One Thing After Another

This is one of those posts that is very scary for me to publish. It might be way too personal from a family perspective. On the other hand, does it even come close to being personal enough? But it’s a big part of what I am experiencing right now and have been for quite some time.

Phil was back in the hospital for a week. Then he was home for a couple days. And now he is back in the hospital again.

Just a year and a half ago, things were pretty good with both him and my mother. We were all traipsing around DC eating cinnamon-sugar donuts fresh out of the fryer.

Then she got pneumonia, a cracked rib, and cancer.

Her treatment was (and is) headed in the right direction when he started having stomach problems. He had been to the doctors a few times, but they had no educated guesses as to the source of the problem.

Last Thanksgiving, he couldn’t eat a thing.

So they told him to take Miralax and Pepto-Bismol.

In February, after he convinced them he was starving to death, they found an obstruction. He underwent a quick surgery to reroute around the obstruction, and they performed a biopsy. Cancer.

In early May, he underwent a much more complicated surgery to do some more rerouting and to remove the tumor.

After that surgery (which had gone off with flying colors) and just before being released from the hospital , a complication developed. Sepsis in response to an infection (enterobacter) caused by a little leak somewhere along the rerouted path. His internal systems shut down.

After a period of intubation, another surgery, a couple more weeks in the hospital, and a month in a rehab facility, he made it home. He started gaining weight and improving.

Until his stomach acted up again.

Another two weeks went by where his weight once again dropped down to a scary number before they discovered a kink, or “mechanical failure”, in his intestine caused by all the rerouting (they guess).

So, he had three more procedures last week, and he’ll have another this week.

The good news is there are no new signs of cancer to deal with. But it would be nice if they could get things to the point where he could eat.

So how are we all dealing with this?

Obviously, he is discouraged. But he keeps on going. And his quick wit and sense of humor make him an immediate favorite with the medical professionals. He manages to make them laugh seconds upon walking in the door. He was sound asleep one day when the nurse came in to take his vital signs. She was doing everything she could to be as quiet as possible but of course she woke him up. She apologized and said she would close the door when she left so that no-one would bother him. He responded, a little puzzled, “But you’re the only one bothering me.” It bugs him that he can’t keep all of the information straight that they are giving him. But, as far as I can see, they can’t keep it straight either, so I don’t think he should worry about that. He enjoys ever changing views of the lake, the foliage, hearing about what the kids are up to, and watching golf, the Pats, and the Sox. (Well, he did enjoy watching the Sox – sort of.) And he continues to be concerned with certain important details – getting the boat and dock in for the winter, the level of the lake water, ant hills in the lawn, the state of his hearing aides, the insurance policy on his house in Florida, and the tire pressure in the tires of his car (all 33’s).

My mother also keeps on going. After an initial reaction of alarm to each new hurdle, she tackles it. She has learned how to connect, operate, and disconnect two different types of feeding systems. She handles meds, dressings, flushing of tubes, and other nursing responsibilities with relative aplomb.  She schedules a multitude of his & her appointments. And she has made measurable strides in learning how to use an iPhone. However, she is often understandably exhausted.

Me? I’m a fixer. I absolutely thrive on fixing problems. So, while I can’t fix his insides, I get a charge out of trying to fix everything else. This isn’t always a positive character trait. It can be quite annoying at times. They worry about me and feel guilty about what they are putting me through. While I am doing what I want to be doing, there are times when my bones ache at the end of the day. The thought of losing a father at the age of 80 is not really any easier than losing a father at the age of 41. And while all of the medical professionals have been super nice, and are hard working, and are trying their best, and are very caring – my confidence in them has not significantly increased over the past 34 years.

I recently read an article in the Boston Globe about Yisrael Kristal, a 113-year-old man who just celebrated his bar mitzvah because he was unable to have the celebration when he turned 13 due to WWI. Apparently, his secret to a long life is “eating to live rather than living to eat.”

Phil would be more than okay sticking to that philosophy.

But it sure would be nice if he was able to have one more cinnamon-sugar donut one of these days.