February 24, 2018 – Back from
the Brink . . . Well, Sort Of
My last entry here was the day
before surgery, so I am way overdue for an update.
The past 5 weeks have been a
complete roller coaster. Actually at dinner on Saturday, my wife said something
like this, “You know I do not like roller coaster rides. I have hated them
since we were dating. And I am ready for us to get off this one.”
A roller coaster ride is exactly
what this time has been. It has been good news, bad news, no news,
maybe good news, hope, minimal hope, and on and on. I knew where she was coming
from.
How about since
this is my first post-surgery update I share where we are? First things first,
the surgery on January 9th was unsuccessful. It happened in odd fashion. The
surgeon had told Kay and me that he would do a small incision to begin the
surgery and explore around to be sure the cancer was contained to my pancreas.
If it has had spread he would close me up and other measures would have to be
taken by my oncologist. He said if the surgery was not to be, he would be out
to see her in less than an hour. She did not see him for 3-4 hours and assumed
all systems were “Go.”
They were not.
What transpired during the next 8 hours was oddly inspiration.
When the surgeon
did the exploratory element, all looked good, so he began the process of
disconnecting and removing body parts to begin the Whipple. As he put it to us,
he “accidentally bumped against something in my large intestine area far
removed from the area where he was operating.” It was far enough away he should
never have noticed it or even been close to the area. He dismissed it as just
some small area of diverticulitis and continued the surgery. In a bit he bumped
up against it again and investigated only to find that the cancer had
metastasized to a lymph node in the large intestine area. His words were “my
heart sank and I stopped the surgery” because I had to. He said he had gotten
“emotionally invested” us and was excited to help a pastor.
He left the OR
and found a colleague who performs the same procedures to gain another
perspective on how to proceed. They were in agreement that since the cancer had
metastasized it would be pointless to put me through the full procedure. Another
plan was devised. He had already removed my gall bladder and associated
ductwork. The selected surgery has a name that eludes me now, but it involved
taking sections of my small intestine, creating new ductwork for the bile in my
liver to pass directly to the small intestine. He also rerouted my small intestine
around behind my stomach so there is little or no danger of the tumor once again
blocking the bile flow and returning me to the misery of last fall.
The surgeon found
my wife and broke the news to her, which is not what she was expecting.
When I awakened
in the recovery room, I overheard the nurses talking about me heading to room
869. I interrupted them and said, I was supposed to go to ICU. They said, there
was a change of plans and I was going to a regular room. I immediately began to
think the best. I thought (and said) aloud, “Things must have gone better than
expected!” No one responded.
Within the next hour
I was taken to my room where Kay and my oldest daughter awaited me. I recall
vividly their struggle to get me onto my new bed home for the next week.
Kay and Alyssa
quickly came to me. I recall the expressions on their faces as if it were
happening at this moment. I remember saying aloud to Kay, “I am in a regular room.
Things must have gone much better than expected.” She then had the unenviable
task of telling me the truth. Things had not gone better. They had gone
terribly worse. Unbeknownst to anyone, the cancer had spread and the outlook was
much more bleak. We had no idea just how bleak.
Alyssa looked
like she was going to burst into tears. Kay looked like a great burden had been
lifted to share this news with me.
I will write
again in a day or so, and pick up the story from here. Thank you for following
me, reading, and the patience to hear the last 7-weeks. I will say, my life is
right where it has always been, in God’s hands. In the power of the one who
loves me enough to always have my best at heart.
More to follow .
. .
