Rowan's gangrene was a consequence of diabetes, from which he has suffered for more than a decade, and peripheral vascular disease—impaired circulation in the extremities—which often develops from it. More than 50,000 diabetics require leg amputations each year in the U.S. "You can't play with diabetes," says Dr. Phillip Omohundro, who performed Rowan's surgery. "A lot of amputations probably could be avoided with a little more dogged care."
To colleagues in the capital, where Rowan enjoys a reputation, he laughingly says, as "a tough son of a bitch," his rapid return to business as usual—including writing his thrice-weekly column syndicated in 75 newspapers—seems hardly surprising. Rowan overcame a dirt-poor childhood in racially segregated McMinnville, Tenn., to rise to deputy assistant secretary of State in the Kennedy Administration. Since his surgery, Rowan has struggled mightily to regain his self-sufficiency. "He just never seemed to break down," says Vivien, his wife of 47years. "I thought he was very brave. "Recently, at his Northwest Washington home, Rowan spoke about his ordeal with correspondent Jennifer Mendelsohn.
WHILE I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL in March 1997, after surgery to replace my arthritic left knee, my wife asked me, "What's that?" There was a little spot, less than the size of a dime, on my right big toe. I told my surgeon, who looked at it, and when my family doctor came in, I mentioned it to him. Later, when it didn't seem to be getting any better, my doctor sent me to a podiatrist, who cut a little skin off and gave me salve to put on it. It was clear to me later that there should have been an aggressive assault on that ailment to try to prevent gangrene and amputation.
In July I became concerned that I could not walk the hill beside my house as easily as before. I made a serious mistake in not calling my doctor and telling him. Then, on July 29, I got out of the shower and suddenly began shaking like a leaf, with an acute shortness of breath. They rushed me to Washington Hospital Center. That little sore on my foot had become gangrenous; the infection was running rampant within me. Not only was there great worry about the infection spreading to my heart, but when my kidneys stopped functioning in the hospital, there was concern that the fluid building up in my lungs and chest would cause congestive heart failure.
The doctors were concerned that the poor circulation in my foot was preventing antibiotics from reaching the source of the infection. Without antibiotics, the infection threatened to poison my blood. The doctors did tests to see if they could solve the problem with a bypass of the clogged arteries in my foot, but they decided they would have to take my leg off. And then I said, "What you've got to do, you've got to do." It was apparently a case of amputation or losing my life.
When I went into surgery, I asked for only an epidural, a local anesthetic. I guess I had some fear of total anesthesia. I joked with my surgeon and his assistants as I lay there, a little groggy but very aware of what was going on. After a while, when I heard that saw going, I just decided to be quiet.
I woke up in the recovery room in terrible pain. Not from the amputation itself but from the injection in my spine that was wearing off. I think one of the great shocks was to wake up right after the amputation and have this great curiosity about reaching down and feeling where my leg was—to see what it felt like to reach for your leg and it's not there.
They wanted me to start getting out of bed as soon as possible. But after the surgery I was still extremely ill. I was like a rag doll with the nurses slinging me around. I had absolutely no appetite. I stayed in the hospital two weeks after the operation. Then, back at home, I just kind of languished for a couple more weeks. I could not get off the bed by myself, I was so weak.
The physical therapist came three times a week. You start out in therapy with what they call transfers: learning how to move safely from one place to another. At first, just to go from the wheelchair to another chair is quite a feat. It takes a little while for you to lose your fear and be confident that you can do it without breaking your neck. My therapist Bruce Banks worked to build my upper body strength as well as both legs. He put weights on my ankle and made me lift it in every direction you could imagine—to keep my left leg strong—and I also worked to strengthen the stump for when I would get a prosthesis.
There were humiliating moments. On nice days, I liked to be wheeled out on the patio by the pool, and I'd sit out there and try to write a column. One day I had to go to the bathroom. So Viv brought out this bathroom chair with an attached commode. I sat on it and then discovered I couldn't get up and she couldn't help me get up. I called my friend who lives down the street and he sent his yard man up to lift me off. I thought, "Oh, boy. I never thought it would come to this."
A couple of weeks after surgery I went back to work. I'm sure it helped me get well. When you face a deadline, you don't have a lot of time to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Once I got my prosthesis, in mid-December, I started going to the National Rehabilitation Hospital twice a week. I'm supposed to wear this temporary prosthesis for three months. Then, when the stump has shrunk to a stable size, they make another one.
I wouldn't say life is the same as it always was, because there are things that remind you. There are times I've felt my right foot was so cramped it was going to lose feeling—except there's no foot there. If I'm sitting with no prosthesis on and somebody rings the doorbell, I say, "Oh, my God, I've got to put this leg on to go answer the door." This experience has taught me that health is so important. I didn't understand that my mild case of diabetes was very insidious. I used to scoff at people who'd say, "Don't eat those desserts"—I wish I had known how to have my diabetes under perfect control eight or nine years ago.
But I've never been depressed. I've always been a can-do sort of guy. I still want to walk a lot better, even without a cane. I think in a few weeks I will have mastered that. I will absolutely guarantee you that by the Gridiron Dinner in March [when the capital's top journalists lampoon its movers and shakers], I'll be dancing again.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
