This Labor Day weekend didn't pan out like we wanted. I'm telling all of this here for my family and friends, so they will know what happened.
Saturday afternoon, my mother called to tell me my father was in the hospital. I was shocked, but not surprised. Dad hasn't been feeling well for months. He has had digestion issues, and twice that I know of, he's been suffering from bowel obstructions. This time he had one again, and he surrendered and let Mom take him to North Memorial in Maple Grove to the Emergency Room.
Sunday, Mom called to say Dad would be having surgery. She added, "Your Dad has colon cancer." I felt the blood drain down to my feet. His sister, Colleen, had colon cancer. She lived with a colostomy bag for the rest of her life, which ended way too soon last year in August. I got ready and Alex and I went to the hospital to see him.
Dad didn't look good. He was in pain, and still trying to pass the obstruction. The doctors had a large bottle of clear liquid with some pineapple flavoring that he was supposed to drink by the end of the day to help things along. We didn't stay long so Dad could rest. My brother, Andy, and his lovely wife, Lisa, drove all the way to Minnesota from Oklahoma and arrived on Monday.
Monday, Dad was scheduled for surgery, but it was post-poned to Tuesday. We saw Dad at the hospital and he was looking better than I'd seen him in months. He was smiling, drinking coffee and sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. I was hopeful, this might actually turn out okay. Please God, let this turn out okay.
Tuesday, surgery day, I called my very understanding employer and told them what was going on, and that I would not be in and why. I was there with Mom, Kelley, Andy, Lisa and Alex. Alex and I had a busy day already because Tuesday was the day his pins came out of his hand. He called it a "declawing" and now I can't call him "Wolverine" anymore. It was a relief, for both of us.
The surgeon, Dr. Kern, was a striking resemblence to my cousin, Nick, Jr. He explained in plain English what he was going to do and how, and what his goals were, best case and worst case. I imagined him in a uniform as a military surgeon, like he just got home from Iraq or Afghanistan and walked right back into performing surgery on civilians. Dr. G.I.Joe.
Mom all through this was shaking, all the time. She wasn't going to be distracted by anything or anyone. She couldn't take her mind off of what was happening. Neither could I. I don't think anyone of us has slept right or eaten right or paid much attention to anything the last few days.
The surgery started around 2:10 p.m. and it was over when Dr. Kern walked out at 3:40 p.m. to explain how things went. Better than expected. Dad was able to keep his spleen, no colostomy bag, and Dr. Kern was able to sew together both pieces of his colon and he took the mass they found, and a few lymph nodes to send for testing for cancer. We should hear by Friday, September 10th, what the results are. As he left, and walked out of the lobby, Mom collapsed into tears.
"It's over, it's over, it's finally over," she sobbed into her hands. We all gathered around Mom, hugging her and crying.
Before Dad went to surgery that day, I looked at his board. It tells his name, the date, the name of his doctor, etc. Down a little lower, it reads: "Goal for Today".
Dad wrote: "Live."
Mission Accomplished, Dad. Mission Accomplished.
Those of you out there reading this, please, if you are not feeling yourself, or if you have a high risk of colon cancer or prostate cancer in your family history, don't let economics get in the way of your health. If you have to beg, borrow or steal, or sell a few things, please, get your colonoscopy exam after age 50. Get your mammograms and your pap smears. Don't die of embarrassment or because you think you can't afford it.
Goal for Today: Live.
Showing posts with label North Memorial Hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label North Memorial Hospital. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
More Gray Hairs
I came home Thursday night after work, looking forward to a nice, long shower, the air-conditioned comfort of my house, and a fun weekend. What greeted me as I arrived was QH with a worried look on his face. Uh-Oh.
My son, Alex, broke all four fingers on his right hand in a press brake machine at his job. He was taken by ambulance to North Memorial Hospital and had to have emergency surgery. QH said the fingers weren't crushed, just broken, and they were still attached, both good news, but he had trouble finding my new work number and wasn't able to call and tell me sooner. My cell phone works sporadically at best in the shop, so there was no way for him to reach me. Since Alex was in surgery, he decided to wait up until I came home to tell me.
I jumped into the shower, changed, and gathered some clothes and Alex's eyeglasses (he wears contacts), and pretty much ran out the door. QH was exhausted, and had to work the next day, so he went to bed. I drove in a wild thunderstorm to Robbinsdale, praying Alex would be okay. I wouldn't know how bad it really was until I saw my son.
When I was nearing Maple Grove, Alex called me and said he was out of surgery and in a room. He gave me the room number and I could hear he was groggy and tired, and I told him I was on my way with his clothes and his glasses. I got to the hospital, checked in with information, and made my way up the elevator to his room.
When I walked in, I saw his hand propped up on a pile of pillows, wrapped in a splint. His finger tips were visible and were nice and pink, not black and blue. I did see some dried blood, and he said it did bleed when it happened, but he said he could feel his fingertips and his thumb was ok. He said he heard the bones break when it happened, and they cut his T-shirt off when he got to the hospital. He also said he felt really stupid. I told him to get over that. Beating himself up over something he can't change was not going to do him any good. I told him it was an accident, and to concentrate on resting for now, and healing from this later.
His bosses at work were at the hospital earlier, checking up on how he was doing. Telling him he still has a job when he's ready to come back to work.
The nurses came in and gave me a few blankets and a pillow to settle in for the night. I slept in the recliner, watching the storm rage outside the window. I was thankful he would be ok, as I drifted in and out, but knew until I spoke with the surgeon, I would not relax until I knew for sure.
We spent the day at the hospital yesterday, and finally the surgeon, Dr. George Landis, arrived. I was immediately relieved by his presence, he was very kind and explained what happened with his hand, how he repaired it, and what his prognosis would be. I felt relief when he said there was no nerve damage and minimal tissue damage to his hand and with some therapy, he would get the full use of his right hand. He said Alex could come home and set about discharging him with instructions.
In 21 years, I've never had to go through Alex having a broken bone, or a trip to the emergency room. I told him 21 years without a broken bone wasn't bad, considering I had 6 broken bones before 2nd Grade, 4 stiches in my knee at 9 years old and a concussion at 15 years old.
I am grateful to the surgeon, the medics, and the nurses who took care of my son before I got to the hospital and while I was there. I can't say enough about the excellent job they did, and my gratitude extends to the supervisors Alex worked with who called 911 and put ice on his hand right away.
He's got a lot to think about in the next few weeks, and getting around with one hand is going to be a challenge, but my son is my son. He will come through this stronger than he ever thought he was, and while he will have some scars, I know he'll be a better man for it.
Thanks to my family and friends who have sent their well wishes for Alex and for me and QH. I have a few more gray hairs, but my son is still here and he will heal.
My son, Alex, broke all four fingers on his right hand in a press brake machine at his job. He was taken by ambulance to North Memorial Hospital and had to have emergency surgery. QH said the fingers weren't crushed, just broken, and they were still attached, both good news, but he had trouble finding my new work number and wasn't able to call and tell me sooner. My cell phone works sporadically at best in the shop, so there was no way for him to reach me. Since Alex was in surgery, he decided to wait up until I came home to tell me.
I jumped into the shower, changed, and gathered some clothes and Alex's eyeglasses (he wears contacts), and pretty much ran out the door. QH was exhausted, and had to work the next day, so he went to bed. I drove in a wild thunderstorm to Robbinsdale, praying Alex would be okay. I wouldn't know how bad it really was until I saw my son.
When I was nearing Maple Grove, Alex called me and said he was out of surgery and in a room. He gave me the room number and I could hear he was groggy and tired, and I told him I was on my way with his clothes and his glasses. I got to the hospital, checked in with information, and made my way up the elevator to his room.
When I walked in, I saw his hand propped up on a pile of pillows, wrapped in a splint. His finger tips were visible and were nice and pink, not black and blue. I did see some dried blood, and he said it did bleed when it happened, but he said he could feel his fingertips and his thumb was ok. He said he heard the bones break when it happened, and they cut his T-shirt off when he got to the hospital. He also said he felt really stupid. I told him to get over that. Beating himself up over something he can't change was not going to do him any good. I told him it was an accident, and to concentrate on resting for now, and healing from this later.
His bosses at work were at the hospital earlier, checking up on how he was doing. Telling him he still has a job when he's ready to come back to work.
The nurses came in and gave me a few blankets and a pillow to settle in for the night. I slept in the recliner, watching the storm rage outside the window. I was thankful he would be ok, as I drifted in and out, but knew until I spoke with the surgeon, I would not relax until I knew for sure.
We spent the day at the hospital yesterday, and finally the surgeon, Dr. George Landis, arrived. I was immediately relieved by his presence, he was very kind and explained what happened with his hand, how he repaired it, and what his prognosis would be. I felt relief when he said there was no nerve damage and minimal tissue damage to his hand and with some therapy, he would get the full use of his right hand. He said Alex could come home and set about discharging him with instructions.
In 21 years, I've never had to go through Alex having a broken bone, or a trip to the emergency room. I told him 21 years without a broken bone wasn't bad, considering I had 6 broken bones before 2nd Grade, 4 stiches in my knee at 9 years old and a concussion at 15 years old.
I am grateful to the surgeon, the medics, and the nurses who took care of my son before I got to the hospital and while I was there. I can't say enough about the excellent job they did, and my gratitude extends to the supervisors Alex worked with who called 911 and put ice on his hand right away.
He's got a lot to think about in the next few weeks, and getting around with one hand is going to be a challenge, but my son is my son. He will come through this stronger than he ever thought he was, and while he will have some scars, I know he'll be a better man for it.
Thanks to my family and friends who have sent their well wishes for Alex and for me and QH. I have a few more gray hairs, but my son is still here and he will heal.
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