I should never have left Miami.
I should have stayed on that sunny beach enjoying the adorable, overly-tanned, happily-retired, bike-riding, sun-bathing old people.
Everything was fine before I left and now everything is in an uproar!
Hear ye, hear ye, an update:
Due to a weakness in the surgery area, a leak of sorts, Papa will undergo surgery tomorrow morning to have a temporary colostomy.
A temporary colostomy is exactly what it sounds like, a "diversion" which will allow the surgery site to heal. The temporary part is what we're focusing on.
Here's the deal: This surgery wasn't as cut and dried as the first one. The tumor was different, alive and kicking, whereas last time, it was calcified, like picking up a rock. When the surgeon was removing it, it crumbled, "seeding" the area, as they say, and making it very difficult to remove every single little bit. So the plan was to heal up, come home and focus on aggressively attacking whatever cancer cells were left behind with chemo.
The plan was working. When I got to Miami on Friday morning, the day after the surgery, Dad looked great and was in great spirits. We laughed about the language barrier that existed with some of the nurses (hola, Miami!), the danger of catching pneumonia at the hospital and the super comfy cot that mom and I took turns sleeping on. (Or, actually "the cot on which my mom and I took turns sleeping... " if you're the kind of person who pays attention to dangling participles and all of that English major stuff...)
He was released to go "home" to the hotel on Saturday morning and all was well. We even took a sunny walk on the beach Saturday afternoon and attended the adorable little Hollywood community Christmas parade Saturday night.
I left Miami Sunday evening, confident that everything would go as planned.
Even Thursday, when my parents had a pow-wow with both Dr. Sands (the surgeon) and Dr. Trent (the oncologist), everything looked good and there was talk of Dad being cleared to come home to Texas early next week. In plenty of time for Christmas, I might add.
Friday evening, however, things took a turn for the worse. Mom and Dad found evidence of infection, called Dr. Sands and were back to the hospital for IV antibiotics for the weekend. You can imagine my surprise and disappointment when I went to answer the FaceTime call, expecting to see Papa lounging at the beach in a wide hat and Hawaiian shirt, sipping an umbrella-ed beverage with old people in the background and found him in a hospital bed instead.
And, somewhere in the course of the weekend, Dr. Sands decided that the infection... caused by the leak which was caused by the tissue weakness... meant that a temporary colostomy would be necessary in order to ensure a complete healing.
And, obviously, complete healing from the surgery is what we want. What we must have.
It's also what we NEED in order to carry on with the plan of aggressive chemo to zap away all the leftover cancer cells.
SO, join us in prayer, dear ones.
Let me be honest. What would be awesome is if God would just do the miracle of zapping the cancer cells FOR us and we could leave the whole pesky chemo thing out of it. How about we ask God for that? And also pray for Papa as he figures out all this colostomy stuff... for it to be as temporary as is wise and for Dr. Sands and Dr. Trent to know exactly how to proceed. Join me in praying for Nonna as well as she acts as Papa's support, laundrywoman, administrative assistant, liaison to the nursing staff, communicator to friends and family, etc, etc, etc.
That woman is one amazing creature.
And you are amazing too, friends. We appreciate all your hugs (physical and virtual), your texts and calls, your Facebook messages, your prayers, your friendships... Thank you. We could never say it enough.
Chels (and co.)
"We're taking the next train to Miami to see Papa!" -Laila Grace