The Lewis County Herald - 10/4/22
In the week since I sat down to write the first installment of my latest adventure, much has happened but little more is known.
The surgeon told us the procedure went well but we won’t know any more until the mysterious lab people examine samples and report back.
The procedure had been scheduled for Tuesday morning (September 27) in Lexington and a range of scenarios had been presented to us contingent upon the surgeon’s findings once he “got in there.”
The actual procedure he performed was somewhere in the middle of that range. The medical term for my procedure is laparoscopic assisted colectomy with a loop ileostomy.
From an earlier meeting, the surgeon’s office had sent with us a packet of information including instructions to follow in preparation for the procedure.
In the week leading up to the procedure, I had glanced through the sheaves of instructions, had all the scripts filled, purchased the recommended materials and made a note on the calendar that the prep would begin on Saturday. Three full days before I was scheduled to be in the operating room.
Tammy had read and re-read the same instructions, reminding me Friday night that the preparation regimen would begin on Saturday. (It actually started a few days before with me avoiding some of the foods that stick with you for a while.)
I awoke at my usual time, put on a pot of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen island to see what the day’s preparatory events would include.
Liquids seemed to be the rule for the day. No solid food and I would have a round of intestinal cleansing at mid-day. Also, no coffee, no colas, or anything red, purple, or blue to drink. NO COFFEE?
Tammy had stocked the fridge with a wide variety of permissible clear liquids. I surveyed my options and kicked-off that day with the only caffeine-laced clear liquid beverage I could locate.
Surgery prep included drinking the contents of two of these jugs (and a bunch of other stuff).
The intestinal cleansing went pretty much as you’d expect.
And there would be another round of that on Monday. The apparent goal of the instruction writers was to ensure that by the time I was delivered to the surgical suite on Tuesday that clear liquids would be the only component of my gastrointestinal contents.
Also on Monday, they had scheduled me for a gastrografin enema at the hospital. I knew what one of those words meant at the time. I learned during the procedure that gastrografin must be defined as “overfilling a container with liquid and placing it in many uncomfortable positions for extreme periods of time.”
It was while they were actively pumping me full of liquid that the fire alarm was activated. Of course it was.
We had decided to get a nearby motel room for Monday night. There were a few other steps of preparation of which Tammy oversaw with great precision and thoroughness.
During an earlier visit to the hospital, when we met with the surgical team, one of the nurses had utilized a special marker to make two quarter-size circles on either side of my belly and handed me the marker with orders to keep the circles colored in.
Some of the prep for Monday evening and Tuesday morning included scrubbing off a few layers of skin with some chemically treated 60 grit sandpaper.
I followed the orders and kept those circles obvious on my one remaining layer of skin with the special black ink.
On Tuesday morning I completed the final preparatory steps and dressed in comfortable clothing for our walk across the street to the hospital.
We had earlier been issued an express pass and walked straight to the surgical area where we were immediately ushered in and the team set about to complete a few final details before my appointment with the surgeon.
As Tammy was answering a few questions, I was handed a blue gown, with what may or may not have been a repeating tobacco leaf design, and was directed to change into it and then lie down.
After a few minutes, Tammy came inside the curtained area with me and sat down to update family members on the events thus far. A couple of other family members were present in-person to lend their support and be there for Tammy during the procedure.
Surgical team members milled about as they collected data, asked questions, and did their best to make us comfortable.
One of the team members, armed with a razor, stopped by to shave the area where all of the attention would soon be directed.
She adjusted the gown to expose my belly and her eyes locked on my upper abdominal area. She immediately summoned nearby team members to “come and look at this.”
She made the comment that she hadn’t seen anything like it in her 22 years in the medical field.
I could see Tammy stand and take a position where she could get a glimpse of what everyone else had been summoned to examine.
Her expression transformed from concern to disbelief as her eyes locked on the smiley face and “Have A Nice Day!” I had scribed earlier that morning with the surgical marker and aid of the motel bathroom mirror.
It was a gesture I was sure would be appreciated by the surgical team and probably the only step I took that Tammy did not oversee.
She had left me unsupervised.
I realized that my marker privileges were immediately revoked when Tammy sat back down and removed the marking instrument from my hospital bag to secure it in her purse.
It was about this time she began to receive some texts from family, friends, and coworkers with words of encouragement, notifications of prayers, and photos.
Lewis County District Court participants must have wondered about the dress code on my day of surgery. Deputies, court security, court clerks, jailers, and others in the courtroom donned shirts and bracelets to show their support. This is one of the last pictures I saw before I was taken back for surgery. I'll never be able to adequately convey how much this means to me.
Photos of these wonderful caring people wearing the shirts and bracelets showing their love and support.
We cried as we looked at the stream of incoming photos of groups and individuals. What an overwhelming feeling.
A very similar feeling enveloped us a couple of days before when we also felt God’s presence.
Our church family at Vanceburg Christian gathered with us to lift us in prayer and show their support.
One of my oldest and dearest friends, who is a true inspiration, led a special prayer and assured me his mother, a known prayer warrior, would be asking for healing on my behalf.
(There is no way I will ever be able to express my deep and sincere appreciation for each of you who uttered a prayer or in some way contributed to this immense flood of love and support.)
Since word of my cancer diagnosis (adenocarcinoma) began to spread, it has been these events that have cemented my faith in God and strengthened the knowledge that He is the pilot.
I turned this matter over to Him the same day I became aware of it. I have been surrounded by love, support, and peace since then.
Photos continued appear on Tammy’s phone as she watched team members push me off to meet the surgeon. It would be several hours before she would see me again.
I was ejected from the hospital about mid-day on Friday. We had been told to expect a Monday release following such a surgical event. I credit the answered prayers for how things progressed.
There has been plenty of pain associated with the surgical trauma, pretty extreme at times but it hasn’t been excruciating. It’s part of the healing process.
The surgeon, whom I believe had been divinely chosen for this particular task, told us, after “getting in there” he determined the complete removal of my colon, associated lymph nodes, and connective tissue would be the best initial step.
We had earlier given him full approval to take whatever actions he thought necessary.
His experience, knowledge, faith, and especially his well-honed wit and sense of humor made it obvious he was the one for this job.
The next installment will include my version of the hospital stay and healing at home, as well as any new information we learn between now and my next press deadline.
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