24 little hours.
Brought the sun and the flowers
Where there used to be rain..
In a long ago life I sang a bit of jazz..
Ella, Louis, Dinah...Dinah. What a voice. She was a particular favourite of mine. And I loved to sing that song- what a difference a day makes...
Well, a day 12 days ago made a difference.
Let me tells you all about it.
If you have been following along with our story, you'll know what's been going down. But let me give you the abridged version.
Jan 28th, 2013: Sheldon diagnosed with a rare form of cancer (GIST)
Feb 4th, 2013: First surgery to remove primary tumor and small bowel resection.
March,2013: Start targeted chemo Gleevec
April, 2013: Move from Newcastle to North Queensland to be around family.
June, 2013: both of us get full time work and we find out that the Gleevec is working beautifully on all tumours. Life is good. We are enjoying normality.
April 20th,2014: We suddenly and unexpectedly lose my mum. Grief is a SOB that hits all of us and life seems upside down.
May, 2014: Sheldon has a routine check up in Sydney with his oncology team- we discover that the Gleevec has stopped working in spectacular fashion and the tumours have rapidly grown (20 times their original size in a matter of months) We are gutted. We cry.. A lot. Things have changed. The grief that rocked our world with the death of mum seems to compound. I don't know what normal is. Life is spinning.
Sheldon goes to Sydney for an unknown and extended time to start the stage two chemo treatment. Sutent is the new drug and we pin hopes on it smashing the tumours. He comes home and seems to be doing great. I have to learn how to breath again.
July, 2014: We move house. Again. Don't I love to move.. Not.
Early August, 2014: Sheldon has been having serious pain in his left leg. He goes for ultrasounds and ct scans- nothing is found. He gets told he has a bulged disc- I tell him to stop complaining and take some Panadol. The pain gets worse. We think it might be a side effect of the Sutent.
Saturday, August 9th: I've never seen him in such pain. He can't walk. I call my sister to come and be with the kids and we rush up to the hospital. (Sidenote: my sister has been at my place since that night. She's a legend)
Monday, August 11th: ultrasound and CT shows that sheldon has DVT from his groin to his ankle in his left leg. Also has pulmonary embolism in his lung. I feel like I've been punched..hard. You see, my mum died from a pulmonary embolism.
Tuesday, August 12th: We find out that the Sutent chemo has stopped working on the large tumor in the area between his kidney and stomach. The liver seems to be responding beautifully. But it's the big one... That's the one that is dangerous. We feel the breathless feeling steal back... We call in all our prayer teams. We call the oncologist in Sydney and begin the drama of liasing between the Base hospital in Mackay and the oncology team in Sydney. After many phone meetings between doctors, we get told that we must be in Sydney ASAP.
Saturday, 16th August: Sheldon says goodbye to our sons, it's heart wrenching.. We know the serious and life threatening nature of the tumor. We have been told time and time again that this tumor could be what takes his life. Because it's in a tough spot... Unresectable.. That's what they call it.
I have taken leave without pay from my job. I have walked into my classroom and told my year 9 kids to be good, do their homework... They cry. I cry.
I hold my sons and try not to let them hear how hard it is to leave them.
(Side note: I learnt something profoundly in this moment- I learnt that as much as I live for my kids and love them beyond any known matter, I serve a God who loves them more. He has His eyes firmly on them. He has His arms solidly around them. He has placed people in their world right now who have determined to be there for them. My sisters. My brother. My dad. The wonderful neighbours around the corner who take them to school. The teachers who pray with them. My kids are doing well..)
We get on a plane. Just the two of us.. The DVT pain is unbearable and he can barely walk. We have an appointment on Monday to sit down with the oncologist.
Monday, 18th August: We head to Concord hospital early. Sheldon has blood tests and we wait for the oncologist appointment. It's a freezing cold day. I've escaped any touch of winter in balmy North QLD and find myself struggling with the sudden cold. Our good mate and Goodlife church pastor, Dave Connett comes to the hospital and waits with us. We wait. Hey- I'm getting good at waiting. Professor Beale comes and calls us into his consultation room. He's serious. He holds onto our hands for a second longer than normal.. It gives us a message. I feel like I need to throw up. Prof Beale runs through the results. It's nothing we don't know. The large tumor is our primary concern. We might be running out of options. Surgery MIGHT be an option... He wants us to tell him that we know that it's a life threatening surgery. He needs to hear that we are aware of the chances.
Let me tell you something about my husband. He's a fighter. And he's incredibly stubborn. He told Prof. Beale that regardless of the threat, he wanted to fight.. And the fight meant surgery. Sheldon did not ever regard not going into surgery as an acceptable option. He didn't care about the odds. Because, at the end of the day he was looking at mere months if the tumor stayed. Mere months.
The oncology appointment ended with no clear answers. Except for the clear message that Sheldon wanted surgery. I wanted an answer. I needed an answer. The thought that edged around the periphery of my mind was that horrendous "what if...". What if no surgeon wanted to touch it. What if it was too late. What if... (Sidenote: the what ifs will always be there. What if this.. What if that... Here's a tip: don't get sucked into the drama and stress of the "what if" vortex. Know what is immovable in your world... The "what ifs" can't shake the immovable).
Tuesday, August 19th: We spend the day with Dave and Bec... waiting (again) waiting for a phone call this time from the surgeon who potentially will be tackling the tumour. Prof. Beale had told us he was going to make a phone call to a surgeon who might be interested.
3:34pm. The phone rings and I'm so overcome with adrenaline and "arghhhhh" that I'm shaking through the entire conversation. It's the surgeons office. A Doctor David Joseph wants to meet with us tomorrow. I ramble something incoherent. We have a surgeon appointment.
Wednesday, August 20th: We meet Dr. Joseph. He's calm, confident... We are high fiving as we leave the appointment. The surgery is booked. We have a date. It's in a fortnight, to ensure that the chemo is out of his system. We spend the time before the surgery date hanging out together...
That is until....
Sunday, 31st August: 2am. Sheldon wakes me. He's in pain, vomiting.. His heart rate is ridiculously high, his skin is clammy.. It's not good. I rush him to the Concord emergency department. The next few hours are a blur of emergency scans, nasal gastric tubes, rooms full of surgeons... I didn't know if this was the tumor bursting and bleeding out... If this was a pulmonary embolism wreaking havoc.. It was not a good morning.
By 5pm we know that the tumor is impeding his bowel. Basically it's shutting down. I feel a sense of heaviness hit my stomach. This is what we didn't want. This is a bad sign. My sister, Julie, jumps on the first flight out of Brisbane to be with me. The surgical team tell us that the surgery that we were supposed to be going into on Thursday, 4th September, is going to brought forward..it's an emergency situation.. So Sheldon is put on a saline drip and nil by mouth. I go home and sleep. I'm exhausted.
Monday, 1st August: I am up at the hospital by 7am. We are ready for surgery.... Anytime. Anytime now.... I leave the hospital at 9pm. No surgery. Tomorrow they say. Sheldon is kept on nil by mouth. Not even ice.
Tuesday, 2nd August: I'm up at the Hopital by 7am. We are ready for surgery... Anytime... Nope. Not gonna be today. The surgical team tell us that they are trying to get a theatre free for the required hours the surgery will take, while also making sure that they have an intensive care bed available for after. Because Concord is an emergency general hospital and Sheldon is on the emergency list, he keeps getting bumped- it's good news in the fact that he is stable, bad news because he has been NIL BY MOUTH since 2am Sunday morning.
Wednesday, 3rd August: I'm at the hospital by 7am. Maybe, just maybe today will be the day.
No. In fact. No.
The surgical team tell us that Sheldon can drink something. He drinks lemonade. The first thing he has had in nearly four days. We transfer him over to the Mater hospital and the original surgery date is back on the table.
Thursday, 4th August: The day that made a difference.
We thought we were good at waiting.
We had had waited for so many appointments, we had spent the past 4 days waiting at Concord.. But that Thursday...it took waiting to whole 'nutha level.
I'm not going to give you a blow by blow account of what I went through that day. Maybe sometime I will. But let me give you the "highlights".
* I was supported that Thursday by prayer. By praying people who dropped everything to spend time storming heaven on our behalf.
* I was supported that Thursday by family who carry burdens... Who find something funny to laugh at in the most dire of times... Who make sure that I eat and have coffee.
* I knew what peace is... This is gonna take a whole book worth of writing to explain- but basically in the face of fear and the logical threat of the dangers of surgery and it's success, I felt PEACE. I can't even tell you....
* As the hours ticked by... 2....3....4.....6....7.... I waited.
I. Waited.
If you are in the middle of something tough.. Just wait. Go back and read what I have to say about waiting. It's in previous blogs. Wait. Don't lose hope. Just wait.
* At the 8th hour... Well..... At the 8th hour.
I was pacing around near the elevator doors. I heard my sister yell for me.
I ran.
There.
Dr. David Joseph was in his surgical blues.
He said that it was a hard surgery. Very hard.
I asked him how much of the tumor he got out..
He grinned.
He said "I got it all..."
I think I ugly cried.
I'm pretty sure I almost barrelled Dr. Joseph over.
He. Got. It. All.
He said Sheldon was doing amazingly.
He said (and I quote) "My colleagues have been telling me this was impossible. It was a very hard surgery. But I opened him up and I just kept going.."
Dr. Joseph- he's one of my favourite human beings right now.
I was delirious.
I called dad.
I called friends.
I waited at the door of ICU to see my champion husband.
When I got in to see him, he was ventilated and should have been sedated enough to not notice much. But that boy heard my voice, opened his eyes. I told him. It's all gone babe. He got it all.
He remembers that. He remembers hearing me. Hearing me say it was good.
8 hours in a major surgery and he wakes up to my voice. I love that.
So....
The tumor is out.
Mere months are a prognosis of 12 days ago.
Because what a difference a day makes.
Don't tell me that God doesn't work miracles.
That surgeon.
That surgery.
The removal of that tumor.
Miracle.
Miraculous.
In the impossible.
In the unrescectable.
In the unlikely.
That's the difference that day made.
