I'm beginning to have a lot of trepidation about January. In 2009, 2013 and now 2015, I've spent too much time sleeping in one, watching people I've loved. Although the 1st two times, they came from no where, this time, it was (sort of) scheduled. At least January 8th was, and the 6 days following. Then January 17 came, and this hospital stay was anything but expected.
Where do I start? Without leading you on a rabbit trail, the story is this: August, 2014, Joel was diagnosed with a massive DVT (blood clot) in his right calf and femoral artery. A regimen began with an anti-coagulant. With no known cause (yes, we had just flown to Chicago, but really? That was a cause? Psh...), he was prescribed Xarelto. His PCP (primary care physician) wanted to do more tests -what really caused it? Since cancer thickens the blood, she asked questions and ordered tests. December, Joel has a routine colonoscopy where a malignant tumor was found in the wall of his colon. Surgery to remove the portion of the transverse section of the colon was performed, and he started walking the halls, to wake up the colon, get it to working, so he could go home. Mission accomplished! :) Cassidy was here from the night before surgery (Jan 7th) until Sunday afternoon (the 11th) when all looked good for him. Which it was. We left North Hills with some new hospital buddies (nurses) and had no reason to look back. Until...
Saturday morning, Joel almost fainted - weak and short of breath. After consulting with my nurse (Cassidy) and calling the surgeon, we were on our way to the ER. A few tests later revealed blood clots in both lungs. Four hours later of trying to find a) the right doctor who knew b) the right procedure who was available and c) had a hospital with an open bed in a cardio vascular ICU and we were off by ambulance to Baylor All Saints hospital in Fort Worth. That night, the room was a hornet's nest of activity: intake evaluation, another chest x-ray, ultrasounds on his legs, lab work, visits by 2 doctors and a nurse practitioner, and I don't remember what else - all to talk to an interventionist radiologist to decide if he needed that specific procedure that sent us here.
Yes, and that was accomplished on Sunday afternoon, from 3-4 pm, with automatic results. He was awake through it all, and talked about it on the way back to his room. Amazed. Speechless. And in awe of the power of prayer that had been said for him from all over the US. His color was normal, his breathing was at the regular depth, his countenance was brighter and the whole world seemed to be singing how wonderful our God was for solving yet one more human frailty.
Then the waiting began... today.. minutes felt like hours. The clock seemed stuck - between "wait til you see the doctor", and "we're not sure he's coming today". Wait a minute... you said wait to see him... he left? we are.. waiting for what?
I know I'm not exactly calm and rational. Okay, I'm anything BUT calm OR rational. I'm exhausted. I've slept on a recliner with a blanket for 9 days out of the past 12. I've been interrupted by doctors, nurses, lab technicians, x-ray and ultrasound folks, internists, hospitalists, intensivists, bathroom needs, 'let's go walk down the hall' needs, and just not able to turn the brain off. It has been anything but unemotional. You go from a routine exam, to cancer Stage 2, to a visit with an oncologist, to a doctor telling you, "I've got good news and bad news: The bad news is you have a saddle embolism - blood clots in both lungs, the good news is that you're not dead." Wow. Because most people with this kind of blood clot don't arrive at the hospital breathing... they die before anyone can help them. Then you hear there are 7 specialists deciding what your best option is - to live. Not an easy walk in the park, is it? One ambulance ride, another hospital to learn, make sure you let people know what is going on when they ask, and oh, by the way - keep it all together, will you?
When doctors give the patient the ability to choose their own treatment - I'm lost. "Yes, you have cancer, it's up to you whether you want chemo or not." or - "Yes you have multiple blood clots in both lungs, and your right heart ventricle is pumping blood at more than twice the norm ~ it's up to you whether you want us to break those clots up and reduce the pressure in your heart." Seriously? Just why are we paying these guys? Isn't the decision making part of the process? YOU doctors have the knowledge, the training, the experience - why are you giving it to amateurs like us?
So - if we must choose - we choose life, and the ability to live it longer. A catheter is placed in Joel's neck with leads going to his heart and his lungs. One hour later, and we have a verdict: the heart pressure is below normal, an IVC filter has been placed to block any more clots moving into the lungs, and the clots already there are already beginning to dissolve. Wow - and you medical folks all credit the heprin for doing that. Thank you God, for heprin. But more importantly - thank you God for giving so many of us the ability to speak to you FOR Joel - to show him how you want to hear from us, how you can heal us miraculously and how we KNOW where the true physician is... HE is sitting on the throne, blessing his people who cry out to him for a loved one. People who have never met Joel, people who have brought his name to your feet begging for healing. People that you love, and want to show your glory through. Thank you for letting us all plead for Joel - and thank you for answering those pleas so quickly, and so strongly.
It's well after midnight. Joel has been asleep for over 2 hours. Sleep comes to us at completely different times. He can sleep any time of any day. I have to be bone tired, almost in a twilight zone before I can sleep. He wakes up, and watches television. IF I wake up, I look at the stars out our window, and fall back asleep - sometimes after starting the music that stopped earlier - sometimes not. Tonight, I'm starting music. A different playlist now. One that is soulful.. even sad at times. Because that is what I am - soulful, but sad. More to think about - more to write about - more to process. I don't want to be sad. It just seems that it's a role moms take on. And we carry it many times to our graves. Mom, I miss you. I wish I could talk to you tonight. YOU would probably still be awake anyway at almost 1am. :) We always had that in common. There are so many things we could talk about: cry about (I'd be doing the crying), and you would be comforting me - like you did so many times when I was really the child. Not this grown adult that is supposed to be the strong one. Sadly, it IS supposed to be this way - I'm now the mom - the strong one. And it's hard. Have to admit this - not a fan. Really... not a fan.
