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.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
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.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
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.
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...
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...
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