Hospitals can be a blur of people taking your blood pressure, reviewing your case history and asking you the same questions over and over. The faces and inquiries are hard to distinguish, but in addition to the doctors and medical staff, there were some real stars that stood out during my surgery and recovery.

As I was being prepped to be wheeled into the operating room, a young first-year medical student in a white coat introduced himself and said he would be observing the surgery, but not to worry, he wouldn’t be doing anything during the procedure. Good call. I could not remember his last name except that it started with a Z, so I called him Doctor Z. He ended up coming every morning bright and early to see how I was doing. He did his homework and was always up to date on my status, and I grew to welcome his visits. I was happy that he got the job of removing the 36 staples in my incision the day I left the hospital. Doctor Z wants to be an emergency room physician and will be a good one, with a calming manner and seriousness of the task at hand.

Right before surgery I also met the anesthesiologist Dr. Khaw. She was obviously a pro at these major surgeries and instilled great confidence and reassurance. She reviewed the procedures with me and ended the discussion with the fact that I would probably have a catheter placed during surgery that would remain during recovery. I said at least I don’t have to worry about getting up to go to the bathroom. Dr. Khaw laughed and said most people don’t think of it that way. After surgery she came to my room and held my hand in genuine appreciation for the outcome of the operation.

The nurses at Straub were not nameless faces; they were individual stars:

• Sunday, the first nurse after surgery, made sure I got the right medication and as soon as possible through epidural and IV after the initial pain meds were not working.
• Alvin, the first night nurse, monitored oxygen carefully and checked me continuously to make sure I was breathing since I was sleeping so much. I’ve never had a problem with sleeping.
• Chad, one of the night nurses, told me not to suffer any pain and made sure I received the IV pain meds right on time through the night.
• Rhea, who was on duty when one of the residents messed up taking out my drain tube, got on it right away and managed the situation to relieve my pain and get the tube out correctly.
• Kellen, who was on duty the day before I was discharged, double-checked my pain medication history and made sure I got the appropriate prescription for my time at home.

A few days before I left the hospital, I was walking the halls and saw Sunday, my first-day nurse, even though it was a Tuesday. I’m sure she gets a lot of those jokes. I told her that she had been crucial in my recovery; she said she was just doing her job. I think all the nurses felt that way. Their jobs well done made my job of getting better so much easier.

A year ago our household was filled with stress, of a good nature! Our family was madly scrambling in preparation for our son Chuck’s wedding to delightful Jenny on October 18. Chuck and Jenny are both extremely organized and excellent planners, so in reality we didn’t have all that much to do. Their goal for their wedding was for all of their family and friends to enjoy themselves.

They did not disappoint. After all of us worrying about the possibility of rain, the skies cleared in anticipation of the wedding party procession, with a rainbow appearing in the distance as the Brother Iz song Somewhere Over the Rainbow played. It was a sign that Granpa was with us all the way. Jenny was radiant as her Dad walked her down the path, and Chuck was beaming awaiting her arrival. After Pastor Bruce pronounced them husband and wife, they bopped down the aisle to the beat of one of Chuck’s jumpy songs that he had selected.

We couldn’t have had more fun or have been happier, because we were so happy for them. And Chuck and Jenny in turn were so pleased that everyone had a good time. The guests were a mix of family and friends, each of whom was very special to our kids or to us. I even got to do skanking with Chuck, a goofy reggae music dance that I never really figured out but I tried despite two left feet and little rhythm. Granpa’s music talent skipped me and went directly to Chuck and Max.

The Family and Friends Plan worked for my surgery as well. A good friend has remarked that the close bond of our family has been with us through happy times as well as crisis and stress and it was there when it was needed most. Distance doesn’t really matter. Chuck and Max were with us every step of the way, and our steps clearly seem closer these days. Friends were a critical source of good advice, laughter and insights. Some prayed for a miracle, others offered practical advice or both, and yet others offered to come to help with the upcoming recovery process. Every one of them made me feel stronger than I did the day before.

Chuck and Jenny have had a busy first year of traveling and working and even entertaining us when we visited them in Seattle for Hal’s birthday. Like their wedding planning, they worked hard at making sure we all had a good celebration for Hal. It is that spirit of caring for others that was evident in our family and friends when it came time to face the reality of my situation.

 

A dear friend from church Donna is undergoing heart valve replacement surgery this morning. We dubbed ourselves the “surgery buddies” as our surgery requirements dovetailed so we were in this together. Donna knew of her need for surgery before mine came up so she joked that she hoped I would go first. That’s the way it turned out. Our surgeries ended up a month apart, hers on October 9 as mine had been on September 9.

We have shared stories of prepping with sticky sterile wet wipes, pain medication while in the hospital, and blowing into breathing devices after surgery. We also share the support of our husbands, who are right by our side always, even if it means, as it did for Hal, my not allowing him to leave the first night after my surgery and his sleeping on a reclining but narrow chair in my hospital room.

Donna said that God would hold my hand through the surgery. Today He is holding hers.

Recovery from major surgery is an intense experience because it requires a single focus on getting better. I concentrated very hard each of my seven days in the hospital on doing what it would take that day to succeed at the task at hand, from getting out of bed, to motivating myself to walk down the hallway several times a day, to going an extra hour without an IV injection of pain medication. It was one of the few times that we’re able to shut out the distractions of the current news of the day or Internet searches and alerts. Even watching a college football game really didn’t keep my interest, although I did watch a history special on television one night that helped me to get to sleep.

Donna and I share strong and smart mothers who don’t put up with nonsense but are there when you need them, with hearts of gold. When Hal brought my Mom to visit me in the hospital, she was proud that I was trying my hardest to get around. She later told Max that I was determined to get better, high praise from Granny. Several years ago she made my Dad walk around the house daily when he was starting to have back trouble. He never liked it but we’re convinced that it added years to his life and made him stronger when he needed to be at the end. Moms know best.

Next: Family and Friends Plan

 

Dr. Maldini told us several surgery options were possible, driven largely by the proximity of the tumor to a major blood vessel, and the course of action would be decided once the surgery was underway:

• If the tumor was malignant and near the blood vessel, the doctors would stop surgery, I would have chemo for six months to shrink the tumor, then a second surgery to remove it.
• If the tumor was benign but near the blood vessel, the doctors would remove the tumor and neighboring vein, take a vein from my leg and replace it similar to heart bypass.
• If the tumor had enough margin from the blood vessel to remove it, Dr. Maldini would do that and perform Whipple surgery.
• Blood transfusions with IV into neck artery were possibilities as well.

I couldn’t control those options but I could control what I packed in my hospital bag. I included four pairs of socks. I was worried that I would be cold through surgery without my trusty socks. I love socks. When I arrived at the hospital the morning of surgery, I was awarded a surgery gown, along with a pair of purple non-skid socks. My favorite color! Those Bair Paw socks would be my constant companion from surgery to discharge, for seven days in the hospital. A small comfort that was a good sign.

I also packed a Time magazine to read while in the hospital, which I never did take out of my bag. I had surely done my share of reading and Internet searches about pancreatic cancer over the last month. Many people will say don’t read too much and don’t believe all of what you read. There was certainly a lack of positive, uplifting information about pancreatic tumors, but it was also helpful to be able to learn about the experience of others and the types of treatment options that the doctors were considering.

In the midst of extreme stress and worry about the surgery, I found comfort in the fact that it was going to happen in September because it was the start of the college football season. I can and do watch college football on Saturdays from 6 a.m. kickoff of the first game to the 9 p.m. conclusion of the last game, and channel surf to catch all the games in-between nonstop. Hal also loaded the Big 10 Network (for Northwestern games!) and Watch ESPN apps on my tablet. I was reminded of my father’s stay in the hospital when he was 75 and had quadruple heart bypass surgery. One of the nurses rushed into his room when she heard him say “oh no!” Turns out he was responding to a dropped pass during a game he was watching. Like my Dad, I was ready for my surgery sports.

Next: Doctor Z

Don’t get ahead of ourselves. That’s what we kept telling ourselves through this process. It is tempting to think about all the What If’s, but we knew it would be best to deal with what is front of us.

Surgery was in front of us. I had never been in the hospital other than for the birth of our sons, a very happy occasion, and I never liked visiting people in hospitals or hearing about their medical procedures. But in my case, the fact that I could have surgery was a good thing. Since the tumor was detected early and without symptoms, I had a head start on being able to resect, or remove the tumor. Of course along with that would come major five-hour surgery to reach the pancreas, located deep in the body behind the stomach. It would include the Whipple procedure, which removes part of your stomach along with the pancreas, and has lasting effects on one’s digestive system. I have always hated being nauseous.

The medical team was fantastic. I would stack them up against the top medical centers in the country for their knowledge, diligence and cooperative teamwork. Dr. Saruwatari is my longtime internist whose eagle eye and constant monitoring of my health situation over the years led her to check the urine sample and order the CT scan that detected the tumor incidentally. It was her good work that enabled me to have a chance at life.

Dr. Maldini is the surgeon at Straub Hospital who specializes in gastrointestinal surgery. Originally from Rome, he often told me that I was a good candidate for surgery because I was slim, unlike many Americans. He was excellent in his knowledge, experience with Whipple surgery, and walking us through the possibilities. I learned medical terms such as: adenocarcinoma=very bad; neuroendocrine tumors=not good but could be treated, and it’s the type of tumor that Steve Jobs was diagnosed; and benign=possible but not likely indication in my case.

Dr. Maldini sent me for an ultrasound fine needle biopsy with Dr. Robert Wong, who thought the worst case scenario was not likely because aggressive cancer would cause symptoms, even at this early stage. He did not think benign was likely either. The biopsy came back negative. All the doctors, including Dr. Galen Choy the oncologist, found this to be inconclusive and concluded that surgery was the only way to find out what kind of tumor we were dealing with.

So armed with many prayers from friends and family and the good advice from our sons that the surgery was not the end of the process, but merely a step to recovery, I reported for surgery bright and early on September 9. It was the day of my dear Aunty Lur’s birthday and nephew Jaden’s birthday as well; all in all, as good a day for surgery as I could get.

Next: Nice Socks

 

Today is my father’s birthday and so starts my blog. Granpa passed away just under two years ago, after a terrific life to the age of 89 and sharp mentally all the way, as he had wanted to be. Granpa was ever proud of his grandchildren, and our sons Chuck and Max had the blessing of being with their Granny and Granpa since they were born. Our sons are both tall, measuring at 6-feet 5-inches. Granpa, ever the proud grandfather, would often tell friends that they were even taller than that, a measure of their stature in his book not only in physical terms, but in his love and pride in all that they did and have accomplished.

The term “6-5” took on new meaning for us on July 11, 2014. That week a routine urine sample showed slight traces of blood, so my internist sent me for a CT scan of the kidney. The next day she called me into her office, looking unusually serious for her. The kidney was fine, but the scan had incidentally also showed a mass on the pancreas, about two centimeters in diameter, or about an inch. She told me she was not going to sugarcoat this, that she was thinking cancer.

I didn’t want to tell my husband Hal that day because, as a long-suffering Cleveland fan, he was elated that morning that LeBron James had just announced that he was returning to the Cavaliers. I’m afraid my news would trump that. As we walked around downtown mid-day so that I could tell him the news, Hal knew that I wasn’t catching the impact of the diagnosis. Little did I know until later that day when I researched the Internet that pancreatic cancer has the highest mortality rate of all the major cancers. It is the only leader cancer killer with a 5-year survival rate still in the single digits at 6%, and that survival rate has not improved in the last 40 years. Pancreatic cancer is predicted to become the second leading cause of cancer-related death in the U.S. around 2020. I did know it had to be bad when the American Cancer Society site says that if you don’t want to know the survival rates, don’t read on.

After Hal and I picked ourselves off the floor with the news, we began to process our next steps and a future that we could never have imagined. Family is so important to us, and as God would have it, our sons Chuck and Max, along with Chuck’s new bride and our delightful daughter-in-law Jenny, were all going to be home in a few days for a planned vacation together. While Hal and I hemmed and hawed as good parents about protecting our children from bad news, as soon as each of them arrived, we knew that we had to tell them the news. It was a great blessing that gave us several days to process the impact together. As our boys said, we will get through this as a family.

Each family member had their own distinct, vital role: Max was the researcher, putting his career skills to work to navigate the many sources of information and help us to make sense of the prognosis and next steps; Chuck was the cheerleader, providing that ever-needed positive perspective and keeping us looking forward with hope and action; Jenny was the fashion consultant, ensuring that I would be the ever good looking patient wearing the most hip of hospital attire; Hal was the manual labor, doing whatever it took to make sure I got well, and becoming an expert in making smoothies that would settle my stomach in the coming weeks and months; and my Mom the no-room-for-wimps manager of getting better.

Armed with the love and support of a close family that would become even closer, we all moved forward together into the unknown.

Next: The Medical Journey