Sunday, September 14, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

GRANDFATHER'S GIFT: Beating the Odds

Man's early contributions to neuroradiology help grandson stricken with brain tumor

After having a brain tumor removed in 2001, Brett Dyke required only two weeks to recover before returning to work as a waiter at Le Cirque in Bellagio. Here, he serves wine to a couple at the restaurant. Photo by Christine H. Wetzel. Other than the 6-inch scar on the back of his head, Brett Dyke shows no effects from the 2001 surgery to remove a brain tumor. Photo by Christine H. Wetzel. After recovering from surgery to remove a brain tumor in 2001, Brett Dyke enrolled in dental school at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. He says he chose dentistry because he wants to help people. Here, he works on a mouth model at the school. Photo by Christine H. Wetzel.

It was an early Sunday morning, normal by all accounts, except for the blinding pain in Brett Dyke's head.

Not prone to them, Dyke had the kind of sickening headache that makes a grown man take to his bed, so that's exactly what the 30-year-old did.

He thought he'd sleep the pain off before getting up to go to his job waiting tables at Le Cirque in Bellagio.

"Little did I know I wouldn't wake up," Dyke says, recounting that day over a glass of tea at a Strip casino coffee shop.

It was March 18, 2001, but Dyke, now 32, doesn't remember much about the day, as his morning nap turned into a 48-hour coma. He knows only what his roommate -- who found him after a co-worker called because he was uncharacteristically late -- told him.

His eyes had rolled up into the back of his head when his roommate tried to shake him awake. Worried, he phoned Dyke's parents, who told him to call an ambulance. Dyke was rushed to St. Rose Dominican Hospital in Henderson, where they discovered that his sodium levels had dropped dangerously low.

After receiving intravenous fluids, he awoke from the coma. By then, doctors had checked his blood, performed CT scans, X-rays and a battery of tests to find the cause: a brain tumor.

A hemangioblastoma to be exact, resting right on Dyke's brain stem, that vital area responsible for a person's breathing, heartbeat and other life-sustaining functions. It was benign, but the fact that it was a brain tumor made it life-threatening; its placement made it more so. The surgery needed to remove it would be just as dangerous, but at least it would give Dyke a chance.

"You're living in the best time, in the best place with the best technology for the problem you have," Dyke's neurosurgeon, Dr. Randal Peoples, told him at the time.

Dyke knew that, he says, but what he didn't realize was the role his own grandfather played in his care, not to mention the treatment of others with neurological disorders.

Those contributions became crystalline to Dyke throughout his treatment and recovery.

Cornelius G. Dyke was a pioneer in neuroradiology, and is considered the first person to devote his professional efforts to the field, says Michael Huckman, professor of radiology at Rush-Presbyterian-St. Luke's Medical Center in Chicago.

Neuroradiology is the science of diagnostic radiology of the brain and spinal cord. Now, that involves mostly magnetic resonance imaging and computerized tomography scans. In the early days, when Cornelius Dyke and a few others were shaping the profession, radiologists had to develop the best ways to identify abnormalities in the central nervous system.

Cornelius Dyke's contributions were so significant, that the American Society of Neuroradiology named an annual award after him, honoring groundbreaking research in the field, adds Huckman, himself a former recipient.

"I never put it together until I was in the hospital and a surgeon said, `Dyke. Are you any relation to Cornelius Dyke?' " Dyke says.

To Bert Dyke, Brett's father, the fact that his own father was a pre-eminent neuroradiologist was no mere coincidence. He saw it as, if not divine intervention, some sort of cosmic destiny.

"As soon as I knew it was a tumor in the brain I thought it was something I would want my father to be alive to take care of," Bert Dyke says. "Obviously, he was out there looking over his grandson."

Techniques used by Cornelius Dyke were cutting edge in the 1920s and 1930s, Huckman says. But because there wasn't a complete understanding of radiation then, Cornelius Dyke was exposed to it and developed leukemia that killed him at age 42. Without his sacrifices, neuroradiology wouldn't be as advanced as it is today, he adds.

So it is that knowledge that gives the Dyke family the feeling that some guiding force protected Brett.

"We thought about that," Brett's mother, Joanne Dyke, says. "All the stuff he worked so hard for, which probably killed him. Brett was very fortunate."

Dyke was in the hospital for 28 days, first in Las Vegas, then at the University of California, Los Angeles Medical Center, where the tumor was removed. Peoples, who had seen only one or two cases like Dyke's, sent him there to see a neurosurgeon who had more experience removing hemangioblastomas from the brain stem.

Only two weeks after his 14-hour surgery, Dyke says he was able to return to work, cured. Although his doctor told him he may die during the operation, Dyke kept a positive attitude, which played a big role in his quick recovery, Peoples says.

Other than a 6-inch zipper-shaped scar on the back of his head, Dyke shows no outward signs of his experience.

But he says it did change him, profoundly.

"It's made me more aware of what's going on in life. I've realized, while you're here, make the most of it," Dyke says. "The small things, don't sweat it. If someone cuts you off in traffic, don't get upset. Be good to others. We don't always remember that."

Since he recovered, Dyke has completed the first of four years of dental school at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. He still works the occasional weekend at Le Cirque.

And he's engaged to be married next year. He still goes for annual checkups with the neurosurgeon and so far, he's fine. Peoples doesn't expect a recurrence of the tumor.

It may sound like a cliché, Dyke says, but a day does not pass without him remembering how lucky he is. When he talks about his experience and especially his grandfather -- since Cornelius Dyke will always be part of the story -- Dyke gets goose bumps.

"I'm an exception to a lot of rules. That could have been it," Dyke says. "I was blessed that the most amazing and positive story could happen to me."