Personal

I can say few things with absolute certainty in life but after the past 11 days, I have a few: June 9 marked the beginning of the absolute worst time of my life.
My bride, 3T, is a rock and I never have made and never will make a smarter decision than the one I did when I asked her to marry me.

Of course, I knew the latter for a while, but the past 11 days have opened up new vistas on my marriage, how deeply I depend on it, and what a great source of strength and inspiration my marriage to 3T provides.
Trying times will do that.

And nothing has been more trying in my life than what has gone on since 3T and I walked into the hospital admission office well before sunrise.

It’s almost impossible to write about what happened after that because my mind still recoils in horror at the images that haunt me, images of tubes running out of my body like wires in a stereo receiver; a constant parade of nurses and aides poking and prodding me in a quiet but determined effort to cover the screwups that left me with three fewer pints of blood than I had when I went into the hospital, a still staggering 10.5 hours on the operating table, and days of pain and a morphine-induced fog.

I knew just about everything I feared was coming true almost as soon as I emerged from the anesthesia and saw my bride’s beautiful face hovering over mine to greet me on my return from my mini-coma.

And even 3T’s heroic efforts to cheer me up and comfort me during my unexpectedly long stay (six days instead of two) in the hospital couldn’t quite diminish the horror I felt around and in me. The horror of a lot of pain, the horror of being in a hospital wing with scores of other cheap-gown-clad men and women wandering through the corridors slowly, tethered to IV polls, the horror of realizing that the doctors and others at the hospital had made a series of mistakes that left me in more discomfort and fear than I had ever anticipated.

There were two different sets of fears that plagued me: first, those that were based in fact: seven entry wounds across my abdomen from the surgeon’s blades; twice the operating time I had been told this procedure would last; a mistake that even before I was under had dumped 6 hours worth of IV-induced fluids into me in a matter of 15 minutes because the attendant forgot about me; a loss of blood that turned me into an anemic for at least the next 3 to 6 months.

Then there are the possibilities of other horrors still to be determined: Will the length of time I was under affect my mind somehow? How will my blood loss affect me in the short and long term?  Will I be incontinent? Will I be impotent?

Some of these fears would have existed no matter how flawlessly the operation had been conducted. But the fact it seems to have been botched just makes them more fearsome.
So much for all the bad stuff. There is a lot more, but it’s too painful to get into. Besides, I want to tell you at least a summary of the good part about this ordeal-namely, the strength my wife has brought me through staying by my side every minute of the time since I emerged from the OR. She has carted my sorry butt, dressed my surgical wounds, cooked the best meals I ever had, and has all around been my advocate as well as my wife. I cannot thank her for all she has done, but I will be spending the rest of my life trying to.

For now, I am looking forward to nothing with more excitement than you can ever imagine to Thursday afternoon, when the specialist removes the catheter that right now plagues my every waking moment. It’s uncomfortable, demeaning, dispiriting, debilitating.

Once I get past that, 3T and I will begin putting together a more detailed bank of information on what happened in that operating room on June 9.

And for all you men and wives of men out there, don’t let my report dissuade you from getting an annual prostate checkup and doing something about it if cancer is detected. The astounding part of all this is that surgery was and is the only fully reliable way of eradicating it. In my case, the biopsy suggested my cancer was in a different place than it really was on my gland, meaning that if I had elected on radiation, the cancer might have been able to elude treatment.

And one final note: I cannot thank enough my wonderful sisters Margie and Mikki and my brother Jim and their spouses, as well as all you wonderful readers, for all your encouragement since this nightmare began. Your words and prayers mean more to me than you will ever know, and I hope one day I too can provide some kind of meaningful support the way you supported me.

We have been up and down more times than I can count since Friday evening when Kevin came out of Recovery from his prostate removal surgery.

It seems he lost more blood then we were originally told. A LOT more blood then originally told. So much so that I would have to say it was a blatant lie. As was the length of the surgery. At any rate, the struggle has been to get his hemoglobin numbers up. With tiny increases, to only have it go down the next blood draw.

He has steadily gotten stronger, but the need for a transfusion still looms in the very near future. This does concern us. We would both rather he not get a transfusion, but not at the risk of his overall health.

I want to thank all of you for your kind and caring comments, and most of all for your prayers. I know they have been what has carried us. Kevin remains in the hospital right now, without a release date. His drain tubes continue to drain a fair amount of fluid, which is a concern as far as releasing him. Especially due to how low his numbers are on the hematicrit (sp?) and hemoglobin.

Please continue to pray for him. The transfusion, and whether he should go ahead with it, weighs heavy on both of us. There have been more than a few mishaps in his care, and we just want to make the “right” decision. I’ll go into more detail when I have him home safe, and I can complete a coherent thought.

I miss all of you and can’t wait until our lives return to something that resembles more of our routine. With him home safe, and sleeping in bed next to me.

Kevin went into surgery at 7:30 AM and came out at 6:00 PM. Just wanted to update, before I head back to the hospital for the night. There was a “minor” complication, he lost a liter of blood, which they replaced with a pint of his own that he had given on reserve. His vitals are close to normal post surgery, although as would be expected he is still completely “out of it.”

Thank you all, for your prayers and good thoughts. I ask that you continue to pray for him over the next 24 hours.

Love,

3T

It’s going to be a long day. Kevin and I went to bed around 11:00 PM after “making good use of the evening alone.” But then we were out of bed by 3:00 AM. I want to thank everyone again for your support and prayers. Kevin and I prayed together before we went to sleep last night, and we know that everything is in His hands. And a very skilled surgeon’s hands.

I want to send a special thank-you out to Jane at Jane Loves Tarzan, for the flowers she sent to us yesterday! Jane you have such a giving heart and have been a wonderful friend to both Kevin and myself! You touched our hearts with your thoughtfulness and generosity. God Bless you, sweet lady!

Well, it’s time to kick into gear. I will post how the surgery went either late tonight or tomorrow morning before I head back to the hospital. I have no doubts that things will run smooth, and all will be back to normal, or “our brand of normal” in a short time.

Love,

3T

The countdown has begun to Kevin’s surgery. This week has been a slam in the face back into reality, after successfully stepping out of reality into Oahu! Personally I hadn’t realized just how successful both of us were, not allowing his cancer or his impending surgery to interfere with being able to just have fun getting away from life.

This came to a halt with his pre-surgery appointment at the hospital. The amount of information had/has both of our heads swimming. The length of recovery time now seems to be far more extensive than we both originally had thought. The amount of information, without going into the details, had me fearful that somehow I would fail him in taking care of him post-op.

Since HMOs overtook health insurance, hospital stays are at a drastic minimum, now placing the responsibility of nursing care directly on a loved one’s shoulders. In some ways this can be seen as a positive, as who will care more than those who love you. Logically, the shorter the hospital stay, the less risk of germs causing infections in compromised surgical patients. But on the flip-side, it means learning some nursing basics in order to effectively minimize the risk of infection. Knowing what to look for, watching for any sign of fever, and the cleaning and care of the catheter.

If I’m completely honest, I’m petrified. I love this man! I DON’T want to f*ck up his care!  On that note, if I could prevail on all of my readers out there who I know as nothing short of prayer warriors; I want your prayers! I’m scared, period. I’m unsure of my ability to do this effectively, and it has had the potential this past week of literally making me sick to my stomach! My dad and I, in one of our joking visits decades ago, would joke, “God help the man who has to depend on you for his care Teri!” Well here I am. Excuse me while I throw-up.

I know I will do my best to be what he needs, although the fear of falling short remains.

Friday morning, I take him in to surgery. The closer it gets, the sicker I feel. And I know this must be nothing to what is going though his mind right now. He is handling it, how Kevin has always handled his worries. He stays busy, throwing himself into his job, errands, anything. I wish I was more like that. I dwell on it, obsess over it, worry about it, allowing it to rob me of energy and drain me emotionally. Not very healthy to say the least. This week, my efforts will be to “let go, and let God.” For all of our sakes.

A post by Kevin. Yes, I’m busy with details of the week, dragging with the normal Monday mania, and preparing for our trip. My husband actually volunteered to do this post, so who am I to argue. Hope everyone’s Monday went well.

As regular readers of this blog know, 3T and I are heading to Hawaii and it can’t come fast enough.
In some ways, we could be heading anywhere, and as long as we’re away from people and responsibilities beyond identifying the next fun place to visit, we’d be happy as clams.
But Hawaii does have a special charm for a special occasion-our second honeymoon.
We had so much of a blast on our first honeymoon cruising around the Carribean that we didn’t want to wait for 10 years or even five to have that second one!
Yes, we won’t entirely be without people, but we are both looking forward to meeting DB, Christine and Ma Friday night and Saturday. I know we (3T more than me because she’s a frequent reader) will enjoy meeting some people we feel we “know,” and it will be a nice way to get oriented quickly to Oahu. After that, we plan to slip into our own cocoon and just plan fun in the sun for the two of us the rest of our time there, lapping every minute of paradise until that plane whisks us away to the Mainland later next week.
We’re big on entertaining ourselves together and entertaining each other, and the solitude will be welcome since we have had to deal with a number of social events, work, kids, and, of course, doctors!
In her wisdom, 3T counseled me often during this weekend about the need to kind of suspend thinking about faulty prostates and their removal. That was good advice (though she gives bad phone, she gives great advice!) and I intend to follow every word of it. I think we need this time to be with each other, like we were on the first honeymoon, not so much to reconnect (we always stay connected) as much as deepen our connection at a critical time in our life together. This impending surgery has us both rattled and the rest and fun will go a long way to helping me prepare for that surgeon’s knife.
I feel blessed so much by God that I am not only going to Hawaii, but going there with my incredible wife. If I can just keep the surfers from oggling her too much, I’ll be completely happy.
And, just in case you think I might be pessimistic about the outcome of surgery next month, let me assure you of one thing: On that long plane ride back, I will start us talking about our Third Honeymoon!
Aloha all!

My “ADD” is in overdrive right now. Maintaining coherent thoughts is difficult, let alone putting together a decent post. So I have asked my “very coherent” husband to do a guest post. And hopefully I’ll get my proverbial shit together soon!

Or I’ll just give him the blog.(I’m kidding. Maybe.) Have a great evening!

3T asked me to do a guest post, and I’ve thought long and hard about it. In a lot of ways, I’m thinking of the two of us strolling along the white sands of Hawaii in about 10 days, but that’s not something I want to tease any of you with or, worse, bore you with.
In any event, while a good part of my mind is thinking exactly about that, another part of me is looking at the big cloud that looms over me after we return.
My prostate cancer.
Yes, I know 3T has talked about this a lot in her past blogs, and before I go on, I can’t reiterate enough what she told everyone of her male readers. Don’t give into that malarkey about an annual physical not being needed. I read that, asked my doctor about it, she said she didn’t agree and that was good enough for me. And I am glad I asked, because of what she detected and what the specialist she referred me to later found.
Yes, it’s been caught very early and my prospects are bright. But it’s still a big cloud.
I haven’t been in a hospital for an operation for half a century. The last time I was in second grade and getting my tonsils out. I remember being in a Catholic hospital, where these nuns with huge white habits walked around. I went under the anesthetic with the doctor having me count down from 100- I think I made it only to 93. The next thing I knew, I was waking up and staring at this old nun with her white habit.
I did what nuns often inspired me to do.
I puked.
Since then, I’ve been to the ER a couple of times and have visited a few relatives or friends, but dodged being a guest.
Since then, I’ve watched a couple hundred different medical dramas, from ER to St. Elsewhere, and my mind is filled with horrifying episodes of things going wrong.
Since then, the health care system has deteriorated in my mind from a kind, warm God to a kind of fumbling monster.
It didn’t help last week to pick up Time magazine from our kitchen counter and see the cover story about why doctors hate being hospitalized. The article delved into error rates and other scary stuff. And I keep thinking of all those episodes of House and what-have-you where a simple procedure turns into one scary trip to the edges of extinction.
The image-admittedly-naive I used to have about doctors and hospitals is that they could do no wrong and were there to help you and to comfort you. I supposed most medical professionals still think that way, but we now have seen too much in real life and fictional life. We’re now told we need to be advocates for our care. I know I’ve got a great advocate in 3T, but it’s still a little disquieting to know that I need an advocate at all.
I mean, I just want to trust them and not worry about it.
And if I get past the hospital in one piece, I have to worry about recuperation. I’m a fairly active person - not someone who plays tennis and golf and exercises three hours a day, mind you. But the kind of person who likes making sure our household runs reasonably well. With 3T’s back problems, I feel it necessary for me to do the heavy labor around the house. I do it willingly because I adore her and don’t want her to suffer even a minute’s more pain. That’s not sainthood, by the way. It’s my way of trying to keep her healthy so we can enjoy the life we do together.
But now I am faced with the prospect of being relatively immobile for at least a week or two, and I am dreading it. Yes, the silver lining is that I’ll have more time with my wife. And that gives me a lot of comfort. But the uncomfortableness and the painfulness of recovery have me more than a little unsettled.
But I am glad I am getting this done. And feel grateful that all I have to do is this, to rid myself of cancer. My next-oldest brother would have been celebrating his birthday today if he hadn’t died of lung cancer at age 45. I remember all the painful procedures he went through just to buy a little extra time, and how all those painful procedures only served to prolong by a few months the inevitable.
So, I am trying not to be a big baby about all this. I know some of you readers have gone through or are going through things far worse than what I face.
And if you’re lucky enough to be healthy enough and if all your loved ones are the same, thank God.
I know I do, cancer and all.