The in-laws on the Halvorson side are known as the Outlaws. The wisdom of my fellow sister-in-laws belies their youth. Carol’s no-nonsense approach defies children and adults alike to ever deceive her. Suzanne combines heart, talent and creativity in all of her accomplishments. Thea is our Mother Superior and ever-constant model for dealing with life with grace, perspective and right amount of a gentle yet firm hand.

Carol and Thea have both remarked that it was a little surprising to hear that months removed from surgery I was still on the mend. They haven’t seen me in a year and know me as being healthy and in shape so assumed that I would bounce back to normal quickly.

That’s the long and short of it. Long in the sense that recovery goes at its own pace, but short in terms of what could have been.

A few months ago, the goals were a little simpler, like being able to bend down to pick things up. Now I can put them away too. Or ignore them. This week I burned a batch of popcorn in the microwave. Life is returning to normal.

Max and Christine are stuck in the midst of the Boston blizzard. Chuck and Jenny wish it would snow in Seattle for their upcoming Whistler trip. Hal and I are figuring out how we would transport a bed from Costco to our house. Worrying about daily issues again is a joy. And the future is back in play.

Speaking of daily issues, it has been a very busy first month of the year:

• Farewell Tramadol

Pain medication was my constant companion for the past four months, most recently tramadol, which I weaned myself off gradually over the past month. The meds helped to accelerate my recovery, providing the ability to feel strong and pain-free enough to increase my exercise and activities. I never had side effects, and I was diligent in decreasing the dosage steadily. What surprised me is that even with this regimen, I had mild withdrawal symptoms at the end. The road for those on medication for much longer and much more frequently must be a very long one.

• Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

For months I have been sleeping sitting up at night, as I have not been able to recline completely at night without pulling at my incision area and insides. I had visions of being permanently stuck in the upright position, but gradually over time I have moved from vertical to horizontal at night.

• Writer’s Cramp

After surgery I was not able to write in script and have had to print most letters and notes, either an effect of medication or the realization that I have bad handwriting. Good thing I am good at typing, or as they say in the future generation, word processing.

I am also back to driving the Volvo version of the Back to the Future DeLorean.  Driving Miss Daisy returns.

While my volleyball mom friend Maria was visiting this week from Lake Tahoe, it just so happened that our sons Ian and Max were at Maria’s place to enjoy a weekend of skiing. It reminded me of the 1980’s Eddie Murphy-Dan Akroyd comedy Trading Places, a modern-day version of the Prince and the Pauper story, changing places and changing lives.

I traded places and seemingly became the pauper in terms of good health with a pancreatic tumor. I recall being obsessed with checking for the price of airline tickets shortly before I found out about the tumor. Suddenly not only was I not going to be taking any trips in the foreseeable future, the great airfare deal that I worked so hard to get became meaningless as I had to cancel the flight for a date with surgery instead.

It turns out I was never a pauper because I got the gift of a prince, or princess, of seeing life and what I have in much more healthy ways. The days don’t blend together, the times don’t seem so hard, and when they do, I stay away from the pending stress. I appreciate those who really matter and don’t let the others impact my days.  It’s nice to be rich.

When my friend Sara and I were young writers in downtown Chicago at my first job, we would distract ourselves from writing bank copy by creating our own novel about a clueless co-worker who would never cease to amaze us with her actions. Agnes in the Fog would probably be a best-seller today because Sara is one of the most gifted and witty writers in the profession. My contribution was mostly laughing at her copy and egging her on to write more.

Processing a scary health situation is like being in a constant fog. You get through one medical test or appointment that may answer one question but create a slew more. You wake up some days thinking this is not really happening, but the reality doesn’t go away. You are grateful to learn as much as you can through the Internet but sorry you know the range of possibilities.

For me the fog was lifted, but for so many families the uncertainties, tests and next steps remain a very long process. We admire those who persevere and wish we could do more. For our family the words, actions and perspectives of friends were invaluable to us, and continue to be so. Take the time to show that you are there when others need you. It makes a big difference.

 

The Halvorson Five

All my loyal blog followers have undoubtedly noticed the addition of a new graphic to my award-winning blog beyondsixfive. It is a lovely necklace from Chuck and Jenny for Christmas designed and crafted by Jenny, depicting the concept of the six, then five jewels. It was professionally photographed and uploaded by Max. What a marvelous Christmas gift and remembrance of a very special Christmas spent with those who matter most.

At Christmas we remember the birth and later sacrifice of Christ for all of us. Through His pain, we have no suffering. After surgery, there was to be none of the expected suffering of follow-up treatments for me. The lessons and miracles of the birth of Jesus became very personal this year. It was the most joyous of Christmases, with my recovery accelerated by the joy of having our sons, new daughter as well as my brother and his family home to celebrate Christmas with Hal and me and my Mom.

The roles of each family member in my recovery continued through the holidays as they were here to provide support up close and personal. Three months after surgery, I could walk many more laps with Max around the house, and Chuck and Jenny helped me to see the great strides I had made through many little steps. Hal’s role never changed; he was still the manual laborer, although he graduated from figuring out smoothie recipes to doing all the dishes, changing the sheets and cleaning the bathrooms, not to mention all the chores and cooking that he already does. Oh lucky guy.

A few months ago I set my sights on being able to get out of bed without doing a 180-turn from my side. Now I am able to get up from the couch without getting stuck in it. I have set my sights on being well enough to travel to see the kids in Seattle and San Francisco. Hal hopes that dishes and sheets are once again in my future as well.

 

There’s a silly old joke that goes, “Does your face hurt? Well, it’s killing me.”

When my Dad was doing consulting work in his second full-time career, he would mentor young engineers on the importance of getting along to be successful. The Bob Chuck powerpoint presentations included such titles as: Likeability Value, Communications Styles, and Positive Attitude is Key to Success.

Dad molded the attitudinal with the practical, with presentations on: Hearty Laughter Can Be Healthful, Practice Improves Speaking Abilities, and Hasty Emails Can Lead to Regrets. Haven’t we all had experience with that last one.

At this point of recovery the core area of the pancreas behind the stomach sometimes hurts when I try to demonstrate my enthusiasm for a particularly good idea, and I can tire myself out appreciating a witty comment. That power of positive thinking can be hard work. It’s also a part of the character of our family, with the fortitude of always looking ahead to what can be possible, as forged by our parents.

Thanksgiving is annually a time of appreciating all that we take for granted for the rest of the year. Sometimes we’re blessed to get an extra special message from God. Our family got one this year. Although we are all in different locations this year, we will share the hearty laughter that Granpa described as healthful. Happy Thanksgiving!

 

I will never look at Chevron gas stations in the same way. When I was in the hospital, at each nursing shift change, the outgoing nurse would update the incoming one about my situation and say that I had the chevron cut. The incoming nurse would look at my incision and give a knowing nod that it was major surgery and judge that I was doing quite well considering.

As the road pointed more definitely toward surgery, I kept wishing there would be some way to get out of it. I am a wimp for minor medical procedures, much less surgery. Surely somewhere along the way a doctor would say that I could be treated without surgery, or that it could at least be delayed longer. The kids put it in perspective, though. Max said that the surgery itself was not the main point, but rather the goal was for me to be healthy again. Chuck said on the night before surgery that tomorrow would be the first day of my road to recovery.

God cut short the process for us. Surgery revealed that there would be no complicated future of treatments, no decisions to be made. All that I had read and digested about the long road ahead was short circuited in an instant.

When the boys were playing KAC community league sports, there were no cuts and everyone was assured a minimum amount of playing time before the coach could decide who would play in the usually pivotal last quarter. In high school there were moments of joy and pain as we along with other families endured the cuts of which players would make the teams each year. This time I was glad I was the one who got cut.

Our narrow backyard is appropriate for practicing free throws, a straightforward trajectory to the rim of the basket. It never quite worked for volleyball games. When the ball would get passed too close to the bougainvillea tree, mostly when Hal or I were doing the passing because we were so bad, the boys would quickly declare “Tree-Do!” and re-do the point. Or if the pokey bougainvillea thorns happened to puncture the ball, it was the end of the match and we had to buy a new volleyball.

I got a Life Tree-do on September 9. Even in our best case scenario, we could not have imagined the news that we received right after surgery – not only was the tumor benign, it was located in an area that did not require navigating blood vessels nor having the expected Whipple procedure that would have rewired my stomach permanently. There would be no need for oncologist visits, no follow-up CT scans of the pancreas. I thought I would be on a liquid diet, but I am back to steaks and even chicken, which I couldn’t eat before surgery. Prune juice is the new cocktail of choice.

Recovery from major surgery is a gradual process, and appreciating a new life and all of its potential will be gradual as well. I don’t have much of a bucket list because I never wanted to jump from bridges or climb a mountain. I leave that to the boys and they don’t tell me when they do it. Sometimes afterwards. Family, friends and experiences have all been blessings from God. I never took them lightly, but you can never appreciate them enough either.

Life turned on a dime with the finding of the tumor. In a flash, I had my life back again, intact and the same as before, but also never to be the same. I got a Tree-Do and a new volleyball, all at the same time.

 

After Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo took a hit to his back on Monday Night Football, he took a shot of pain killer toradol so that he could return to finish the game. I took toradol the last few days in the hospital so that I could return home.

I never thought I would be like Romo or Brett Favre, except for the fact that Chuck could snare all of my errant throws and make my pass completion statistics look pretty good. Favre became addicted to pain killers. Since Nurse Chad was a young athletic guy, I asked him the chances that I could become addicted to the pain killers I was taking in the hospital.

Chad said not to worry, the pain killers were helping me to deal with the pain of significant surgery. Oxycontin and fentanyl kept the pain in control before toradol, and I was fortunate that there were no side effects of feeling loopy. Or at least not that I recognized.

Recuperation is a balancing act of taking pain medication to be able to get around and get better, while trying to gradually go longer periods of time without the drugs. I was able to move to non-narcotic drugs by the time I was discharged from the hospital. Walking around our yard with my escort Max was a big step in my recovery, not to mention time for some great conversations, and facilitated by feeling up to walking more and more each day, which enabled me to do more, a good recovery formula.

The pancreas is located behind the stomach, near the spleen, so the post-recovery pain is concentrated in the core abdomen area of the body, affecting much of the middle and upper body and movements. I won’t be any time soon on World’s Strongest Athletes Competition, the ESPN sign of the slow season of sports. My goal is to be well enough physically to dribble a basketball between my legs. Never mind that I have never been able to do it, despite patient lessons from our sons. My new body might be more coordinated.