and it turns there is a reason why. My journey with an acoustic neuroma brain tumor.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Rock Star!
The Day After
Mandy had a good first night after surgery. She is still in the ICU and they expect her to stay until the end of the day today (Wed) before moving to a regular recovery room. She looks great! While she is in some serious pain, the nurses are keeping her well medicated. Just this morning, they moved her from her bed and into a reclining chair. Her spirits are positive, she maintains her good humor, and she is currently resting well.
Mandy will go in for an MRI later today in order for the doctors to take an initial look at how the resection went yesterday. In all likelihood, the MRI might not look very different from before, as the surgery was primarily focused on removing the inside of the tumor. Essentially, they went in and took the pulp out while leaving the rhine. The hope now is for the tumor to collapse on itself and retreat a bit from the cranial nerves in order to make the 2nd surgery less risky in terms of facial and balance nerve preservation.
Despite the long road ahead, we are thankful that Mandy’s journey has officially begun, and moreover, that it has begun positively.
One day at a time.
Happy Leap Year!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Recovery
Good News!
So, we're now one down and one to go. Thanks for your steadfast support and endless optimism.
Onward!
With Love,
Dave
Up-Date
My waiting room crowd is starting to thin out, but people seem to be receiving good news. A good day for the surgeons of MGH it seems. It sort of feels like a high stakes version of American Idol. I think there is a reality show out there somewhere... Just so relieved to hear that things continue to go according to plan. Seek it.
Up-Date
One waiting game ends, and another begins…
All went according to plan this morning. Mandy went into surgery around 8:00 AM and the next eleven hours will now be spent in prayer, meditation, distraction, and frustration as I wait to see her tonight after the operation.
This honestly doesn’t feel ‘real.’ I sit in a non-descript family waiting room, pedestrianly appointed with the requisite blue fabric chairs and couches supported by wooden frames. Back issues of TIME, Good Housekeeping, and Sports Illustrated are strewn across the coffee and side tables that dot the perimeter of the room. The walls are lined with the ubiquitous and indispensable waiting-room watercolors of calming ocean scenes, flowers in vases, and bowls of fruit.
I can’t help but to notice the families around me. Several spouses, sons, and daughters of patients wait alone. Some pockets of the room contain larger family gatherings- generations who have come together to offer strength and support. Regardless of who or what brought us all here today- it’s safe to say that we would all rather be somewhere else. Perhaps the exception being the children who lay on the floor entertained by coloring books and portable DVD players, blissfully ignorant to the broader context of life and death that surrounds them.
I finally cried earlier today. It felt good; the eruptive release after working so hard to be strong for Mandy over these past eight weeks. Not that I have been walking the earth devoid of emotion since the diagnosis, but rather, my energy has been intensely focused on Mandy: her needs, her feelings, her fears. Today, as the nurse wheeled her away and the heavy glass doors closed behind her, I felt my own pain.
I find resolve and put my faith in the laws that govern our universe. While I’ve struggled with my familiar childhood creed over the years, I still feel intimately connected with God. If there were a box to check for religion, I would check the one that most closely represents the notion of “Work In Progress.” Nonetheless, I have felt the power of prayer in my life and I believe that God puts us in situations that we can shoulder, despite how heavy. Moreover, we draw strength from these experiences where our humanity is stripped down to its core. This feels like one of those times.
Thank you all for reaching out with your prayers and support. We feel blessed to have such caring and compassionate people in our lives. Here’s to a day of seeking the joy of being alive.
Yours,
Dave