CHRIS SENT A NEW BATCH of pictures. The above is my favorite. It was taken minutes before I left for the hospital at 5:30 a.m. on my way to have a radical mastectomy. Since discovering the sizeable lump a couple of months ago, I've wished that Mr. Bob could show a little compassion and offer some comfort, but none was forthcoming because he's so understandably centered on his own battle with cancer. Intellectually, I could grasp that; emotionally I sobbed a lot. Amazingly, Chris caught the moment I so yearned for and I'll treasure it all the days of my life.
Minutes later I wended my way down the Hallowe'en decorated halls of the Manor on my way to the car. All three of our offspring went with me. Mr. Bob voiced the desire to go, but was voted down because we all felt that too many germs lurked in our destination.
Angels stand guard outside the Verdugo Hills Hospital, offering comfort. My mother died here, our first grandson greeted the world here, cataracts were removed, a hernia repaired. Let's say we have history with this place. It makes it no easier to go through its portals.
Something I've learned in my advancing years is that tempus does indeed fugit without our doing anything to hurry it along and soon enough I was in my hospital room although I don't remember that part very well.
There was some reassurance in the realization that I had come through what the doctor referred to as "High risk" surgery in my case, having to do with age, weight (ahem), problems with circulation, etc. There was some feeling of "Hooway!"
The next day Mr. Bob went to the oncologist's office for a day full of chemotherapy........seven hours of it. Chris accompanied him and saw to it that he drank the copious amounts of water recommended to guard against kidney damage with lunch added midday, after which he was driven home and tucked into bed for a long sleep in response to the battering his body had taken. Meanwhile, Susan and Tim were keeping me company at the hospital.
And the next day it was time for me to go back home after Mr. Bob had his one hour treatment, more medical goings-on than we ever would have asked for, given a choice.
A week later, I'm trying to convince myself that I feel as good as I did upon homecoming. I really wasn't prepared for a surgical drain being necessary. I dislike the sight of it as much now as I did nearly a week ago. I think the tubes should be black with a little peek-a-boo window for the curious, of which I am not one.
Chris returned home yesterday. Was he really here a week?
It went by in a blur and a hazy one, at that. The doctor called to tell me that of the twenty-five lymph nodes removed, only two showed cancer, which I take it was relatively good news. I'm a novice at this. Susan attended church today, while she was gone I made an attempt at getting dressed (we'll get through this, but we won't ever look the same), but she said, upon her return, that I could wait until tomorrow for make-up when I'm due to visit the doctor. Mr. Bob is sleeping and sleeping and sleeping as his body tries to cope. Quite honestly, this is not our finest hour. Or might it be, after all? One wonders.
"Adopting the right attitude can convert a negative stress into a positive one."