Wait For It...The Rest of the Story

Right after I finished yesterday's blog post about Mark's surgery, I looked up to see a dear friend of mine walking in.  Holly and I taught together MANY years ago in Little Rock.  She had been watching my posts on Facebook and came to sit with me.  There is a lot more to the story about why it was so special for her to come but I won't share that for now.  I will just say that her being there was a huge blessing; we were able to talk on and off for the next couple of hours. It was a good distraction for me.

I can't say that I was overly nervous or worrying the whole time. I honestly was so tired I didn't have much energy to be anything.

However, one thing kept me a little on edge.

Since we sat in the waiting room for so long (we were the last family to leave), I started to figure out how the whole thing worked. The phone at the front desk would ring, the receptionist/hostess would answer, then she would call out information to the waiting families.

After we had been waiting for about 40 minutes, we had our first call.  Surgery had started.

Then an hour and a half or so later, we had another call.  "Cloud?  They are working on him; he is doing fine."

A while later the phone rang again. I found myself holding my breath every time it did (though at that point there were still other waiting families).  "Cloud?  They are still working on him; he is doing fine."

I learned from watching the others that after the appropriate time, the doctor would walk in. Some doctors took family to the family room (which I was sitting next to) to share surgery news.  Others would just meet with the family in the waiting room.

So after the 2 1/2 hours I had been told the surgery would take, I expected the doctor to walk through the door.

But he didn't.

And more time passed.

I still wasn't really nervous (again, thankful for Holly and small talk).  But I was ready to see that doctor.

Then the phone rang again.  Except this time,  the hostess said, "Cloud?  Phone." 

I will not lie. My heart stopped for a minute. Or two. Or three. 

I had not seen one other family go to the phone.

It took all I had to say, "Hello?"

"Just wanted to let you know that we are closing him up.  It was a hemangioma like we thought. He is doing fine."

Big deep breaths.

I know I was shaking. And starting to cry. (You know, happy tears.)

So then I waited for the doctor to walk through the door again. They were closing him up which is when the other doctors usually walked in.  So I waited.

And waited. And waited.

Then the phone rang again.

And again, I was called over to the phone.

I was pretty much on edge by that point.

I even asked the hostess if this was normal.  She only smiled.

"Hello?"

"Hi, just wanted you to know that he is fine and the doctor will be out to talk to you."

I turned around to tell my in-laws, but they were gone.

While I had been on the phone, they were ushered into the family room. Then I was too.

I was feeling pretty good since I had just had the phone call, but then we waited some more.

And waited.  And waited.

Finally my father-in-law went to the front desk to make sure we were really supposed to be waiting in there.  The hostess said she would find out.

Shortly afterwards, the doctor and his team (he had two students with him) walked in.  He assured me it had gone well, that he was 99.9% it was a hemangioma (I don't think he is allowed to say 100% until there is a pathology report), and that the bone had fit nicely back in place (now held with titanium plates).  He told me what to expect for a while and then answered a whole lot of questions.  Then he was gone.

I walked back into the waiting room and said good-bye to Holly (who spent more than enough time in a waiting room with me!). 

Finally a nurse walked in and told me I could come back.  I took Mark's clothes with me and walked into the post-op area. 

When I walked in, Mark was sitting up but his eyes were closed (and of course, one was bandaged up). 

I walked over and touched him.  I got a half-smile. 

When he talked, he pretty much kept his eyes shut.

And he talked really lightly.

And when he talked, it didn't always make sense.

In fact, today we have relived some of the same conversations because he doesn't remember a word of what we talked about yesterday.

I did not get any fun videos that will go viral on youtube. In fact, I didn't get any fun videos at all. There were times he made funny comments but overall, he was just so groggy and a bit grouchy.

(One little funny though was when I told him that my friend Holly had come to the hospital.  He quickly told me that he didn't remember her being there at all.  I had to tell him that was because he was in surgery.  :)

I helped Mark get dressed (which was an experience) then listened to all of the instructions from the nurse.  The doctor stopped by to check Mark's eye movement (which was really good) and his vision (still fuzzy).  He reminded me of some of the instructions, then we were told we could get the car while they got the wheelchair.

Thankfully my father-in-law got my car for me so I could wait with Mark.  Except I had to wait for him first. 

And I waited.  And waited. 

Finally a hospital attendant asked me if I was the family of .....  I am still not sure what name she said. When I said Mark's name correctly, she nodded and told me that he was sick.  I rushed back in only to find that he needed to use the restroom before we left.  (He had been sick though earlier)  I escorted him into the bathroom because he was a bit unsteady.  While in there, his head started bleeding.  It was like a comedy of errors, me holding all of our stuff, his belt which he insisted he did NOT want to wear then, and his "barfbag" for the ride back to the hotel, while trying to clean up blood in a men's bathroom. I went back out to tell the attendant who just stared at me. I suggested they might want to get someone to clean up the bathroom.  She disappeared.  Then we waited again.

Finally my mother-in-law went to look for her (I really wanted to push the wheelchair out at that point but figured it was against policy plus I had full hands).  The attendant returned. I told her we were the gray/silver van.  When we got outside, she turned the opposite direction, looking for a red vehicle.

Finally we got Mark into the van. My in-laws had driven separately which turned out to be a good thing. They went to pick up prescriptions while I drove back to the hotel.

The drive back was an experience.

I should know how to drive in Little Rock but it has been 18 years since I lived there. 

And as luck would have it, there was construction.  Like come to a screeching halt construction.

Meanwhile, Mark (who usually drives) is trying to get me back to the hotel. But he was pretty out of it. He was also a bit whiny (which I understand). I couldn't get the temperature right. We kept hitting potholes which hurt.  He just wanted to be at the hotel.  (So did I!)

Finally we got there, somehow managed to get him up to our room, and I began the process of caring for the wound, doling out medicine, helping with clean up, fetching ice, etc.

In all, we had been gone for over 8 hours. 

It felt like 3 days to me.  To him, it felt like 2 hours.

Oh, by the way, I didn't sleep any better that night.  The hotel bed was not comfortable for me.  And my poor husband slept sitting up.  

Fast forward, we are home now.

Mark's appetite is back.

He can walk around fairly well (as long as he doesn't look down).

We kept his eye patched all day.

He is in minimal pain.

However, his eyelid is three times its normal size. And it is quite colorful.  He looks like he was in a brawl.

I am pretty sure he is counting down the hours until tomorrow when he can take a shower.

We still don't know about vision (his eye is too swollen right now). We know he can see (sometimes double) but will have to wait a few more days to find out for sure where he stands.

Now we will finish up spring break in "recovery" mode.

Then I may need a spring break to recover from this week. :)

Mark goes back next week for a follow up. I may or may not need to take him depending on his vision.  So I guess it isn't really the rest of the story. Just more of it...

More later,
Reba

Eye Love Him

I haven't done a good job posting lately.

And I definitely haven't done a good job posting since last spring when I shared the story of the tumor that had been discovered behind my husband's eye.

At that time, we were told to seek a specialist's opinion and keep an "eye" on it. 

Which we did.

Until the end of the year when we told it was probably best to get that tumor removed.  (Test revealed that it was affecting Mark's vision since it is resting next to the optic nerve)

And here I am.

In a waiting room.

Waiting.

 The doctor wanted to do this surgery in January.  It was a bit of a shock to us since we had just been told we would just watch and wait.  We asked to wait until March when things wouldn't be as crazy. I mean that in relative terms since our lives are always a bit crazy...

And suddenly it is March.

We drove over (Little Rock) yesterday since we had to be here bright and early this morning. I still don't know why we had to be so early because we just did a lot of waiting once we got here. I suppose it really doesn't matter anyway. I didn't sleep. I don't think I was nervous about the surgery as much as nervous about oversleeping. It is my spring break; I am not used to being up before the sun!

Mark's parents joined us here (mine are at home, manning my kid crew and pup).  We went out for a nice dinner last night.  Then we tried to sleep.

We arrived right on time, they did the pre-op assessments, and had him change. Then we waited. A lot. 

One thing I have learned is there is no privacy in those pre-op rooms.

Or cubbies.

Or whatever they are called.

We heard all kinds of stories and health issues while waiting.

I finally got to meet the surgeon (nice guy) and hear all of the risks and possibilities.  That is not fun.  The possibility of an overnight stay was not welcome news either. 

And though none of that was really fun, I can't help but be thankful.

Other than having babies and one very quick outpatient procedure for me, we really haven't dealt with medical issues.  Or hospital visits.

So this is new to us.

Like the "compression" socks he had to wear.  Or being asked over and over if he had dentures or any loose teeth.  Or meeting a whole team of people (who all asked if Mark takes medicine and when he last ate).  I am thankful that is new to us. 

Finally, we were told it was time.

I have done fine.  Stayed strong.  Smiled a lot.

Until they told me I had to leave.

Then I cried.  (Very thankful for the nurse who sweetly hugged me on my way out)

And now I am just waiting.  Holding my breath each time the phone rings.  And sending messages to our kids.

There are always risks, especially with anesthesia.  For some reason the 1 in 200,000 chance of death from anesthesia complications seemed a bit daunting.

And a chance of blindness.

Or double vision for the rest of his life.

Or that we are dealing with something different than we were told.

All real risks.

Though my heart aches and I will admit to being a bit fidgety, I also know I have a real God.

It doesn't mean things will go just like I want.

But no matter how they go, I have a real God who is here supporting me.  Supporting him.

One more hour to go...

 Oh, how "eye" love him.

Reba

Waiting to Exhale...

I think I can finally share this story now...

Maybe.

On April 28 (a Monday), Mark had a CT scan done. He has a family history of pituitary gland tumors so we wanted to keep an eye on his pituitary gland. Kind of felt like a sitting duck in a way.  I honestly didn't think a whole lot about it. I mean, I prayed and thought about him during that time but this was "routine" in a sense.

That afternoon, he walked into the room and said, "I have a growth behind my right eye."  He had apparently just found out and was in a bit of shock himself.

At that moment, the world seemed to stop.

I was prepared to hear "pituitary gland".  Not this.

I kind of laugh about this now. We always have big plans on how to tell each other things (or at least I do) and then it never works out that way.  Like when I found out I was pregnant. There are so many neat ways to share that. Instead, after having some disappointment over negative tests, all those ideas went out the window. I just called him and blurted out, "It is positive!  We are having a baby!"  Same with the day our adoptions were finalized. Nothing like we had planned on.  Not that there is a good way to share news like that but it was just so typical for us. Blurted out...

At that point, I am pretty sure I stopped breathing.

An MRI was set.  For 8 days later. 8 days.  That felt like an eternity!  We had little information at that time which was not good for me. I immediately started googling "growth on optic nerve". There are a LOT of possibilities for that but not very many of them were desirable.

By the way, a FAQ was and is "Didn't he have any symptoms?" Well, yes, looking back, he did/does. But blurred vision, an occasional headache, etc, those things are just part of being our age. So we didn't put much thought into them.

Two days later (the 30th), Mark came to eat lunch with me at school.  About that time, I got a text from my mom to call her. My grandmother had died. Unexpectedly.

Honestly, the next two weeks were like a blur. Having a completed thought was almost impossible.

We cried a lot. I worried a lot. We prayed a lot.  I found myself searching for comfort in the Scriptures.  We were also blessed by so many sweet prayers and notes of encouragement during that time. We tried to be normal but it was not a normal time.

I looked at life through a different lens.

And still do.

That is more for a post for another time.

The following Tuesday, May 6, we buried my grandmother.

I won't lie. I found myself wondering if I would be doing that again soon with my own husband.

The next day, May 7, Mark went in for the MRI.

I did not go with him.

I was in a workshop.

And there was nothing I could do. I couldn't be in the room with him.  I knew he wouldn't get results right then.

All I could do was pray.

A lot.

And try to ignore that feeling in the pit of my stomach.  The one that had become permanent at that point.

Unbeknownst to me, Mark announced the MRI on Facebook that morning. I had no idea. We had only told limited people at that time.

The outpouring of love and prayers was overwhelming. A good overwhelming but overwhelming at the same time.

During this time, tears came easily.  I could be laughing one minute, crying the next. And I often was.

One moment that brought me to tears? When our youngest child (who had overheard a conversation incorrectly) asked if Daddy was going to die and if so, who would practice baseball with him.

Another time I was cooking in the kitchen, singing praise songs at the top of my lungs. Suddenly I was on the floor crying, the dog right by my side.  It was like being on a roller coaster ride. A ride I wanted to get off of.

We had gotten CT results so quickly, I just figured it would be the same with MRI results.

I had my phone with me all of the time. Checked messages constantly. My phone battery ran down to empty more those two weeks than normal in a whole year for me.

The one and only time we somewhat relaxed was the weekend (Mother's Day weekend) because we knew there wouldn't be a phone call over the weekend.  But the thoughts were still there. The questions. The worries.

We didn't try to speculate on what the "no answers" meant.  I didn't take it as good news or bad news. Just no news.

Which was hard.

Very hard.

One thing I learned is that I can completely trust in God. I do. I really do. And I knew no matter the outcome, God would be there.  But I also learned that I am very human. And that knot in the pit of my stomach was very real and NOT a reflection of my faith or state of relationship with Him. Just part of being a human, a human who loves her husband very much.

Mark did call that Friday to ask for results.

Nobody called him back.

Mother's Day weekend was very surreal.

We tried to be normal...hiking, lunch out.

But life was not normal. And likely never will be again.

The next week I found myself more and more jittery.  More and more consumed with "What is going on???"

I tried really hard to NOT push Mark to get answers.

It was and still is HIS condition.  Not mine. I have to let him handle things his way.

On Wednesday he called again to ask for results. One week later.  Suddenly that 8 days we had waited for the MRI didn't seem like an eternity. This one week did.

As some point, the doctor's office called and he missed the call.

Gotta love phone tag.  With a doctor's office. 

He called back.

And finally he got to talk to a person.

And the "results"?

"You need to see an ophthalmologist."

That is all.

Nothing more.

Some people immediately said, "Well, they didn't say oncologist so that is encouraging."

But at that time, nothing was really encouraging.

We still had no answers.

On Thursday, May 15, Mark took matters into his own hands and called the ophthalmologist's office himself instead of waiting to be called. 

And somehow they had an opening.

That day.

I scrambled to find a substitute, a VERY rare thing for me.

And a few hours later found myself sitting in the eye doctor's waiting room with him, my husband, my love.

Finally his name was called.

At that point, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up.

My anxiety level was at an all time high.

We walked into the office. The nurse started looking through Mark's records.

She asked, "Have you seen the copy of this report?"

I was about in tears by this time, telling her we had heard or seen NOTHING.

She handed it to us.

Well, it made no sense. Medical jargon is not my specialty.

The eye doctor came in.

We have known him for a long time (on a professional level); our kids go to him regularly.

He did a few tests and looked over the report.

I was a basketcase by this point.

Then he said it, "This is a cavernous hemangioma. It is NOT something serious."

In fact, he said it a few times.

I think my face gave it all away.

And then it happened.

I exhaled.  I didn't realize it but I had been...

waiting to exhale.

And I finally did.

And cried.

A lot.

And still am.

Breathe in, breathe out.

More soon,
Reba

What a Loser...

And LOVING it.

I am not going to make bold claims. Or celebrate with a big piece of cake.

But I AM losing weight.

I really am. (though I still have SEVERAL pounds to go)

For the first time in a few years, the needle on that wicked scale is going DOWN.

I mentioned the phone app MyFitnessPal not long ago on here.

It is still a pain. Entering my foods. Making me think about what I eat. Completely suppressing my fun on Taco Night (which was tonight).

But apparently it is working.

At least for now.

I doubt anyone else can tell.

But I can.

I saw something on Pinterest the other day that made a lot of sense.

It takes 4 weeks for you to notice your body is changing, 8 weeks for your friends to notice, and 12 weeks for the rest of the world to notice. Give it 12 weeks. Don't give up.

I would give credit to the author of this but I couldn't find it.

Anyway, hopefully in another 8 weeks, the world will notice. Hopefully there will be less of me to love. :)

I am inspired.

I can do this!

Reba

Are You Positive?

Yesterday morning, I pulled myself out of bed, which was a feat in itself, since a cold front had moved through. It went from 70+ the day before to the 40's and lower 50's. I do realize if you are in the North, that is not that cold. And comparatively, it probably isn't. But we still haven't switched out our clothes so we did a bit of a scramble, especially for poor Miss Child 3. Anyway, I whipped together a batch of pumpkin muffins for Child 4's teachers, then jumped back in bed to check e-mail.

Suddenly drama. Child 2 is standing in my room sobbing. And I am totally bewildered because I have no idea why she is crying (no tornado sirens) or what she is saying. After a little of that Mommy, "What? Slow down...I cannot understand you...", she finally blurted out that she had a temperature of 101 and wasn't able to perform.

I think I have told you a little about her personality. This girl is fairly self-sufficient. Always has been. She did things (talking, walking) early, and "Me do it" were some of her first words. So in her typical fashion, when she woke up, she was feeling hot, so she swiped her forehead with our handy dandy thermometer to check her temperature. She knows that 100 degrees is the magic cut off for school. And she was supposed to perform for the third grade program in the afternoon.

I told her to settle down, that I would re-check her in a few minutes. Honestly, she looked just fine. So I was hopeful.

I waited until she had settled down and scanned her forehead myself. (Which means I have to scan everyone's...if the thermometer is out, they ALL want to know their temps!) 101.9.

So, who are you going to call? Mommy of course!

I am so thankful for a mom who opens up her home to sick grandchildren at a moment's notice. I will stay home when needed but at the same time, I try to save sick days because I never know what the flu season is going to hold.

My little patient was crushed. Third grade has been working for quite a while on a cute program about food. Child 2 had a fun part as a construction worker foreman directing the building of an ice cream sundae. She didn't actually speak, she mouthed words while a deep voice on the CD spoke the words. It was really cute. She performed it for PTA on Monday night, so thankfully we had all seen it. But I was saving pictures for Friday's performance at a school assembly. I figured the lighting would be better; I have difficulty getting pictures in the school cafeteria at times. So Child 2 was crushed, and if I admit it...I was too.

All morning I wrestled with whether to have my mom bring her in for that little bit of the assembly for her part. She didn't stand near anyone and could enter and exit quickly. I figured it was just a viral thing that probably was finishing its course (since you are usually contagious before symptoms even start...).

I finally thought, "She can come just for her part."

I called my mom to let her know. I asked how she was doing. Mom said that she (being Child 2) was complaining a lot about her throat and had been sitting in a chair vegging all day...highly unusual. She also didn't have much of an appetite. Also highly unusual.

Uh oh.

I made the decision that she needed to stay home. It was cold and rainy out and it sounded like she was getting worse. Plus during that time, Mom took her temp. It was up. I broke the news to her (via phone call) and she didn't even up put up a fight. That told me how bad she felt.

Uh oh.

I searched for the music teacher to let her know that Child 2 was definitely "out" of the program. Then I started the internal (as in my head) debate...do I take her to the doctor?

I never like making that decision. We do not rush to the doctor if I don't think it is necessary. I am always embarrassed to go and find out "it is just a virus". Like I have failed as a mom somehow for not knowing that. And we don't visit the ER unless it is a major incident. At the same time, since it was Friday, I knew that our options would be limited over the weekend. And after our last (and only) visit to the walk in clinic where we waited for two hours on a Saturday afternoon...well, in the end, I decided a visit to the doctor was necessary.

I love our pediatric clinic. I have yet to have a doctor we didn't like. We have one we visit more than the others, but we will always choose "first available" in sick situations. But the part I REALLY like is I can request appointments online. I have probably mentioned, I am not a phone person. I don't even like to order pizza over the phone. I much prefer online. So on my planning period, I did a quick form fill out on line and clicked "Send". In about ten minutes, I had an appointment for my little patient for that afternoon.

After school, we picked child 4 up and then I left the three kiddos I had with me at my mom's house, picking up Child 2 for her appointment. We ran home to prepare the house for a guest later that evening, then rushed to the appointment.

I am SOOOO thankful I didn't have the other kids with me. We were there for an hour. I am guessing there was a lot of sickness this week. The room was pretty full which is rare. (And this was just one of their "sick" clinics!) We actually got called back pretty promptly. That is when the waiting game started.

There isn't a lot to do in a pediatric exam room. Child 2 read the picture book in about half a minute. We counted the "windows" on the border at the top of the room. Then we scanned the pamphlets...whew. Was that an experience!

Child 2: Mom...what does "p-u-b-e-r-t-y" spell?

Me: That is puberty. (as I held my breath for the next question...)

Child 2: What does that mean?

Me: It is a time when your body starts changing from a girl to a young woman.

Child 2: Oh, I don't want to do that!

Me: I don't want you to either. :)

Child 2: I don't want to pay for my own cell phone or my own house. How much does a cell phone plan cost anyway?

I give her a ballpark figure. Then she requested a house payment estimate. I gave her a "roundabout" on that too.

Child 2: Okay, I will have a cell phone, but I am not buying a house.

I would like to say that was the end of it all, but I ended up pulling down the pamphlets as I came to the realization that my older children ARE approaching some changes in their lives in the next few years. There was one for girls, one for boys. She browsed the girl one and thankfully didn't truly tune into the details...it isn't that I am ashamed to have these conversations, I just didn't feel like having them at that moment. Meanwhile I browsed the "boy's" version which was eye opening for me...I only had a sister, so it is all new. She then asked to see the boy's pamphlet. I said most definitely no. :)

Thankfully , shortly afterward, the doctor came in. He took one look at her throat and asked if she had had Strep before. I told him that she has and seems to be kind of susceptible to it though it had been a while. Of course, that meant the throat swab came next, then more waiting.

We had all kinds of conversations as mommy and daughter waiting for the test results. My favorite was the comment, "Mom, if I cannot have a baby, I will just adopt." I am thankful she has a positive view of adoption...you always wonder if you have turned their lives upside down having more kids.

Finally, I heard a voice in the hallway that sounded a lot like the doctor we had just seen. He was right outside our door and I heard, "What about that test...positive?"

The rest is history. She actually got worse and worse last night, but we did manage a dose of antibiotics, and today she has yet to stop talking. :)

So now Child 2 has a bottle of pink medicine, and I have peace of mind.