7/6/2012- After Dr. Seamon and I met and he regretfully told me of Scott’s situation and my possible future, I felt like he looked right through me. I was hysterical and yet felt compelled to look at him and see what he was going to say next. Like maybe he had been in my situation before, like he understood me. He was straight up with me, no sugar coating and no pampering. I remember him saying, while I was screaming with my face in my hands, “Mrs. Fisher, Mrs. Fisher, I promise you that your husband has had the best surgeons in the area working on him, me included.” He said it with so much conviction. He believed in himself and I believed in him too. I could feel his sincerity and I could feel his confidence in himself. He told me of what he did for Scott and the procedures that he and the other surgeons performed. He was so serious, so confident that that had done their best. He was so honest. I appreciated that, I respected his professionalism then and still do to this day.

Some people may prefer to have bad news let on them easy, make them feel like it’s not as bad as what it is. I, on the other hand, prefer to be told the truth. I can handle the truth if given to me straight up. I feel that you cannot trust people who don’t tell you the entire truth. No matter how bad it is, just tell me the truth. No frills. I felt as if Dr. Seamon was being completely honest with me. Maybe he had given the same speech to other families. I really cannot pinpoint the connection that I felt with him that day. Although he was telling me the news I thought I would never hear, I felt like he looked very familiar to me, although we had never met. I felt comfortable with him, almost like he was my big brother.  I trusted him entirely. I felt a sense of calm with him. I immediately felt like he was my friend, and he truly cared about me, my family and our outcome. The more I think back on it the creepier it makes me feel. Every time, and I mean every time, I saw him anywhere in the hospital, he made a point to talk to me. Whether it was in line for coffee or waiting for the elevator. He remembered my face, remembered me and always took the time to speak with me. Always asked if I was okay, always asked about my kids and if they were okay and always wanted to know how Scott was progressing.

The visiting hours at Cooper University Hospital, especially in the trauma units are extremely strict. After spending 41 days there, I completely understand why.  I asked Dr. Seamon if I could see Scott and be with him. He informed me that I could only go for a moment because him allowing me in the TICU at that time of the night not was not allowed. Dr. Seamon and I, I think made an instant connection. I was not like most of the “clientele” that he was used to dealing with. I felt like he knew I would abide by the rules and I was not your typical Camden local.

Dr. Seamon opened the double doors into the Trauma Intensive Care Unit for me and I really didn’t know what to expect. What would Scott look like? Was he in pain? Would he recognize me? Would he remember what had happened? Would he be awake? Would he be crying? Would he want his parents? Would he want to go home? Would he have the will to live? Would I be enough inspiration for him to want to live? Would his kids be enough inspiration for him to want to live? And that was just the tip of the iceburg for the kazillion questions that ran through my mind in the thirty seconds it took to get to his room.

I met most of his surgeons on my way to his room.  They had all just left his bedside after their team meeting. The vascular surgeon (and his name escapes me) nearly knocked me over in the hallway to tell me what he had done. He almost was apologetic to me. Like he did everything he could but I could tell that he was disappointed in himself for not doing a better job. He couldn’t save Scott’s leg and I think he hated himself for that. You could tell that he was young, intelligent and going to save the world with his knowledge. He couldn’t save Scott’s leg and I think to him, that made him feel like a failure. He couldn’t give me any guarantee on his work. He was still soaked with sweat and I think seeing me unexpectedly made feel even more unsure of his abilities as a surgeon. I reassured him that it was okay, that I truly appreciated his efforts. I could see the look on his face, his disappointment in himself. I didn’t want him to feel like a failure. I knew he did what he could.

And after all, he had aided in saving my husband’s life and that is all that mattered to me.