I WAS NEARLY GONE.
THEN I WAS SAVED PART II
THE REVERSAL & RECOVERY
In the April issue of this magazine, in some very specific detail, I outlined how my life had essentially ended and then was saved by Dr. Nipa Gandhi at Mount Sinai West on January 16, 2025. Extreme sepsis and a perforated intestine had spelled certain doom for me. Thankfully, my stubborn constitution combined with an incredible surgeon, saved my hide, so to speak. Here’s how it all ended.
(NOTE: This is a continuation of a story that was published in April.)
SUMMARY OF THE START
As soon as surgery began, Dr. Gandhi quickly discovered that my entire body cavity had filled with pus and bacteria because of a perforated intestine and extreme sepsis. I was far closer to crossing the River Styx than even she had surmised as they had to remove each organ from my body, cleaning it, inspecting it for viability and then scrubbing my body cavity to remove the bacteria, then reinserting each organ. The surgeon and her team worked feverishly for six hours. The results of their lifesaving work included the removal of my appendix, part of my small bowel and two segments of my intestines. But, as we all know from the Yin and Yang, every positive outcome is balanced by the negative, and vice-versa.
Dr. Gandhi had to perform an ileostomy to save my life. This is a procedure wherein the ileum, or small intestine, is separated from the colon, brought out through a small hole in the gut to form a stoma, which you connect to an apparatus with a waste collection bag. This allows the body to bypass the waste extraction process internally, giving your intestines, colon and other internal organs time to heal. The larger, more commonly known, procedure is called a colostomy. As a result of the severity of sepsis that nearly killed me, and the ileostomy, I spent almost three more weeks at Mount Sinai West. Having an ileostomy bag connected to my stomach made me feel less than a man. And for a guy who was used to getting on stage before thousands, or on TV in front of millions, that was a life-ending scenario. The self-loathing was real. But I knew I needed to fight. I knew my time on this Earth was not over.
Thanks to my wife, Kylie, when I got home to finish my recovery, I stayed on track. To heal properly, I needed to stay on a low-fiber diet, and take endless amounts of medications.
So, it was Ensure Milk Chocolate Max Protein shakes thrice daily (which were actually tasty), chicken, turkey, and the like that got me through the hunger. I walked 100-yards a day, at most, because of the weakness in my body due to the 40-pound loss of muscle mass and weight. Sadly, I needed the assistance of a walker as I just didn’t have the strength to make it even a quarter of a block at one time. Yet each time, I pushed to go a little bit further. Of course, Kylie kept me grounded, well, as much as she could anyway.
THE GHOSTS OF YESTERDAY
LEND A HAND On March 7th, I remember approaching the radiology department at Mount Sinai’s main campus on the Upper East Side, stunned as I didn’t realize what building it was in; the lower level of the Klingenstein Pavilion, which used to house pediatrics. That is where I received the best care in the world until I was 18 as my pediatrician, Dr. Donald Gribetz, had his practice there. Today, that building houses Mount Sinai’s Women’s Center and the Dubin Breast Center. So, walking up those steps felt like I was coming home. As if Dr. Gribetz was still there watching over me – still taking care of me.
When my CT scan finished, the radiologist could not believe what he was seeing on the screen. He had never seen a digestive system fully healed in less than two months post-ostomy surgery. Standing there with a look of utter shock on his face, he stated, “No leaks. No tears. You’re cleared for reversal.”
With tears of release, of joy, running down my face, Kylie and I walked out of the Klingenstein Pavilion. I remember muttering “thank you Dr. Gribetz” under my breath as the warmth of a burst of sunshine saturated the block after a rain-soaked day prior. Just as I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street, I had a flashback to when I had just been anesthetized on January 16th, seeing my Nana and Grandpa Jay telling me, “Fight. Fight like you’ve never fought before. You will live.” I guess that was my mind’s way of reminding me that passionate perseverance does pay off. Or it was their way of telling me they were right.
Prior to January 16th, I would have lit up a Marlboro cigarette while walking out of the hospital. If it hadn’t been for Mentos and my Grammie’s favorite Lifesaver Pep-o-Mints to keep me off the smokes, I likely wouldn’t still be a former smoker. And every time I would pop that delicious mint in my mouth, I would be reminded of how strong my Grammie was and that both she and my Dad had always encouraged my intellectual prowess – a constant source of strength for me.
Using my walker to physically support me, I insisted on walking a couple of blocks more than what I was allowed at the time to celebrate. This clearance meant that the last six weeks of my life would be erased. My time to rise had come.
THE RETURN
The reversal surgery was scheduled for April 21st, almost a full six weeks post-approval. As crazy as that sounds, that’s hospital scheduling for you in New York 2025. In total, from the date of surgery to scheduled reversal, it was three months. As a practicing Catholic who has a twisted sense of humor, and knowing this will eventually send me to hell, I even joked to Kylie, “Hey, Jesus rose on Easter Sunday (April 20), and I rise on Easter Monday.
It all works out!” No, of course I wasn’t serious. But it made me feel better knowing that I was still alive to make such a ridiculous joke and faux pas. Especially during Lent.
Throughout those six weeks, I worked more than 18 hours a day, writing and closing issue after issue of this magazine and our sister publication, Pet Lifestyles Magazine to keep my mind agile. To keep restoring my strength, I remained resolute in my walking routines and tested tons of recipes in the kitchen to avoid bad foods.
On April 21st, Easter Monday, the fear returned. I arrived back at the very facility I once thought I would have only left from in a body bag in January. Please don’t get me wrong as Mount Sinai West and Dr. Gandhi saved my life. But given the extremity of what happened, it still left some emotional scars. In surgery prep, Dr. Gandhi walked us through the reversal procedure. She even joked that while most people take about four or five days to recover, I would likely be out in two. That calmed my concerns. Of course I needed to be the Sean-Patrick I have always been. So, I insisted, just like on January 16th, that I walk into the OR on my own two feet. Once in the hands of the anesthesiologist, the last thing I remember was seeing my Nana and Grandpa Jay again, this time looking jovial. I knew I was in the right place. I knew I would be okay.
After a very short and successful surgery, I was taken to recovery and then my hospital room on the very ward where I had resided in January. Except now, the apparatus and ileostomy bag were gone, replaced by a bandage. I was free from the chains of fear and self-loathing. I felt as though I had been reborn. I felt stronger. I felt alive again.
Dr. Gandhi’s words of encouragement and support were correct in that this would be a far simpler recovery. I spent the next couple of days walking around the ward, four times daily, as if nothing had happened.
Yes, I had an IV stick connected to me for the first post-op day, but unlike in January, I felt stronger. I didn’t feel like I needed to have a Roman Catholic priest on-call to come to my bedside. I could walk with only limited restraint. As it turned out, thankfully, Dr. Gandhi’s joke was spot on. Two days after my surgery, I was discharged. I went home as if I was only away for a weekend at some weird retreat. And this time I left without the assistance of an ambulance and two EMTs to just get me into my own bed at home. As Kylie and I were in the taxi pulling away from Mount Sinai West, I felt normal for the first time in 2025.
The minute we walked in the door to our apartment, our dog, Brioreo, tried to jump on me. Unlike in January, this time I could bend down and hug her. Then Kylie joined us. The tears returned, except they were not tears of sorrow or fear. I felt a humungous weight lifted from my shoulders as if I was Atlas himself dropping the world. I was free.