Getting him ready to go in! I don’t even know how to begin the post this evening, so please excuse me if my writing is sub-par today. First, and foremost, Tom is doing well. In an incredible amount of pain, but doing well. I suppose as Julie Andrews once said – let’s start at the very beginning.
Last night and this morning was tough. Last night we had to have some hard conversations about “what if” scenarios and didn’t sleep too well last night except for a few hours. We got here at 9 this morning and they checked us in (read: paperwork), and then they took Tom back for prep. Unfortunately he had to go back by himself for prep so I had to sit in the waiting room for about 45 minutes until they let us back. Tom’s folks were here and his Aunt Paula and my Mom. Once he was settled in, we were all able to go back and see him until they wheeled him to surgery (See picture). Unfortunately, they were about an hour behind which was brutal because Tom was so incredibly nervous and it felt like we were in a time warp. The cardiac anesthesiologist came in and talked about her plan for the day, and quite frankly it scared the crap out of both of us. While we appreciate being told all possible scenarios it’s a bit tough to hear where IV’s are being placed, why they are being placed and hearing things like “IV’s in your arm or hand aren’t lifesaving”. Certainly we realized the severity of our situation but when you are so close to it starting it can be tough to hear and not have a little panic.
The real panic set in when the doctor came in to chat and said that he had concern about one artery near Tom’s heart. If he put in the camera and didn’t feel like it was safe, they were going to stop the surgery and reschedule for another day with a different team and different equipment. I about lost my cool. The thought of walking out of here today without this surgery having occurred almost made me physically ill, and based on the look on Tom's face he was feeling the same way. Suddenly the focus became less on the surgery and more on if the surgery would even be able to go through. The doctor said he would call out and let us know what his decision was once he got the camera in so we knew exactly what the plan was even though we were confined to the hospital waiting area. Eventually the nurses came in and we had to say our goodbyes and they wheeled Tom away. That was a tough few minutes, especially after all the scary talk from the doctors, but I was eager for them to get things moving.
We hunkered down in the waiting area and kept our eyes on the reader board that shows surgical progress. We have a number associated to Tom and were able to see what stage he was at in the surgery. About an hour into the waiting one of the receptionists came over and told me I had a call from inside the surgical room. I followed her to the phone hoping they weren’t about to tell me that they couldn’t do it, and thank God they said they were going to take a run at it but would have to open his chest. The relief knowing that they would be getting this out today was so great and then we braced ourselves to get our next call of progress. So at this point, it’s almost 1 and he’s been in surgery for about an hour and a half. At 2, as I was walking out of the bathroom, I get pulled into the post-op family room and our surgeon is standing there with an update. I was shocked that he was already done! He said that the tumor was “ugly” and about the size of a big softball. This thing was no joke. Unfortunately because it was a gnarly son-of-a-gun it didn’t leave with ease. They had to take 10% of Tom’s lung along with his phrenic nerve. Ultimately that will be something he deals with for the rest of his life, but that is a small price to pay to have the sucker out, and we knew there was a chance that would be necessary.
You know when you read a book and aren’t focused and you get to the end of the page and then think “what in the hell did I just read?”, that’s how I felt processing everything the doctor was saying. It’s like my mind was racing 1098745098 times its normal pace and all I wanted to do was get to Tom. Dr. C gave me a hug, and I swear to you it was one of the biggest, tightest and sweetest hugs ever. We have gotten to know him in this process and I hugged him back just as hard. He commented to my in-laws that he just hates to see this happen to “young kids” like us. Thank God I’m only 28 and still classified as a young kid ;-) I can’t say enough about the doctors we have been fortunate enough to have – they are unbelievable – and we are forever in awe of their abilities and dedication to their work.
Anyway, as we were walking out he told me that it would be about two hours before I could see Tom – say what?!?! – it was almost worse knowing that it was over and I couldn’t be with him than when he was in surgery. I was counting down the time to when we would be able to see him and finally (as I hovered near by the receptionist desk looking at the reader board for his progress) she told me she had just gotten a call that we could move to the ICU waiting room and wait to see him. We moved up to ICU and I hunted down a receptionist to find out how long we would need to wait to see him. She recognized me from another part of the hospital (thanks to chemo) and took me to his nurse who then took me into see him because the nurse had some medical questions that Tom wasn’t answering clearly.
His initial appearance definitely took me back – he was visibly in pain and hooked up to so many machines. Oxygen, 3 IVs, a blood pressure IV, two blood drain tubes and much more – meanwhile the nurse is asking me a bunch of questions. There was a lot going on at once. As Tom and I were talking last night he made me promise that the first thing I would tell him when I saw him after surgery was what ended up happening with the procedure. Since we knew there were so many variables to today, he really wanted to know what had actually happened in regards to the cuts they had to make. So he and I made a deal last night – I would tell him that first, but then he had to tell me a joke so I knew he was okay. So it went something like this as I was squeezing his hand:
Honore: I love you, it’s done, you did so great, the doctor is very happy, but they did have to open up your chest.
Tom: Everything hurts.
Honore: I know, they are getting you some more medicine for the pain.
Then I start answering doctor’s questions….
Tom: Why did Adele cross the road?
Honore: Why?
Tom: To say hello from the other side.
Honore: Solid and timely joke babe, great work.
So I knew that despite his agony and pain that he was okay and things could only go up from here – it was a huge relief in our own goofy way.
The rest of the afternoon/evening he came in and out of it and mostly rested. We were having a tough time getting his pain under control but dare I say I think we are getting that problem solved and he’s starting to actually rest. There are no words to describe how tough Tom has been today; despite being scared he just crushed it. His anesthesiologist came in tonight and said as they were taking him out of the room he gave two thumbs up to the entire surgical team. I’m so very proud of him and the fact that he has continued to be positive, and full of gratitude, through it all.
So now what….in the immediate future tomorrow there will be more scans, the drain tubes should be removed and hopefully he can try to tolerate some food. I’ll keep posting updates on our progress. In the longer term, we now wait 3-5 days to find out if there is active cancer in the tumor. We still need all the prayers, energy and love sent our way for this. It would be a miracle for there not to be any active cancer in the tumor, but dammit I’m not giving up hope until they tell me one way or the other.
I’m beyond exhausted, so I’ll just close with the biggest thank you I could ever send via a blog. The number of texts, messages, calls and emails we received today was unbelievable, and so appreciated. They kept smiles on my face all day and reminded me how lucky we are. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. More to come tomorrow…
Last night and this morning was tough. Last night we had to have some hard conversations about “what if” scenarios and didn’t sleep too well last night except for a few hours. We got here at 9 this morning and they checked us in (read: paperwork), and then they took Tom back for prep. Unfortunately he had to go back by himself for prep so I had to sit in the waiting room for about 45 minutes until they let us back. Tom’s folks were here and his Aunt Paula and my Mom. Once he was settled in, we were all able to go back and see him until they wheeled him to surgery (See picture). Unfortunately, they were about an hour behind which was brutal because Tom was so incredibly nervous and it felt like we were in a time warp. The cardiac anesthesiologist came in and talked about her plan for the day, and quite frankly it scared the crap out of both of us. While we appreciate being told all possible scenarios it’s a bit tough to hear where IV’s are being placed, why they are being placed and hearing things like “IV’s in your arm or hand aren’t lifesaving”. Certainly we realized the severity of our situation but when you are so close to it starting it can be tough to hear and not have a little panic.
The real panic set in when the doctor came in to chat and said that he had concern about one artery near Tom’s heart. If he put in the camera and didn’t feel like it was safe, they were going to stop the surgery and reschedule for another day with a different team and different equipment. I about lost my cool. The thought of walking out of here today without this surgery having occurred almost made me physically ill, and based on the look on Tom's face he was feeling the same way. Suddenly the focus became less on the surgery and more on if the surgery would even be able to go through. The doctor said he would call out and let us know what his decision was once he got the camera in so we knew exactly what the plan was even though we were confined to the hospital waiting area. Eventually the nurses came in and we had to say our goodbyes and they wheeled Tom away. That was a tough few minutes, especially after all the scary talk from the doctors, but I was eager for them to get things moving.
We hunkered down in the waiting area and kept our eyes on the reader board that shows surgical progress. We have a number associated to Tom and were able to see what stage he was at in the surgery. About an hour into the waiting one of the receptionists came over and told me I had a call from inside the surgical room. I followed her to the phone hoping they weren’t about to tell me that they couldn’t do it, and thank God they said they were going to take a run at it but would have to open his chest. The relief knowing that they would be getting this out today was so great and then we braced ourselves to get our next call of progress. So at this point, it’s almost 1 and he’s been in surgery for about an hour and a half. At 2, as I was walking out of the bathroom, I get pulled into the post-op family room and our surgeon is standing there with an update. I was shocked that he was already done! He said that the tumor was “ugly” and about the size of a big softball. This thing was no joke. Unfortunately because it was a gnarly son-of-a-gun it didn’t leave with ease. They had to take 10% of Tom’s lung along with his phrenic nerve. Ultimately that will be something he deals with for the rest of his life, but that is a small price to pay to have the sucker out, and we knew there was a chance that would be necessary.
You know when you read a book and aren’t focused and you get to the end of the page and then think “what in the hell did I just read?”, that’s how I felt processing everything the doctor was saying. It’s like my mind was racing 1098745098 times its normal pace and all I wanted to do was get to Tom. Dr. C gave me a hug, and I swear to you it was one of the biggest, tightest and sweetest hugs ever. We have gotten to know him in this process and I hugged him back just as hard. He commented to my in-laws that he just hates to see this happen to “young kids” like us. Thank God I’m only 28 and still classified as a young kid ;-) I can’t say enough about the doctors we have been fortunate enough to have – they are unbelievable – and we are forever in awe of their abilities and dedication to their work.
Anyway, as we were walking out he told me that it would be about two hours before I could see Tom – say what?!?! – it was almost worse knowing that it was over and I couldn’t be with him than when he was in surgery. I was counting down the time to when we would be able to see him and finally (as I hovered near by the receptionist desk looking at the reader board for his progress) she told me she had just gotten a call that we could move to the ICU waiting room and wait to see him. We moved up to ICU and I hunted down a receptionist to find out how long we would need to wait to see him. She recognized me from another part of the hospital (thanks to chemo) and took me to his nurse who then took me into see him because the nurse had some medical questions that Tom wasn’t answering clearly.
His initial appearance definitely took me back – he was visibly in pain and hooked up to so many machines. Oxygen, 3 IVs, a blood pressure IV, two blood drain tubes and much more – meanwhile the nurse is asking me a bunch of questions. There was a lot going on at once. As Tom and I were talking last night he made me promise that the first thing I would tell him when I saw him after surgery was what ended up happening with the procedure. Since we knew there were so many variables to today, he really wanted to know what had actually happened in regards to the cuts they had to make. So he and I made a deal last night – I would tell him that first, but then he had to tell me a joke so I knew he was okay. So it went something like this as I was squeezing his hand:
Honore: I love you, it’s done, you did so great, the doctor is very happy, but they did have to open up your chest.
Tom: Everything hurts.
Honore: I know, they are getting you some more medicine for the pain.
Then I start answering doctor’s questions….
Tom: Why did Adele cross the road?
Honore: Why?
Tom: To say hello from the other side.
Honore: Solid and timely joke babe, great work.
So I knew that despite his agony and pain that he was okay and things could only go up from here – it was a huge relief in our own goofy way.
The rest of the afternoon/evening he came in and out of it and mostly rested. We were having a tough time getting his pain under control but dare I say I think we are getting that problem solved and he’s starting to actually rest. There are no words to describe how tough Tom has been today; despite being scared he just crushed it. His anesthesiologist came in tonight and said as they were taking him out of the room he gave two thumbs up to the entire surgical team. I’m so very proud of him and the fact that he has continued to be positive, and full of gratitude, through it all.
So now what….in the immediate future tomorrow there will be more scans, the drain tubes should be removed and hopefully he can try to tolerate some food. I’ll keep posting updates on our progress. In the longer term, we now wait 3-5 days to find out if there is active cancer in the tumor. We still need all the prayers, energy and love sent our way for this. It would be a miracle for there not to be any active cancer in the tumor, but dammit I’m not giving up hope until they tell me one way or the other.
I’m beyond exhausted, so I’ll just close with the biggest thank you I could ever send via a blog. The number of texts, messages, calls and emails we received today was unbelievable, and so appreciated. They kept smiles on my face all day and reminded me how lucky we are. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. More to come tomorrow…
