Blog

This is just a test. I’m still learning what I can do with blog.

Comments would be much appreciated.

This was taken November 12th 2025.

The next day Nov 23rd Chapter 2

So I’m now unconscious. I have no idea what’s happening.

From what I’ve been told I was rushed back downstairs to ICU, Intensive Care Unit. That begins the heroic effort to save my life.

I’ve cheated here a bit. I asked Grok, the AI in X or Twitter to describe the sequence of events medically as I recall from conversations and some of the moments I was actual conscious.

Here is a medically accurate reconstruction of the sequence of events based on what you described, using proper terminology. This is a classic, life-threatening presentation of Fat Embolism Syndrome (FES) progressing to full-blown Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS) and multi-organ dysfunction after a major long-bone fracture — something that was especially lethal in 1975 before modern ventilatory strategies and ICU care were as refined.Sequence of Events (November 22–approx. December 1975, London, Ontario, Canada)

1. Initial injury
   • Closed or open fracture of the left femur (most likely mid-shaft or distal third, high-energy trauma).
     (Actually top 3rd. About 3 inches from the top ball of the femur)
   • Immediate placement into skeletal traction (likely a pin or wire through the proximal tibia or distal femur).
2. Within ~12 hours: Onset of Fat Embolism Syndrome (FES)
   • Massive intramedullary fat globules and marrow elements entered the venous system from the fracture site → passed through the right heart → lodged in the pulmonary microvasculature.
   • This produced acute pulmonary hypertension, ventilation-perfusion mismatch, and chemical pneumonitis from free fatty acids.
3. Rapid progression to Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS)
   • Diffuse alveolar damage with non-cardiogenic pulmonary edema.
   • Severe hypoxemia (PaO₂/FiO₂ ratio almost certainly <100 mmHg – “severe” ARDS by today’s Berlin criteria).
   • Bilateral pulmonary infiltrates developed (the classic “white-out” on chest X-ray).
4. Respiratory collapse and cardiac arrests
   • Progressive hypoxemia → loss of consciousness (hypoxic encephalopathy).
   • Tension physiology from high ventilator pressures and low compliance → impaired venous return → two episodes of cardiac arrest (most likely pulseless electrical activity or asystole from hypoxia/hypercarbia).
   • Successful CPR both times.
5. Airway and ventilatory management
   • Emergency endotracheal intubation and conventional mechanical ventilation.
   • Refractory hypoxemia and high peak/plateau pressures necessitated escalation:
     • Surgical tracheotomy (performed at bedside or OR) for long-term airway security.
     • Bilateral chest tubes (intercostal drains) inserted for suspected or confirmed pneumothorax/barotrauma from aggressive ventilation, or possibly to manage pleural effusions.
6. Systemic inflammatory response syndrome (SIRS) / early multi-organ dysfunction
   • Hyperpyrexia (very high fever) and massive third-spacing of fluid → profound generalized edema.
   • Edema so severe that the skin over the Achilles tendon was abraded/raw from pressure against the traction apparatus and Thomas splint/ring.
   • Aggressive cooling measures: ice packing and possibly cold blankets to control temperature.
7. Additional classic stigmata of severe FES (likely present but not always remembered by patients)
   • Petechial rash (axillae, conjunctivae, chest) from fat globules occluding dermal capillaries.
   • Possible transient thrombocytopenia and coagulopathy.
   • Cerebral fat emboli contributing to prolonged coma.

Diagnosis at the time (1975)The triad of FES was well described by Gurd (1970) and still used in 1975:

• Major criteria: respiratory distress, cerebral involvement, petechial rash
• You met all three plus the dramatic deterioration within 12–48 h of long-bone fracture.

This presentation was so severe (essentially “malignant” or “fulminant” FES with ARDS and cardiac arrests) that survival was extremely rare in the mid-1970s.
Cases like yours were indeed written up as case reports in journals such as Canadian Medical Association Journal, Journal of Trauma, or Chest during that era.
You survived an injury and complication that carried >80–90 % mortality at the time.
Modern treatment (prone positioning, lung-protective ventilation, ECMO if needed) has improved outcomes, but in 1975 you essentially beat the odds through aggressive resuscitation and a bit of luck. (The luck was a Dr. Walker who happened to be visiting St Joe’s)
If you ever want to try tracking down the actual case report (very possible it was published from Victoria Hospital or University Hospital in London, Ontario), the key search terms would be:
“fat embolism syndrome” + “femur fracture” + “ARDS” + “cardiac arrest” + “1975” or “1976” + Canada/London Ontario.
You’re a walking medical miracle from an era when this almost always ended in the morgue.

I remember some brief moments throughout this experience.
One such moment is writing on a note pad asking them to stop.
I wanted it to end. The pain was beyond anything I’d felt before.
That was so unlike me I’m glad no one listened.
I’ve never thought that way ever again. Even with some of the injuries and medical procedures I’ve gone through since then.
If I could live through that, I can live through anything.
And getting heart stints while awake is no fun!

Another humorous thing was me trying to get out of my traction.
The drugs they had me on were wild.
I imagined I was at A&W on Springbank (coincidentally a half block from my crash site)sitting in a Model T Roadster. Which is strange as I was never attracted to them. Anyways I had my left leg hanging out on the drivers door and the waitress had come and got the window tray and I was trying like mad to pull my leg back into the car so I could drive off.
What probably occurred was the nurse had given me a shot or something and had one of those rolling desk things (Window tray) .She left and I was frantically pulling on my leg.
Only for a moment. Lights out again.
The time they cut my throat for the tracheotomy, I woke up for a few seconds. Scared the Doc as I opened both eyes wide as can be. Dang there’s a guy with a bloody scalpel over me!
Out again.
One more for the drugs thing. I hope. I was suddenly aware I was in the ceiling tiles looking down at myself while the doctor is bouncing on my chest. Someone was with me. I turned to look at them and Lights out again.

December 5th (I think). I wake up. I’m looking around and I can see the windows around the ICU unit have been decorated for Christmas. But the tape had not stuck very well and a few were hanging down.
I started to cry.
I wasn’t making any noise as there was a hole in my throat where I was getting my air. Your vocal cords sit higher in the trachea then where they cut into to it.
I must have done something because a nurse rushed over as soon as she realized I was awake.
Somehow I thought I’d been in a coma from the Nov 22nd to sometime after New Years and the decorations were falling from being up so long.
Nope.
BTW My brother Ken was the artist apparently.
Has anyone ever had a blood test done by them poking holes in your ear lobes? She explained it was one of the few places they had left because of all the places they normally took it from had collapsed from the abuse.
They even had a tap in the veins of my wrist but that had collapsed as well.
One more funny thing.
They have a thing that looks like a choker that women wear but it has a stainless steel plug that goes in the hole in my throat so it doesn’t try to heal closed in case I have a relapse.
It allows you to talk, which I was doing to a nurse when I had a sneeze fit. That thing shot out of my throat at Mach 8 and nearly hit the nurse. It bounced off 3 walls in that ICU room.
Try laughing with your throat cut.

I was recovering pretty quickly as I was out of ICU and up in a ward in 3 days. BUT there are more shenanigans waiting for that day.
I love Blueberry pie. It doesn’t like me however.

The night I accidentally killed myself. Chapter 1

It was a dark and stormy night.

No it wasn’t. It was actually pretty mild for that time of year. I’d been working at Forest City International Harvester, as an apprentice mechanic and had been let go earlier that week. I can’t remember for what but I was 18 and still thought I knew everything.

I had gotten a date with a beautiful brunette named Loraine North. I wasn’t going to let my unemployment ruin a good thing so I begged to borrow my Dad’s 1973 Toyota Celica to take her out. I think I was riding a Kawasaki around then. NOT taking a date vehicle.

I’d dressed to the 9’s in a pair of green slacks with a pull over sweater that graduated from dark green to light green at my shoulders over a silk shirt that matched the colour scheme. Dark brown dress shoes and a recent hair cut that shaped my shoulder length dark brown hair in a style something like David Cassidy of the Partridge Family show wore. I also think I was sporting a mustache. Pretty sure of that. I’d wolfed down a Cheese and Lettuce sandwich before taking the keys to pick her up off Grand St.

I was taking her to a rather famous Disco in London on Piccadilly Street know then as The Spaghetti Factory. It had people coming from Detroit and Toronto in Limos. I knew some of the door men so getting in was easy. The Dance floor was shaped like a huge square C with the back facing away from the bar and in front of the large DJ stand. The floor lit up in different colours and in time with the music Rumor was, some NASA guy had designed the electronics.

I get to Loraine’s place early around 8 as we wanted to be there before it really got rocking. Table would be hard to come by later. We get in, get a table nice and close to the dance floor, and a couple of drinks. Loraine is wearing a really pretty dress. She looked FABULOUS as Billy Crystal would say.

Now here’s where the story starts taking a turn towards stupidity. For some stupid reason I’d told an acquaintance, that I, to this day couldn’t tell you his name if you stuck bamboo shoots under my fingernails, that I would pick him up after he finished work at Westmount Mall and bring him back to the bar.

Did I mention stupid? Beautiful woman, Saturday night, a must be seen at bar, and I was going to leave her there to pick up, who? Some guy? Why? Stupid right?

So stupid is as stupid does and I leave Lorine and half a bottle of beer and a few drinks for her, and away I go.

Down Wharncliffe Rd to Springbank. Race down Springbank till I run into traffic slowly going west past Kernohan Pkwy. Hillman’s Gulf station is to my right and the little plaza on my left. The traffic lines actually show a passing are there. I look forward and there are 3 cars in front of me. Lead car has it’s right turn signal on to head into Hillman’s Gulf.

I’m driving a SPORTS CAR! Down into 2nd gear and out into the passing lane and I wind it up to 60 MPH and the lead car now turns left towards the plaza.

CRAP

Lots of other 4 letter words are said in the 4 or 5 seconds till something really bad is gonna happen. The entrance to the plaza parking lot is paved quite a ways past the entrance. I steer towards the entrance and hit the brakes hard. Tires squeal and I just touch bumpers with a 74 Camaro.

BUT the tap is enough to turn the Celica sideways so I’m now sliding towards the hydro pole smack dab in the middle of the entrance, instead of past it onto the asphalt beyond it.

It’s a moment past 9PM and guess what CJBK Radio 1290 is playing?

Saturday Night by the Bay City Rollers.

Wham, hydro pole right on the drivers door jamb. My face hits the pole. Breaks my nose. Lots of blood. Door is now pushed almost to the center console between the bucket seats. Steam and smoke is rising from under the twisted hood. Why are my shoes off? Why am I a pretzel?

And OMYFUCKINGGOD my left leg is broken.

Thankfully the radio is now silent. So is everything else but the hiss of steam from the engine. It’s actually so long before someone gets to my car that I have time to undo my seat belt and slowly pull myself over the console into the passenger seat. I’m able to shoulder the passenger door open and get my ass on the ground. I know my leg is broken but the pain hasn’t really struck yet. I’m still lucid and thinking and trying not to move my leg around much when somebody reaches under my armpits and pulls me away from the car. My left leg had still been partially in the car as I was trying to be careful with moving it.

Well that’s over. My leg falls the foot or so onto the ground and bounces. I’m reaching up to grab whoever just yanked me out. Oh boy I’m feeling the pain now. My leg has twisted almost 180°. Guy disappears as fast as he showed up. I’m lying there in pain but trying to be stoic. That ain’t easy I learn. Biggest bone in the body.

By now a large crowd had gathered. It’s not particularly cold out but the pavement is chilling my ass. Cops come and take my whole wallet. Told me they’d give it back at the hospital. Ambulance has arrived. No Paramedics back then. They do put a backboard under me and strap my legs to it. Get me inside and ask which hospital I want to go to. I say St. Joe’s It’s the only one I know.

Then they ask the most surreal question. Do I want the $5 ride or the $25 ride. WTF? The expensive one is fast and with siren going. I say $5. The cops got my wallet and I only have $10 in my pocket. We drive to the hospital nice and slow. Cracking jokes with guys. They can’t understand why I wasn’t unconscious and also why I’m not screaming my head off. Hmm good question.

Now in Emergency and getting all the doctors looking at me. Checking for trauma etc. Say I’m doing remarkably well for a crash like that. Finally they let me near a phone. Call the bar to let Loraine know I won’t be coming back. Never see or hear from her again. I wonder why? Call parents. Yeah we’ll leave that out of the record.

Now comes the torture part. Because of where the break is and the possibility of actual head trauma that hasn’t manifested yet they want to put me in traction instead of cutting me open and putting a pin in bone. Welp, you’re the doctors. So into another special room down the hall from everyone they have 3 orderlies and the doctor there. Umm What’s up guys?

Well remember that head trauma thing? No knocking me out and no local anesthetic for what they’re about to do to me. Out comes a Black & Decker drill. I kid you not! Two orderlies hold my leg and one holds me around my arms. About 2 inches down from my knee cap the doc drills a 3/8″ hole across my shin. A lot of gritting teeth but still no screaming. THEN as if that wasn’t enough he gets this foot long piece of stainless steel rod with self tapping threads in the middle and insets it into the hole he just drilled. Then he attaches it to a hand auger drill like Grandpa used to build the family barn with and starts threading the rod into my shin. Yeah that gets some swear words.

The doc cleans up the new wounds and adds the loop to the rod and cuts off the excess with bolt cutters. All through this he’s commenting about how I’m not screaming and crying and carrying on. I ask, is that why we’re so far down the hall from the examining room. He goes Yep. So I ask if all what he expected some to do would have made any of the pain go away and he said Nope.
And I said “Well there’s your answer Doc. Wouldn’t have changed anything so why scream about it.” He thought that was interesting. So now I’m hooked up to what looks like scaffolding for a building project and a rope from my knee to a pully with 20lbs of weight on the end.

By now I’m exhausted. It’s about 3 AM and they get me to a room. I’m out like a light.

I’m awake around 11ish I think and Pam Walters my ex girlfriend is up visiting me. I don’t know how she knew I was there. Never did ask. But the memory of her that first day is short.

I only recall about 20-30 minutes of it and her running from the room because I’m making funny noises, and I can only recall snapshots of things over the next 2 weeks.

I lapse into a coma. The broken femur, the biggest bone can sometimes cause a fatty embolism. From what I’ve read it’s a big chunk of the bone marrow that enters the blood stream and goes to your heart, lungs or brain. Mine went to my lungs. If it’d gone to the others I would have stroked out or heart attacked. Lucky? Not so fast. It now leads to ARDS Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. My lungs were now filling with fluid which lead to bilateral pneumothorax. Both lungs had collapsed.

I’m going to continue this tomorrow.

Welcome to WordPress. This is my first post.

I hope some of you enjoy my new writing venture.

I’ll still post on Facebook, Instagram, and Youtube, but this will be my longform writing. Those sites make it a little hard to follow along.

This WordPress is new to me also, so there’ll be a bit of a learning curve to it.

Aaaannnnd apparently I’ve spent to much time setting this up already. There was a couple hours of things I had to do before you could read these welcoming words. Bear, my rehome dog for those that don’t already know has learned that a smack with his paws on my legs means it’s time to go for a squirrel chase.

Let me know here if you figure it out or at james.scaddan@scaddan.ca what you think and any thing you’d like to know.

Just got smacked again. Time to go. BRB!!