My side of the story.

As many of you know, writing a blog about my feelings and personal life is very uncharacteristic for me. I’m extremely private and introverted. Opening up to the world in this way is uncomfortable to say the least. 

There are two reasons I have chosen to express myself using this format. The first and most important reason is it was my husband’s request. He asked me to do it. At this point, he gets a free pass to ask for anything he wants and I will do it, no questions asked. 

The second reason is it is practical. Writing a blog speaks to my practical sensibilities. It is so much easier to put information in a central location for all those who care to read. It takes the pressure off of me. I don’t feel like I have to text, call and email everyone individually. Doing that is exhausting. 

My husband knows me better than anyone else. In retrospect, I think he asked me to do this blog because it would be an outlet to express my emotions and feelings instead of internalizing everything, which is what I do. I’m a big time internalizer/avoider. Thank god he’s not. 

I’m sure many of you have read Jeremy’s posts over the last couple days. He is determined to get better fast. He asked me to write a blog from my perspective. He said it was “important” and would make a “well-rounded” story. So here I go…

The day before surgery, Jeremy had to do a bowel prep. I took a sip of it, super gross. It tasted like sea water. Yuck. Jeremy had to drink 4 liters of it. Not sure how that is humanly possible, he couldn’t finish it, although he tried. 

For all of you who know Jeremy, he’s a pretty mellow guy, he doesn’t have depression or anxiety. The 4 nights leading up to surgery were different. Jeremy started to wake up in the middle of the night with out of control shaking, he was having panic attacks. The first night this happened, I didn’t know what to do. It was 2am, I was super groggy and my husband’s right arm was shaking uncontrollably and words were coming out of his mouth, but they weren’t making any sense. I was scared. After a few minutes I realized this must be anxiety. I had 2 pills of Ativan left over from my last airline flight and gave him half of one. Jeremy has never taken antianxiety medication before and I wasn’t sure how he would handle it. It helped for an hour or so, then the shaking returned. I gave him the other half. 

The next night he woke up with the shaking, he took a whole pill. This was at 3am. He slept. 

The next night he took a pill before he went to sleep, he slept…mostly.

Meanwhile, I was not sleeping. Not sleeping and getting up at 6am with our early riser daughter, taking care of her, taking care of my husband, arranging doctors appointments, etc. I was losing myself with exhaustion. 

These were the few days leading up to surgery. 

The morning of surgery, we checked in to the hospital at 7am. Neither of us had slept well the night before. They immediately called us back and had Jeremy strip into hospital gear. A lovely brown and army green checkered “gown” with snap sleeves and a full length slit in the back. We sat in the pre-op room for almost an hour before we saw anyone. Then 3 nurses showed up and it went from silence to ACTION; IV in, medical history taken, vital signs taken, assessment done, clothes in brown paper bag, etc. etc. Whoa. 

I asked one of the nurses if we were going to talk to the surgeon prior to surgery. I had a few questions. She said he doesn’t normally do that. I said, I’d like to talk to him. This is the same surgeon that did Jeremy’s last surgery, the same guy who gave us the initial diagnosis. The last time we had seen him was that visit when he told us Jeremy had cancer. Yes, I wanted to see him again before the surgery! Were we supposed to have absorbed any information from that visit? 

First, the anesthesiologist shows up. He pulls a chair up to the edge of the bed and begins to talk with us. He was really nice. He discussed the idea of doing an intrathecal injection of morphine into Jeremy’s spine on top of the general anesthesia. This would provide him with extended pain control, likely up to 18 hours. Seemed like a good idea. He generously answered all my questions and made us feel comfortable. 

Then, the surgeon comes in. He immediately has an attitude. 

Let’s jump back to the visit with him where he told us the appendix had cancer in it. During that conversation I asked him if he would be the right surgeon for us, did he feel comfortable with this type of procedure? I let him know that I would have a lot of questions and he needed to be just as comfortable with us and we were with him. I said directly to him that if he did not feel comfortable with me asking questions and spending time with us, then he wouldn’t be the right guy for us. He agreed to be present, to answer questions and to take the time we needed. 

Back to the morning of the surgery. I had questions, this isn’t a minor operation, they are removing a foot of my husband’s colon, they are looking for more cancer. I HAVE QUESTIONS!! As I began to ask him my questions, his demeanor was immediately put off. He smirked at me, he rolled his eyes, he acted like a condescending pompous asshole. Meanwhile, my anxiety was elevating. I was managing before he walked in the room and by the time I walked out I was in complete hysterics. The anesthesiologist witnessed this entire interaction and actually came running out into the hall after me and gave me a hug. He actually had empathy. 

I was by myself. Jeremy’s parents were going to come around 9 or 9:30 and my dad was going to come at 11 or so. Jeremy and I didn’t know that surgery was scheduled for 9am. So, I was by myself. 

I ran outside because I didn’t have any other place to be hysterical. I found a bench in a corner of a courtyard and called Karen, Jeremy’s mother. I could barely get the words out that they already took Jeremy back. Of course, then she got hysterical. They were on their way. Then I called my father (who flew in from CA to be moral support) and could barely get the words out. He was on his way. I sat on the bench for 15 minutes waiting for my father completely hysterical. You know the kind of guttural sobbing that happens with the deepest pain, the uncontrollable kind. When my father and Natalie showed up I ran into his arms and cried for I don’t know how long. I felt so out of control, so helpless, so scared. 

We went for a little walk, got some coffee, calmed down and went back to the family waiting area. Bob and Karen were there. We hugged/cried.

We waited. Again. This time was easier because I wasn’t alone. The surgery was scheduled for 2 hours. At 2 hours, they called me. The surgery was complete and the surgeon was ready to speak to us in the “consult room”. I felt a sense of relief that the surgery actually took the time they told me it would take. At the last surgery, it took 1 ½ hours longer. This was a good sign, right?

Bob, Karen, Dad and I waited in the consult room. The surgeon came in and told us the surgery went well. He had to make a larger incision because part of Jeremy’s colon was displaced as a result of scar tissue from his previous gallbladder surgery. The surgery was uncomplicated, he was able to look at his liver which looked fine. I chose not to confront the surgeon about what an asshole he was to me then. It wasn’t the right time. I plan on writing him a letter. And we will never use him again.

It took a long time for Jeremy to get out of recovery. He wakes up hard from anesthesia.

That first day after surgery was emotional. Jeremy told me how scared he was of not waking up, he wasn’t “done yet”, he has so much to do with his life. We cried together, we hugged, we couldn’t stop holding hands. We said I love you over and over again. We talked about Fiona. He wanted to see Fiona. He needed to hold her and talk to her. I called my mother and asked her to bring Fiona. It was healing.

Jeremy is such an amazing father. Fiona means the world to him. Her brightness, smiles and empathy made everything better. 

The next day or so Jeremy was on a high. I think he was just so happy to be alive, look at the sun out the window, listen to beautiful music, have the people he loves with him, he felt hopeful for the future. And still does. 

Then the intrathecal wore off and he went through 2 nights in the hospital with literally no sleep and the world wasn’t looking quite as rose-colored anymore. 

Today hasn’t been as good of a day. Jeremy is tired, he’s painful. Although no less determined to get better. I know to expect this now, there will be good and bad days. Good and bad hours. I think the trick now is to learn how to navigate the extremes. 

I said to Jeremy yesterday that we are in the beginning of this process. He said we are in the middle. We’ll see. There is so much unknown at this point. 

We are living from event to event. Jeremy got his appendix out and we were feeling better until the post-op appointment. Then we heard it was cancer and had to wait until the oncologist appointment. Then the oncologist appointment made us feel better, hopeful. Then we had to wait for the surgery. Then the surgery went well, uncomplicated, but now we have to wait for the pathology report…and so on. 

The unknown of all this is the hardest for me. 

We’ve been so overwhelmed with love, support and positive energy. Keep it coming please.