Approaching 100, the doctor's still in

March 8, 2008, 11:09PM

Approaching 100, the doctor's still in
DeBakey keeps busy with work and working out

By TODD ACKERMAN
Copyright 2008 Houston Chronicle

He is widely considered the 20th century's greatest surgeon, one of medicine's towering intellects, but Dr. Michael DeBakey's little-known passion these days is his health club.

Five days a week, DeBakey lifts free weights, pits his muscles against resistance machines and climbs onto the treadmill and stationary bike to build his strength and stamina.

The regimen is his effort to fully regain his health, two years after he nearly died of a heart condition for which he had devised the treatment.

Six months before his 100th birthday, DeBakey says he's three-quarters of the way back and pledges to make it all the way, soon.

"I've made tremendous progress since I was so weak I couldn't get out of bed," he says. "I know I'm not going to be normal at 99, but I'd like to get back to a reasonably normal life. There are things I'd still like to do."

Already, DeBakey is a presence again in the Texas Medical Center. The pace isn't as punishing as in his heyday, but he goes to his office at The Methodist Hospital to write academic papers and to consult with patients. Dr. Peter Traber, president of Baylor College of Medicine, says DeBakey is a vital part of campus life again.

It's a remarkable recovery, even for a man whom friends recall as seeming superhuman in their earliest memories. He is the oldest person not only to survive surgery to repair a tear to the heart's primary artery, the aorta, but also to even undergo such an operation.

In the aftermath, DeBakey says, "I was like tissue."

Back in business
It threatened to be a sad end for the man who pioneered so many heart and blood vessel operations; the chosen physician of kings and presidents; a medical ambassador and educator; and the visionary behind the Texas Medical Center, Army MASH units and the Veterans Affairs system.

But he slowly recovered and friends say he now is the same Michael DeBakey — with the same impatience, sense of humor, detailed memory and insistence on precision.

It's not a judgment DeBakey disputes.

He choked up when Baylor colleagues last fall presented him with a framed copy of legislation awarding him the Congressional Gold Medal, but he says he's no more sentimental. He reconciled with rival heart surgeon Dr. Denton Cooley last year after nearly half a century of feuding, but he says he hasn't mellowed. He frequently cites Providence in lectures and conversation, but he says his thoughts haven't particularly turned to God or an afterlife.

"I'm very objective about things," he says. "I always have been."

DeBakey also retains his confidence. He says he doesn't miss surgery, which he last performed nearly a decade ago, but adds that he's sure he'd have no problem pulling it off.

"My hands are still supple. I still have complete control," he says.

DeBakey gets around with the aid of a motorized scooter that friends say he drives like a sports car. He says it has its advantages but plans to be free of it in six weeks.

For now, he can walk about 100 yards before running out of steam, the result of muscle lost during the months in bed after his surgery. He tips the scale at 145 pounds but aims to get closer to the 160 he weighed before the surgery.

Delayed surgery
DeBakey remembers nothing of the operation and little of the months afterward. But it was he who diagnosed the problem on Dec. 31, 2005, after a sharp pain shot through his upper chest and neck while he was in his home library.

To DeBakey, then 97, the symptoms suggested a dissecting aortic aneurysm — a ballooning, then tear, in the wall of the body's largest artery, and a subject about which he had considerable expertise. Decades before, he had pioneered surgery to treat the condition, which until then had usually been fatal. In all, he had written more than 100 papers on it.

He downplays the irony of having developed the condition.

"You have to take what's handed out to you," he says. "Providence has been good to me in many ways. So, I can't complain. I got through it."

He almost didn't. He put off the surgery until, when it could be delayed no longer, he was unconscious and unable to give consent.

Family members and Dr. George Noon, DeBakey's physician and longtime partner, pressed to go ahead, arguing that DeBakey wanted the surgery. But Methodist's anesthesiology department refused to participate because he had signed a form instructing doctors not to resuscitate him if his heart stopped — not uncommon in such operations.

An anesthesiologist friend from the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center was enlisted, but there were questions about whether she had privileges at Methodist.

Methodist's ethics committee also convened. It finally gave permission, says Noon, after DeBakey's wife "came bursting into the room and said, 'While you're meeting here, my husband is dying.' "

Methodist officials would not comment about the matter.

It was all a misunderstanding, DeBakey says. He says he wanted the surgery but knew the best time to have it was when the tearing of the aorta was complete, not still occurring.

Gradual improvement
His recovery was long and dicey, with many in the Medical Center fearing he wouldn't make it. A ventilator helped him breathe, and he went on dialysis because of kidney failure.

But slowly, DeBakey improved. Eight months after the February surgery, he made his first public appearance at a Baylor fundraising event celebrating the start of construction on his library and museum. He told the audience he'd been through the "stables of hell."

"I always had confidence he'd make it," says Noon, acknowledging that there was pessimism in some quarters. "Before the aneurysm, his functions were all good. He was healthy. And I think he's so well recovered now that he could live a significant period of time — as long as he would have, had he not suffered the aneurysm."

DeBakey says he remains curious about what the future holds. He's looking forward to receiving the Congressional Gold Medal in Washington, D.C. He hopes to go to Europe in the fall and he wants to drive again.

He says he has no plans to write his memoirs or autobiography, but he has written some sketches about his life. He also says a Dallas doctor is working on a documentary about him.

He downplays any special secrets to his longevity, crediting heredity, conservative habits and a healthy diet.

DeBakey says he never expected to live to 100, but "suddenly it's upon me." With characteristic drollness, he allows that he previously wouldn't have thought it practical to live so long, but he has a new attitude now that he's closing in on the milestone.

"I'm just grateful to be here," he says. "I feel like I'm born again. I want to enjoy life the best I can."

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/chronicle/5604562.html