Ed Crane never imagined that a bout of pneumonia would uncover a ticking time bomb in his chest.
Living just outside Allentown, Pennsylvania, the 76-year-old had been quietly raising his nine-year-old grandson alone, a responsibility he took on after unimaginable losses. His daughter, the child’s mother, succumbed to septic shock in November 2020, and his son, the boy’s uncle, died on Ed’s birthday in 2023 from a combination of health issues. Left as the sole caregiver to his grandson, Crane’s world narrowed to the daily rhythm of school drop-offs, dinners, and focused on protecting a child who’d already endured too much.
In July 2024, Crane’s life took yet another sharp turn. What started as a strange fluttering in his chest and a cold sweat one morning spiraled into a three-week hospital stay for pneumonia.
“I thought maybe it’d go away if I just lay down,” Crane recalled. It didn’t. Tests revealed something far more sinister than pneumonia: an aortic Type A dissection—a tear in the ascending aorta that, if ruptured, could kill him within hours. “I didn’t realize it was as big as it was,” he said. “I’d never heard of this condition before.”
After recovering from pneumonia and feeling “really good,” Crane underwent a CT scan ordered by his doctor. When the results came, the news was grim: The dissection had worsened, and his aorta was on the verge of bursting.
While his doctor urged that he visit the ER, Crane instead grabbed lunch to weigh his options.
His doctor called again, interrupting Crane in between bites of his burger: “This is life and death.”
A race against the clock
Chase Brown, MD
Chase Brown, MD, surgical director of Coronary Revascularization at Penn Presbyterian Medical Center, would soon become the linchpin in Crane’s survival. Patients with aortic dissections are among those Penn considers most critical to get to the hospital rapidly so care teams an provide acute care when conditions are life-threatening and time-sensitive. On August 27, 2024—the first day of school for his grandson—Crane was helicoptered from his local hospital’s emergency room to Penn Presbyterian. “I was thinking, ‘Who’s going to take care of my grandson if I don’t make it?’” he recalled.
Brown reviewed Crane’s scans before him: a ruptured ascending aortic dissection, contained only by a clot of blood behind the aorta, compressing his right pulmonary artery. “Most patients with this don’t make it to the operating room,” Brown explained. Without immediate surgery, the mortality rate for a Type A dissection climbs 2 percent per hour. Penn Medicine’s Aortic Program, the busiest in the Northeast, activated its LifeFlight protocol, whisking Crane to the OR within 90 minutes.
“I thought, ‘Whatever happens, happens.’ If there’s an afterlife, I’ll find out,” recalled Crane. When the moment arrived, the OR buzzed with a diverse team—surgeons, anesthesiologists, nurses, all united in purpose. “They asked if I liked music,” Crane recalled. “I said rock. They put it on right away. I was going to ask them to turn it up, but then I woke up, and it was over.”
Brown replaced the damaged aorta with a synthetic graft, repaired the aortic valve, and navigated the complexity of a rupture that had already begun to choke off Crane’s lung function. “Failure was not an option,” Brown said. “We knew he had to get back to his grandson.” Crane emerged with minimal pain. “I dreaded open-heart surgery,” he admitted, “but it turned out virtually painless.”
A future for Crane—and his grandson
For Crane, the surgery wasn’t just about his own well-being—it was about his grandson. “This kid’s been through so much—his mom died, his uncle died,” Crane shared, his voice breaking. “He’s amazing, the way things roll off his back.”
Now more than six months out from his life-saving surgery, Crane credits the team he encountered in August for giving him a new start. “Chase saved my life, no way around it,” Crane said. “I’d have dropped dead without them. I’d thank them all—the nurses, the janitors, everyone. They did a wonderful job.”
As Crane regains strength, he says he is no longer dozing off waiting for his grandson’s school bus. “I feel peppier,” he said.
At Penn, Brown sees Crane’s case as a testament to their mission. “Our experience, our team—it’s why he’s here,” he says. “And with new endovascular techniques on the horizon, we’ll keep pushing the boundaries of what’s possible.”
For Ed Crane, a man who stared down death and walked away, the rock music plays on—steady and loud enough to carry him and his grandson forward.