Sunday, June 19, 2011

Fighting Cancer: It's Not Brain Surgery. Oh, Wait. Yes It Is. (Or, Weeks 5-10)

I started out with most excellent intentions.  I would do something new and fun every weekend to help myself endure the last 10 weeks of school before summer break.  I would blog about each event faithfully as an online journal because, well, blogging is fun.  I logged in four weeks of fun.

Then my dad got cancer.  Again.  My dad has a personal mission to beat Lance Armstrong in the number of cancers acquired per lifetime.  So far Lance is winning by one, but my dad (and his cancer) is seriously trying to catch up.

What started out as bladder cancer in December of 2009 led to some brain cancer in September of 2010 which led to some more brain cancer in May 2011.  This threw a bit of a wrench in my 10 week party/blog countdown.  But my dad is a trooper.  He is truly a figure of strength and positivity to be admired and emulated.  And since his second brain surgery occurred in the middle of my 10 week party/blog countdown we both decided it would be appropriate party/blog fodder.  I mean, what's not fun about brain surgery?

So.  Without further ado I bring you weeks 5-10 in my countdown to summer.



This is Dad, our patient.  This photo is pre-op at dinner the night before surgery.  Please note the faux-hawk Dad is rocking ever since he got a little hair back after chemo.  We enjoyed our meal at Macaroni Grill, and not just because some nice fellow from across the room picked up the tab.  (Turns out the fam's investment banker was also dining at the Macaroni Grill that night.  He showed his gratitude for the fam's business. First class dude.)



A mere 12 hours later, here is Dad getting surgery ready.  Have you ever seen someone so happy to have brain surgery?  No, me neither.


And here is the lovely Yolanda, aka the Velvet Tiger.  She is the glue that holds this whole operation (pardon the pun) together.  Without her, Dad and I are no better than a plate of mashed potatoes.



Here are some very competent and delightful employees of the North Dallas Plano Garland Something Or Other Hospital.  The top lady is a nurse, the bottom lady is the MRI tech.  They both asked the same exact questions, which Dad, thankfully, answered correctly ("What is your name?"  "Why are you here today?"  "Who is your doctor?"  "Is your wallet fat enough to pay for our services today?"  No.  They didn't ask that last one.)


Now as you can see from Dad's expression in this photo, things are about to get a little dicey here.  This is Dr. Kilaru.  She is the anesthesiologist.  If I didn't know better I would have guessed this was her first surgery (or she was drunk) because she could NOT get the anesthesia line started in Dad's right arm.  It all went south around about the time I heard her say, "Uh oh." I glanced over (knowing full well this was not going to be good) to see rivulets of my father's blood pulsing straight out of his arm and crimsonizing the hospital blanket.  From this point on I referred to her as Dr. Kill-A-Dad.


Thank goodness Dr. Chang, the neurosurgeon, showed up right at this point to distract us all.






We had a few Olan Mills moments.  We were all glad Dr. Chang was smiling.




Meanwhile Dr. Kill-A-Dad is still trying to figure out Anesthesia Line 101.  This photo does not do justice to the bloodletting.  I honestly thought we were going to have to postpone the surgery due to excessive blood loss.


Turns out we did not have to postpone anything at all.  They took Dad back and thus commenced the waiting.  And waiting.  And waiting.  Fortunately we had Uncle Mike and Auntie El with us all day to entertain us and bring us food (but no tequila. Clearly poor planning on their part.).


Dr. Jerry came to offer his medical wisdom and support (but, also, no tequila).


After what seemed like a small eternity (but was really about 8 hours) they brought the patient into Recovery.  We were most grateful to see that Dad had lost neither his fighting (Texas Aggie) spirit nor his sense of humor.  He was talking, joking, moving, and able to recognize us all immediately.


Here he is a few hours later sitting up in ICU and enjoying some tequila.  Not really. For the sake of accuracy I must point out that this could have been the next morning.  I'm not really sure.  For someone who did NOT have brain surgery I was basically brainless at this point.


Now this I know was the next day. Notice the BRAIN SURGERY patient is OUT OF BED and SITTING IN A CHAIR!  (Why am I yelling?)  What you are seeing here is a trio of bests:  The best brain surgery patient ever, the best physical therapist ever, and the best ICU nurse ever.  I don't remember any of their names (except "Dad"), but I do remember that they absolutely helped make this experience as smooth and effortless as possible.

I'm pleased to say that Dad is recovering nicely.  The location of the tumor on his right hemisphere has caused some movement limitations on his left side, particularly his left leg.  He is diligently working on his physical therapy exercises to decrease his wheelchair time and increase his walker time (let's not even get started on his wide receiver time goal).  He will have some follow up radiation this week to zap some cells that spread into his dura, the lining of the brain that cannot be safely removed with surgery.   But just like with every other hurdle he has faced in his fight against cancer, he is ready, willing, and able to do whatever the doctors tell him (times 100) to do.

I am proud to say that he is my hero, my inspiration, my dad.