Duodenal Bypass Day

Today was a huge day. I am tired, tired, tired, and you are in pain, pain, pain. You have a self-regulating morphine drip. Click click click, your are constantly gripping that little trigger. I think I would be doing the same.

The day started when they came to get you at 6:15. I arrived at 6:45 to find your room empty. I was disappointed. And then they weren't quite sure which was your operating room. I wandered in the direction they had indicated. Finally I came to a minimally invasive surgery waiting room. Since there was no other place open, I inquired. The woman at the desk said you were there. Bev arrived after she, too, had done some significant wandering. We waited. I asked if the doctor was available. The woman took me to see you. The nurses were so helpful. They introduced themselves to me and told me what each of their jobs were. You had some kind of gas mask on and told me the nurse was sending you to Hawaii. "Without me?' I asked. "Have a nice time swimming with the turtles." We spoke so briefly, and then they wheeled you away.

Bev and I went down in the hospital cafeteria. The food was good, and I hadn't had such an ample breakfast in months. We talked, we laughed. She is such good company, so positive, so cheery, so easy to be with. We went back up to the waiting room and at about 11:00, the doctor came to speak to me. He said he had tried to do the bypass and the tissue sampling laproscopically but had to open you up in order to get a sample the pathologist would accept. You would be in a fair amount of pain but they would give you meds for pain management. You have a nice future scar. I asked him if he still thinks you have malignant cancer and he said yes, he just hasn't actually proven it yet. Right now he thinks you have a rare form of pancreatic cancer. This diagnosis is still iffy-sounding. I asked ALL my questions and he patiently answered them, staying with me for as long as I wanted to talk. You will eat again, your recovery will take several weeks, you'll be referred to an oncologist and will be healed enough to start chemo within four to six weeks.

We were then directed to go to another waiting room. We went for coffee first, and then up to the waiting area. We sat for a long time. I was wondering whether or not they had taken you out of recovery while Bev and I were at coffee because my phone had rung several times and we might have been gone longer than I thought. Suddenly they were walking down the hall with you. I motioned to the nurse that you were 'mine' but she stared blankly at the windows. I followed your bed and found you at the elevators. You saw me and motioned for me to come with you. The nurse and attendant encouraged me to get in the elevator. We went down one floor and they took you to a new room in the east wing. You were clicking away at your pain management button, trying to go to the happy place. You were getting there.

After Bev and I got you settled in your new room, you said you would like to sleep. I went home to rest assuming that the coffee I had had would preclude any napping for me but the ability to rest in bed would be more than enough. I stayed there for three hours, talking on the phone most of the time, but dozing a tiny bit. We have many caring people in our lives, and they are rallying around us. It's such a good feeling.

When I returned to the hospital you seemed to have been waiting for me but I reminded you that you had said you wanted to sleep. To you each passing minute had been endless. I can understand. The hospital is a boring place and pain makes time go by so slowly. I stayed an hour and a half and left at 8:00 to relieve Carmi. I will return tomorrow after school. Bev will meet me there at 3:00. She's so amazing. I don't think she's rubbed off on me enough yet.

The doctor said you can enjoy Thanksgiving but I forgot to ask him if you can drive up north. I will need to ask him the next time I see him -----or have you ask him. Or I guess I can leave him a note. He loves his job, he's told you that twice. I am so glad. That's the kind of doctor everyone should have.