My Journey With Cancer - Part 12

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 . . .