworn that I wasnt even noticed in that

class, and now everyone was clapping and welcoming me back. That moment was surreal to me,

it was something I will always remember and smile at. Thus started my day.

As a rule for coming back to school early, I wasnt allowed to carry a backpack, I had to

roll one instead, and I had to leave classes five minutes early so I wouldnt be caught in the
stampede of students heading to their next class. My last class of the day was Perspectives,

which is a class focussed on the study of art and art history. Most people in this class were from

my math class, so not many people were surprised to see me, but those who were just made my

day even more surreal. I felt loved that day, so much so that I was still full of energy by the end

of school. I no longer wanted to do a week of half days, I wanted to do full days as soon as

possible, and so I did.

My second day going to school was a full day, and I didnt tire out until the end of the

day, which meant that I was allowed to keep doing full days. Just think about that for a

moment. At first, I wasnt supposed to return home for a whole week after surgery but ended up

doing so and I was fine; then, I wasnt supposed to be in public for about three weeks, and I

ended up being in public a week early; after that, I was supposed to have homebound instruction

for a month, but only had it for two weeks; and to top off the cake, I was supposed to only do

half days for my first week of school, yet I ended up doing my first full day the second day back;

I was in so much pain after my surgery, yet I was able to get off my pain medication two weeks

early without any complications. Thats how devoted I was to get back to my normal life. Sure

there were pains and uncomfortable feelings along the way, but I was able to push through

everything and it only made me more devoted to get my old life back.

Skip ahead a few months, and it was the start of spring sports. During my freshman year

of high school, I played on our tennis team, and was devoted to doing so again after

surgery. The only issue: I wasnt allowed to run for the first two months after surgery, I wasnt

allowed to play non-contact sports for the first six months after surgery, and I definitely wasnt

allowed to swing something at the pace you would a tennis racquet. Once again though, I would

not give up that easily. I called my surgeon and gave him an update on how I was feeling and
told him that I wanted to be able to play tennis again. He caved and sent a note for the tennis

coach to allow me to play, as long as I stayed within my clear physical limits. For the first two

weeks, I was only allowed to be a ball boy/coachs assistant so my endurance could be tested,

but I kept pushing to be allowed to swing a racquet once more. Eventually I was allowed, and

even though I was slow at first, I started to pick up the pace and get my groove back. By the end

of the season, I had played in four different matches against other schools, and won the majority

of them. I still occasionally had sudden strange strains in my chest, but I found out that was just

due to the bars rubbing up against each other.

That summer, I went on vacation with my family to the mountains and hiked about five

miles without difficulty and started practicing for the next years marching band show. All this

was to the amazement of the doctors, who said that I wouldnt be able to do most of the things I

was doing until double the time it took me to do them. I felt great; I had accomplished getting

my life back, and had done so in less than half the time it was predicted for me to do so.

The Final Stretch

It has now been two and a half years since my surgery. Since then, I have been living a

normal life again. Once summer of my junior year came around, I was completely back to

normal; I could run, hike, march and play my trumpet, play tennis and other sports (I finally

could play soccer and football with my friends again), and travel anywhere I wanted. The next

two years felt amazing, just being back into the groove of things like old times.

Just recently, on July 28th, 2017, I went back to CHKD one final time to get my bars

removed. My growth spurt had finished and I had finally filled out to the weight weight

requirement for my age; I weighed one hundred and sixty pounds and was six feet, one and a

quarter inch tall (Im proud of that quarter inch; I finally am taller than my older
brother). Getting the bars out was much easier than putting them in thanks to my surgeons tool

that he invented and his amazing team. All they had to do this time around was cut through the

scars that Ive had since the last surgery, insert Doctor Obermeyers tool, chip off calcium that

formed around the bars, and remove them using the twisting method of the tool (CHKD Bar

Removal). It was an outpatient surgery, meaning that I could have surgery and leave on the

same day. The procedure to take my bars out lasted three hours and then I had to stay an extra

four hours to be observed before I was allowed to leave. When the nurses realized there werent

any complications, they ended up letting me go an hour earlier. We ended up going straight

home after the surgery and within two days of the outpatient surgery, I was back to doing

everything I was able to do before the surgery once more.

Final Thoughts

Ive broken my right and left arms, Ive broken seven of my fingers, Ive split my

eyebrow open, Ive split my gums open, but nothing has ever compared to pectus

excavatum. That was the toughest challenge I had ever faced in my life. If I had waited any

longer to get surgery, my chest would have continuously caved in on itself until it would have

crushed my heart. Pectus caused so many unnoticable problems that, as soon I was diagnosed,

became more prevalent and dangerous. If it wasnt for Doctor Grosberg discovering my pectus

and Doctor Obermeyer fixing it, I wouldnt be writing this paper today; instead, I could be lying

in a grave, lifeless.

Its because of the pain I went through and the people I met that Im still here. I havent

written about this before, but before pectus I had attempted suicide multiple times; I suffered

from really bad depression after years of getting bullied and singled out. The surgery changed

my life forever. It gave me the motivation to keep pushing through no matter how hard the task;
it gave me motivation to stay alive. After all the pain and suffering I went through for the first

two weeks after my initial surgery, I finally discovered that nothing in life could have been, nor

should have, been nearly as life threatening as what I had just been through. I discovered that,

after surviving my bout with pectus, I could easily survive those dicks (excuse my language)

back home who mocked me without knowing what Ive been through in life, what Ive

survived. Before surgery, I didnt smile much, I never was talkative, and I kept to myself. After

surgery, I was the happiest person on the plant; I smiled every day just because I was alive, I

talked to as many people as I could so that they wouldnt have to feel what I felt on a day to day

basis, and most importantly, I learned to display my emotions in public as much as I wanted to.

Finally, I said to heck with anyone who thought I was too weird or too out there; I

finally learned that true friends were the ones who would stick by you when you needed them,

that they were the people who would listen to you and support you and laugh with you when

needed, that they were the people I cared about. I finally stopped caring about peoples opinions

who would constantly degrade me, and instead started to focus my attention to those who gave

me their attention back.

Out of all things in the world that could change my life, it turned out to be the very thing

threatening my life. Not only did my attitude change, I was inspired. Doctor Obermeyers team

and all of CHKD inspired me. Before the surgery, I had no clue what I wanted to do when I

grew up, what I wanted to study while in college. Then they all inspired me to want to help

people the way they helped me; I wanted to be able to turn someones life around the way they

turned mine around. I knew I always wanted to help people, but it wasnt until then that I finally

knew I wanted to help people while working in the scientific field. Ive always been a fan of TV

shows such as NCIS, as Ive always been interested in the crime solving portion of the show; and
finally, when I put some thought and research into how to connect the two, I discovered the field

of forensics. Sure I wouldnt be helping people recover from a surgery, but I would be helping

to provide closure/comfort to any victims, and I would do it all while solving crimes.

Despite pectus being the hardest, deadliest challenge Ive ever faced, I am beyond

thankful for having the condition. As I am writing this autoethnography and looking back on my

time with pectus, I cant stop thinking of everything its done for me. I went from being the kid

who didnt want to exist in this world anymore, to the kid who loved science for what it did for

him and who wanted to return the favor to the world by helping others the way he was

helped. All I have left to say is thank you; thank you pectus excavatum for giving me my life

back, for allowing me to see the light again. I will forever cherish my former condition for the

wonders in life that I have been able to experience ever since my life changing surgery.

Works Cited

Pectus Excavatum Exercise Program. Pectus Excavatum Exercise Program | Way to

Grow | CHKD, CHKD, 2014, www.chkd.org/Patients-and-Families/Health-Library/Way-to-

Grow/Pectus-Excavatum-Exercise-Program/
 Pectus Excavatum. What Is Pectus Excavatum?, UPMC,

www.upmc.com/locations/hospitals/magee/services/thoracic-surgery/conditions/pages/pectus-

excavatum.aspx.

History of Pectus Excavatum Treatment. History of Pectus Excavatum | Nuss

Procedure | CHKD, CHKD, 2014, www.chkd.org/Our-Services/Nuss-Procedure/History-of-

Pectus-Excavatum-Treatment/.

Pectus Excavatum. Pectus Excavatum, An Explanation | Nuss Center | CHKD, CHKD,

2014, www.chkd.org/Our-Services/Nuss-Procedure/Pectus-Excavatum/.

The Vacuum Bell. Vacuum Bell | Pectus Excavatum Treatment | CHKD, CHKD, 2014,

www.chkd.org/Our-Services/Nuss-Procedure/Vacuum-Bell/.

Nuss Procedure Surgery. Nuss Procedure Surgery | CHKD, CHKD, 2014,

www.chkd.org/Our-Services/Nuss-Procedure/Nuss-Procedure-Surgery/.

Pectus Excavatum Bar Removal & Discharge Instructions. Pectus Excavatum Bar

Removal and Discharge Instructions | CHKD, CHKD, 2014, www.chkd.org/Patients-and-

Families/Health-Library/Way-to-Grow/Pectus-Excavatum-Bar-Removal---Discharge-

Instructions/.