Where we're at.

Hello everybody.

I've been pretty delinquent with the blog since we came home from the hospital...god, over three weeks ago now. Since then, I guess a lot has occurred in the world at large; it definitely rolls along heedless of our tiny little lives. We do pay it a lot of attention, though. I, for instance, kept Jenny up with Twitter and HuffPo well past her bedtime during the awful events in Boston (and Texas. and China.)

That's for sure, but the massive size and speed of the world also reminds me of how important community is, so much more than anything on CNN. So, with that in mind I'm sitting here tonight, after a rare day shift, and after a nice meal with JZ, just typing away without thinking about it much.

Of course, this blog is about Jen's recovery...

Here's the thing about that---the thing that might inform a bit about the paucity of posts on the blog, recently. And that thing is that it's a hard row to hoe, this surgery (and cancer) recovery. It's a damn slog. It's two steps forward, and then you slide back a few. It's painful and messy and difficult. That's just the way it goes, and it's exhausting and really pretty hard to report on. I'm thinking that ya'll don't want to read that stuff, as much as I don't want to write it.

But. But, but, but...I can definitely and confidently say that the general trend in Jen's health and state of mind is, and has remained, positive. She is getting well, sure as it's Springtime. Last night we even had our first date out---first since March 11 when we had the "last supper" out with Mama-Jane---Indian food, the night before Jen's first surgery. But, last night we hobbled to the Vita Cafe and had a short mini-dinner (thanks to a gift-certificate from great friends) before hobbling back home and falling into bed from the exertion.

So, that's where we're at. It's a better place, we remind ourselves often, than where we were February 21st. That's the day before they found cancer in Jen.

Jen Breaks the Radio Silence

Due to the recent radio silence, it may seem like not a lot is going on over on Portland, Oregon's NE 22nd Avenue.  All in all - there is progress.  It's slow, but seemingly steady.  At last week's appointment with Dr. Whiteford, I had the last of my three post-surgery drains yanked out of my body (and I do mean yanked - it was gross and uncomfortable).  Since then, I have been enjoying the freedom on having one less thing poking out of my body, one less thing to manage and navigate; I have also been amazed at how sore those drain sites are.  However, they are scabbing over, healing, and slowly (oh, so seemingly slowly) my body does what bodies want to do...it heals.  I feed it, water it, rest it, and walk it...and in exchange, I have to trust it is doing its part to further this healing cause.

Lest you think there is nothing happening over here, I will share that there has been a lot of this ridiculousness:

There have been cozy naps in the Barcalounger.  Oona agrees that naps are just what the doctor ordered, and takes every opportunity to join me, preferably in as close proximity as possible, and under the covers, if permitted:

There have been daily walks at a somewhat geriatric pace - sometimes with this kind of gorgeous sun, sky, and puffy clouds:

Other times, on days like today, in the more traditional spring-grey of Oregon, we still get the gorgeous, ever emerging display of flowers in the spring gardens throughout our neighborhood.  Today was a banner day for walking - Tony dragged me along for a whopping 1.9 miles - which is the farthest I've walked since before unexpected surgery #2.  We also happened upon someone's semi-blooming lilac bush, which we may have pinched a few blooms from...said blooms may be currently filling the living room with the scent of spring as I write.

Tony has been super busy with work and other endeavors and laments that he hasn't made a blog-post in so long. I am often (but not always) experiencing the various challenges of post-surgery, but one of my biggest motivations for finally getting in front of the computer to post is to thank---all of you, for being so amazing in your love and support during this really difficult time. It has made all the difference...really, you can't imagine.

Another hit of this...

Did you see this one?

Short shot

I was hoping to write a post over the last two days (my "weekend," since I work on sat/sun), but have been a bit run-down, so haven't got to it.

One thing I've failed to mention is that Jen's mother, Jane, returned last Saturday for another fabulous visit. We are sad to be saying goodbye to her tomorrow, but hope to be seeing her again in the not-too-distant future (hopefully with Dave next time).

Yesterday, we visited Jen's surgeon. Who says all appears to be going well for her recovery, except he'd like to see her get some weight on her bones a bit quicker. (To this end she just finished her second helping of ice cream. )

In the meantime, her overall recovery sustains its forward momentum. Slow, but steady.

Pleasure. Joy. Healing.

Sister Maggie and Niece Morgan (mother & daughter, respectively), offer their gifts to JZ, and she passes them on to you. (Yes! I figured it out.)

2:30 Pacific: Napping with the ringer on...

Jen usually turns he phone ringer off when she is napping or otherwise unavailable, but she's waiting on a couple of calls from some of her health care providers. So...if you were thinking of giving her a call -- do! Just not right now.

Thanks, angels.

-tkp

Late post

The brightness setting on my iphone is turned to minimum, and this moment I'm lying in bed--tired but clean after a night's work and a hot shower--next to a sleeping Jen. It's late on a Sunday night/Monday morning; we've been home from the hospital two full days.

Life around us clatters along, sometimes collapsing right in our view. From where we are it appears amusing, breathtaking, wretched, heartbreaking--mostly heartbreaking. Regardless, we can't seem to allow it in, fully.

Jen's survival--though no longer in immediate jeapordy--is still all that matters. We haven't found a way to evolve, and, I think, neither of us feels it would be right to, yet.

But, the fact is that when the outside does take it's chance to flow on in, it's--as I've said all along--the most healing thing there is. Every time I witness that occurrence, and I see her become engaged with someone or something, I'm reminded of everything that I love about Jen Zarnoch. Then, I know again that it's all going to be ok.

Heading out, people

Jen has been discharged from the hospital, but we are waiting here at Providence Cancer Center until all the formalities (such as the lost prescriptions, for instance) are set straight. She'll probably be home by 7:00 PM Pacific.

When first confronted with the fact of her release, Jen experienced a wave of PTSD-like dread. Even to me, the fact that she was this close to an exceedingly serious condition after her last release is kind of abstract. To her it's still a very real and present thing. Through tears, she said to me, "I'm not sure if there's something I should be worried about…something that can happen that I'm not thinking of, or not." That made my heart break. 

But, at the moment, she is feeling pretty good, and I expect that she will feel great when she walks in (to a super-clean house!) and sees those joyfully cats running toward her.

We'll let you know how it goes.

Tomorrow?

Jen is pretty much cleared for takeoff, here. We just need to feel it ourselves in order to make it happen. Last time she should never have left, and that could have gone way, way worse. So, there is a bit of reluctance on our part this time. Nevertheless, as of an hour ago, when her latest CT scan came back clear, there no longer seems to be any remaining medical reasons for Jen to stay in the hospital--that we know of. Tomorrow, she'll get to talk with Dr. Whiteford and hopefully have any remaining doubts assuaged. If so, then we can probably be home directly after that, or Saturday at the latest.

On that point, we are told that a cleaning crew came to our house today and transformed it into a place fit to heal in. This, the result of an amazing gift of good friends. What a huge difference that will make for Jen as she arrives home. It will also be nice for the arriving mama-Jane, on Saturday night. For this, we are grateful, to say the least. 

Sounds Familiar

Doing really great...

except the nausea.

That's right—Jen looks ready for release from the hospital. Her white blood cell count is down to normal, her surgical wound looks good, she has no fever, two of three drains are removed, she's eating pretty well, her outputs are normal—she is in the midst of an archetype perfect recovery...

except the nausea.

If that scenario seems eerily reminiscent of the last time—you know, all the way back on March 17th, when she was released with a leaking anastomosis and the beginnings of a potentially deadly infection—I agree. But, there are a few important differences. 

First of all, we're all on edge. She is. I am. You are. And, most importantly, her doctors are. Everybody wants to make certain. Secondly, we already know what's wrong—a leak created an infection. The question is only, did we get the infection enough so that her body can take care of the rest? Or, are there some bigger pockets still in need treatment?

Thirdly, she feels better. As I wrote in previous post, she never felt right the last time around. She ran a continuous low fever, her belly was distended, she suffered nightly sheet-soaking sweats, she had more pain. Since Dr. Ahmad cleaned her out, however, she has felt generally well.

So—how to make certain? A CT scan. She drinks a quart of truly vile liquid (a contrast dye solution), and they look at her guts in multi-layered detail. From this, we are told, they can measure whether she is suffering the effects of remaining infection in her abdomen. If so, they will increase her antibiotics, and probably give her another drain. 

This is what happened an hour ago, and we are now awaiting results. In the meantime, the patient is sleeping off the experience, Papa Joe—who was able to stay long enough to see her through drinking the contrast dye before having to jet off to catch his plane—is on the road, and the "willing and able partner," me, is preparing himself for "wound care" training. Don't ask.

Rough Evening, Bright Morning

Last night Jen got progressively nauseous after dinner—until she finally did throw up an hour later. It was uncomfortable, as we all can relate to, but it was also painful, scary, and reminiscent of those life-threatened moments just hours before emergency surgery.

But, she felt better afterwards and she slept well last night. This morning, the docs all swept in with their white coats flapping, the affable Dr. Cho now suddenly accompanied by two fuzzy-chinned residents. One of them has apparently been assigned to Jen, and he does all the talking now while Cho leans quietly against the counter.

It's weird because we've been putting all our faith and hope in Dr. Cho. As a "Fellow," he's not one of the main surgeons—like Whiteford and Ahmad. But, Cho is the workhorse as far as Jen's care is concerned, and now he's laying out for this prepubescent guy wearing way...seriously...way, way too much cologne. They were in here an hour ago, and you can still smell the guy.

Nevertheless, the resident seems nice enough, truth be told, and maybe knowledgeable—who knows how much Cho told him to say and how much he really knows? But the main thing, what I'm getting at, is that "Dr Smelly Pants" (you wear that much scent around JZ, you're gonna get a new name) "decided" to remove another one of her drains.

Down to one!

And there is more great news: her white blood cell count is down to normal—with no fever running now, she *appears* to be infection free. They theorized that one of the antibiotics might have brought on the nausea and, since those have run their course and are no longer needed, she can be free of those too.

No doubt, there will be more difficult moments. But, ever since Dr. Ahmad (whose presence we miss terribly) cleaned out Jen of the terrible infection that occurred after her (successful!) (mostly) bowel resection and anastomosis, she has felt, by and large, much better than she ever did after the first time.

We're on a new trajectory towards full health. It's the one which we had originally hoped and expected to be on after surgery #1, but setbacks absolutely do happen. The trick is to not despair. We had to suffer some serious heartbreak, and Jen some even more serious pain and misery. But, that's OK—we're wiser now (hello, First Noble Truth!), and, by the time this is all behind us, will have that much more to offer the world.

Home, we think,tomorrow.

Missing mom, waiting at home...

Resting on the famous Barcalounger!—they are more stressed out than they look! 

Brief stop on an amble with Papa Z

Mahakala Protector Peeps allow no evil: Take lightly at your own peril.

Another Correction

A good friend has pointed out a big mistake in my previous post. I'm obviously tired, worn a bit dull. But I'm also dulled some by residual anger that Jenny has to go through any of this sh*t. I'm angry because she could have been spared the extremes of the second surgery, I'm angry that her surgeons office kept putting her off after the first. I'm angry, mostly, that she got cancer at all.

But, I'm not angry that they caught the cancer. I'm very happy that during the first surgery they were able to completely remove it---even if the resection part was a bust.

Jen's first surgery, therefore, was not "failed" as I unadvisedly described it earlier. It was an amazing success, and truly, one if the best things that's ever happened to me.

Post slowdown

Going to try to get back on top of it tonight. As well as keeping you all informed, it has also served as great therapy for me. But the issue is: Exhaustion. Similarly, for those who have been trying to contact Jen or myself and haven't got through yet--you will. We're just wiped out.

Papa Joe has returned for a short stay and that is providing a pleasant change of pace, for sure. And the unwavering support coming from friends and other family, near and far, has kept us both sane and sustained. But remember, less than six weeks ago we didn't know that any of this was going to happen. Cancer itself, scans, ultrasounds, MRIs, scopings, meetings and appointments with countless doctors and medical professionals, two surgeries---one of them failed---and much missed work. It actually is too much.

Too much, yet, as our GP---the excellent Dr. Cynthia Shaff-Chin---said to me yesterday: We adjust, we adapt and we survive; it's what humans do best.

In the meantime, despite exhaustion, pain, and sleep-deprivation, Jen's physical health is improving every day and her discharge from the hospital is imminent (I'm guessing two days). That is, if all continues on the positive trajectory that has been sustained so far.

Today was a great day, in fact, because one of her three abscess drains was removed. For those in the know: yes, it was the most infamous and uncomfortable one. It literally brought tears of joy to Jen's face.

A note: Jenny looks a bit thin because she's lost weight. Far as we can tell this has happened for one reason only, and it's the most obvious one: she hasn't been able to eat much over the last three-plus weeks. But her appetite is returning and, if I know Jen, will return with a proper vengeance pretty soon. She'll put it back, don't worry about that.

Stay tuned. More pics and posts to come...