Waking up to life

Well, it’s done! 

The surgery is complete and I'm now just trying to recover and recuperate. 

I don’t mind saying that I was terrified of this surgery, or any surgery for that matter. Just the idea of someone cutting into my body is enough to send my brain into paroxysms of apprehensive flight response.

Basically, I want to go away. 

As my granddaughter Junie would say, “hide and go seek... you hide Papa”. 

I’ll hide alright! 

But then another more aware part of my brain (named Rose) cracks the whip and I find myself in a hospital bed. 

Here I am, groggily snapping a selfie (or maybe Wilson took the photo) of me and my happy face sporting, breathing exerciser that I have befriended and named Wilson. 

He, I,  and our other buddy, Morphine have been having a ball, but sometimes Wilson is a real drag! Buda-bing!

Me and my new buddy Wilson, clowning around

Rose has been around all afternoon running to Tim Hortons for tea and donuts, she is so great, what a peach. 

Everyone here at the Royal Alex has been terrific and they’ve been taking good care of me. 

It’s a long list of kind people and maybe it’s the drugs wearing off but the first really memorable person that comes to mind from surgery today is Michelle in post op. 

I had no idea what was happening but when I slowly and befudlingly clawed my way back into the land of the living, hers was the voice of reality that I clung to. It may have gone something like this, “Doug, are you with us? Welcome back! I need you to squeeze my hand, Doug…Doug, come on, give us a squeeze, you’re doing fine”. 

Well, Michelle you will probably never know how wonderful it was to hear your kind voice as it slowly sank in that I had indeed survived the surgery. Not that it was particularly dangerous but we all know that unplanned things can happen in surgery, and with my overactive imagination on overdrive for the past few days, survival felt like a miracle. 

The surgery took place in Theatre 5 and everyone, from the 2 anesthetists, (the primary doctor and the resident named Allie), to the nurses and Dr. Laing who was my surgeon, were all awesome. 

I am not shy about telling my medical caregivers how much I appreciate them and I have become downright chatty around here in the intensive recovery room. That’s what I’m calling it. There are 4 beds and I hear they are usually fully occupied but there are only 2 of us tonight with one nurse shared between us. And from what I’ve seen, the extra care is definitely needed.

It’s a 20 minute ordeal to get me up to the washroom and when I get there I’m crammed into our tiny bathroom with my IV pole and the box that is connected to the chest drain tube and a very shy bladder!

We had a little drama with the chest tube while Rose was visiting. We were trying to get me out of bed for the first time and when I sat up it revealed a big puddle of blood where the tube had been oozing for a while.

I'm not too fond of the feeling of blood pouring out of me, but it was quickly staunched along with my dignity as I was wrestled into a clean gown and thankfully, a pair of boxers. 

The night resident doctor was called to look at the suture and he fiddled with the tube and pronounced it ready for a new dressing and it’s been good ever since.

I brought along some noise cancelling headphones and ear plugs and my tablet with a detachable keyboard and I’m glad that I had all this stuff last night. 

How to get through the night in a hospital ward

There was some kind of medical drama with the other patient and it sounded like at least 5 people in attendance. Eventually the kerfuffle died down though and it all seems to be under control. 

Writing in bed at 3:00 am and listening to music while pandemonium breaks out across the room is a very strange occurrence but I’m smart enough to know when there is nothing I can do to help. 

Strangely enough I feel well rested after a weird, disjointed night and in a strange way, it's kind of fun! I've met some lovely  members of the marvelous nursing staff here during my stay.

 

There have been a long succession of nurses looking after me. Starting with Phyllis and then Chou and Jo & Tommy & Christie & Kristen & Hannah & Elisabeth & Alicia and Divya and  many others at one time or another, all a blessing to me. Thank you!

Today it's Grace.

Usually she works downstairs in pre- admitting but today she is picking up an extra shift. It's the first time in 8 years she has worked in this observation room and through a fortunate confluence of life streams, we've come together to be buddies for the day.

I appreciate all of the little kindnesses that she's showered over me today and I want her to know she's doing a great job. 

I did have surgery, but I'm doing ok, due in part to Grace and the rest of the nursing staff and how well they've done their job. So no, I'm not shy about saying it out loud.

But after about the 15th time I was forced to shut up about it while they stuck a thermometer in my mouth to take my temperature, I'm starting to think they may be getting tired of hearing it!

Rose of course shows her appreciation in more tangible ways, she made some chocolate muffins but couldn't bring them in for the staff, so she picked them up some Turtles and Werthers (pre-wrapped goodies are ok).

It doesn't hurt my stock around here to have such a sweet and personable wife/advocate! 

Rose though, just can't help trying to be helpful. 

I have a dickens of a time getting her to sit down and just relax and talk with me. Instead she wants to redecorate my space, “ if we just move this over here and unplug this unnecessary equipment it will be much better, what's that beeping? It sounds kind of urgent!”

She's a total sweetie, but she makes me nervous around here. I handed her my phone for a second while we were walking because I had no pockets. She  put it in her back pocket and immediately headed for the bathroom! Of course my brain immediately goes to the worst case scenario and I sent the nurse off for a bag of rice ( you know why). 

Just kidding, but Rose was sure surprised to see me chasing her down the hallway trying to get my phone back so soon after my surgery.

Silly it may be, but it's definitely hard to relax with those sorts of visions in my head. Of course it was all good and Rose laughed at me when she got back with my completely dry phone. 

But I can't help it, I'm me. Completely unapologetic and proud to be me. And on our 39th anniversary, I'm proud to be married (still) to a completely amazing, beautiful, kind, compassionate and sometimes scary, woman of God. 

I talked to one of the surgeons today and he told me it went great, they were able to remove all of the tumor even though they had to make a little bit bigger incision in my side to get it all out. They also took some lymph nodes around the tumor and are sending them off to be analyzed and hopefully they will not be malignant. 

This morning I had 6 different cables and tubes attached to me and now it's just the chest drain tube and that appears to be doing it's job and they are happy with the amount and colour of the fluid. 

They just moved me into a room with 3 women but at least I have a window and a privacy curtain I can close. My gown tying skills leave a lot to be desired and Magic Mike I am definitely not!

For the most part, things are on track except for a persistent air leak in my left lung that is keeping me here much longer than expected.  

I'm tired and discouraged, but we are slowly inching towards my discharge and life is good. God is good. In many ways I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. So much love, prayer and support has come my way through all of this that it has really been a blessing.

Rose heard a beautiful song called Brighter Days by Blessing Offor and thought it would cheer me up (10 days in the hospital seems like forever) and boy did that backfire! It's a wonderful song, but sometimes when you're going through stuff, your emotions just can't cope with forward looking hope songs. 

Check it out here

https://youtu.be/I6lp1Oxb9L4

Whatever happens now, I thank each and every one of you who has been on the journey with me and taken time out of your busy lives to read this blog and reach out to Rose and I with love and kindness. 

The meaning of life is this – RELATIONSHIPS

Like you, I've known this for a long time but I haven't always acted like it. If I've learned anything at all going through this illness it's to value the people in my life more.

Covid has put barriers between us and particularly so for me as fear of contracting the virus before my surgery has stopped me from spending time with friends and family and church.

I miss the hugs, I miss the meals and laughs, I miss my photography club buddies.

I've always been blessed in so many ways but particularly when it comes to my wife and family and friends. Thank you for being there for me. Happy 39th anniversary Rose, you're one in a million❤

Weird Sounds in the Chimney leads to Tearful Confession

Have you ever had one of those days when you’re just minding your own business, sitting on the sofa and whammo, something weird happens? Well, I have. The other day that was exactly what happened when I began to hear weird sounds coming from inside the fireplace chimney. 

Those weird sounds reminded me of an incident that happened maybe 20 years ago when we came home from holidays to a bit of a horrific scene that was a bit reminiscent of a Quentin Tarantino movie, or maybe even a Walt Disney Movie, (why yes Bambi, your mom has been murdered by hunters, time to grow up!)

On this particular day many years ago, we came home to find that some poor, stupid young bird had blundered down the chimney and right into our living room. Of course, that probably wouldn’t have been too bad for the little avian invader except that we have a cat. The feline protector that owned us at the time was named Chenille and she took her duties to us and the cat community very seriously indeed. So seriously that she considered all of our personal property dispensable when it comes to repelling invaders, what a ruckus that must have been! Lamps knocked over, something like that movie with the famous song, “we are Siamese, if you please, and even if you don’t please.”

I imagine the poor bird must have eventually surrendered to thirst or hunger and tried to swoop in and sample the cats water or food dish that was being replenished often by my wife’s sister (in case you were wondering) and with a quick pounce that was the end of that.

So the other day when I heard the sounds of what could only be a bird in the chimney, I glanced around for our latest fuzzy wonder, Mischief, or Missy as we call her when she is occasionally being good. No cat in sight, so I sat back to listen and wonder why it is that chimney cap designers and wasp trap designers share the same tricks designed to trap inside whatever happened to blunder in.

After a few minutes of flapping around sounds, all went quiet, “good, I thought, this particular birdy is a bit smarter than the last intruder, no need for heroics on my part, what a relief.”

I didn’t give it another thought…….until the next day.

My wife, Rose got up a bit earlier than I did that morning and practically the first thing she said to me was, “can you do something?  Missy has been trying to get into the fireplace all morning, she knocked over the fireplace screen and she thinks there is something in the fireplace.”

“What do you need me for? Was my inner response, "why is it my job to kill the big hairy spiders that occasionally crawl out of the drain and to deal with whatever is caught in the chimney? Don't we live in an enlightened society (sort of)?" Then why does she get all, “somebody help me, you’re so big and strong and handsome, please do something, there’s a ferocious weasel trapped in the chimney and you learned all about how to deal with that in pre-marital counseling or boy scouts or something, right honey?”

Of course, I’m not so dumb that I would say anything like that out loud, no sir’ee, Mrs. Petry didn’t raise me to be so foolish. So what I actually said was, “of course, I’ll take care of it.” And that’s what I did, I proceeded to take charge, making life or death snap decisions like I was born to it!

“Ok, I’m going to open the patio door, we’ll put the fireplace screen here, blocking the way so it doesn’t go further into the house, Rose, you stand here and don’t let it get past you. Ok, all ready, I’ll open the damper and see what happens.”

I grabbed the handle of the damper and gritting my teeth, gave it my best Chuck Norris move. Wham, a giant cloud of soot and ash billowed out of the chimney……along with a very sooty, bedraggled, startled looking little sparrow. He, or she, took one very quick look around, didn’t like what it saw and flew straight out the patio door. Crisis averted, yay, Mr. Dad saves the day.

A second later and floompph, another cloud of soot and ash, and another very sooty, bedraggled, startled looking little sparrow, looking very much like a sort of befuddled looking miniature crow. That didn’t last long though and then it was, zoom zoom zoom, right out the window after his buddy.

“What is this, a convention?” I thought to myself. “Any more of you up there?”

Rose and I looked at each other and laughed out loud, “that was weird, she said. I think Mischief saved the lives of those birds!”

                                      A sparrow takes a bath in our backyard pond.     

It thought about that, if she rescued those birds, I imagine it was quite by accident, because if they were here right now, and even covered in soot and ash, I think she would gobble them up in a second.

As I reached up to close the damper again, my eye was drawn to a broken tile on the hearth, “oh no, I put those tiles in myself 20 years ago, now one is broken, great!”

Angry, of course not, (ha ha) I wasn't angry, just disappointed that I was going to have to replace one tile for sure and if I know my wife, and I do, probably all of the tiles, and the mantle, and the trim, and I suppose this would be a good time to repaint the walls and scrape off that icky popcorn ceiling and build a garage!

“Might as well just move and get it over with.”

"Huh?" she said, for some reason she wasn't following my train of thought!

Well, first things first, “let’s clean up this mess” she suggested, shrugging her shoulders. Soon the dustpan and the vacuum were busily employed cleaning up ash and after a few minutes I noticed my lovely wife had gone a bit quiet.

“What’s wrong honey?” I innocently enquired.

“I have a confession to make, don’t be mad at Missy, she didn’t break the tile.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” I thought to myself.

“I broke the tile a couple of months ago when I was cleaning the mantle, I knocked over the mirror and when I tried to grab it, I knocked the plant off the mantle and the pot crashed down and broke the tile.”

“That’s why that Catch Phrase game sat there for a month and then I went out and bought a basket and set it over the broken tile, I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”

“LUCY, you’ve got some ‘splainin to do!” No wait, I’m not Ricky Ricardo and my wife is not Lucille ball and our lives are not the “I Love Lucy’ show in spite of the many similarities.

It was then that I had a little bit of a deja ‘vu moment that reminded me of a time when this same wife, (I’ve only had the one) told me a few years ago that she had been backing out of a driveway and we now had a nice fresh scrape down the side of the car. “How had I responded that time?” I asked myself. And then I remembered and knew just what to say.

 “Don’t worry honey, I like my car (or in this case tile) but I LOVE YOU!”