Adios, Bitch (Surgery update from Pete)

The only “bad” news for today is that you’re getting the second-string back-up guy as the writer, instead of the ever-so-eloquent blogging star to whom you’re accustomed. Kind of like that inevitably second-rate columnist who fills in when your favorite columnist goes on vacation.

Yep…but that’s where the bad news stops. It’s been a long – but wonderful – day. “The team” was all up well before 5:00 AM. My parents arrived yesterday, and got right to work with the crack-of-dawn shift looking after the kids, while Julie, her parents and I headed off to the hospital at 5:30.

The 7:30 AM surgery slot definitely had its benefits – primarily since the fine folks at UCSF hadn’t yet had a chance to get “behind” for the day….which they seem to do on a reliable basis by about 9:00 AM most days (Julie and I can describe the details of most waiting room walls and ceilings in excruciating detail). Admission went smoothly, the pre-op discussion and preparation was swift and to the point…and before we knew it they were whisking Julie off to surgery.

It’s a uniquely surreal and somewhat un-nerving experience watching your spouse get wheeled on a gurney past those double doors marked so officially with “Authorized Personnel Only - Do Not Enter”. You’re turning over your wife, your best friend and your soulmate to a team of people whom you’ve barely met (if at all). Talk about trust. I could only stand there and hope that they’d all had a good night’s sleep and the right amount of coffee.

Then, time stood still. Julie’s parents and I read, paced, chatted, read, chatted, paced, went to get food, read, paced, and then paced some more. Roughly two hours later (at about 9:30 AM), a nurse entered the room to let us know that the intra-operative liver ultrasound had been completed and that Dr Warren (liver surgeon) would be out shortly to speak with us.

A few minutes later, Dr Warren entered and quickly cut to the chase (unlike me with this blog post, I suppose). “It’s all going very well – she’s doing great.” He said that he and his team were able to get a very close look at the liver, and that he was able to confidently determine that the “suspicious spot” on the liver was actually a hemangioma – a cluster of blood vessels that was completely benign (a formal biopsy later confirmed this) and that would not require any further action. He also confirmed that there were no other lesions anywhere else on the liver.

At that point, tears welled up in our eyes. Tears of joy, that would be. It was the answer that we expected; the answer we had hoped for; the answer that we knew in our hearts; the answer that Julie’s body was suggesting…but it was so incredibly comforting and emotional to finally hear it from someone who -- well, someone who actually knows something about livers. I wanted to get up and hug him like a 5 year old who’d just met Santa Claus in the wee hours of Christmas Eve. Phew….one down, one to go.

We knew that Dr Garcia Aguilar (colo-rectal surgeon) and his team were now at work. Again, time ground seemingly to a halt. After another two and a half hours (roughly 12:00 noon), another nurse came out and said that they were wrapping up the primary operation, that “Julie was fine”, and that Dr Garcia Aguilar would be out shortly to consult with us.

Twenty minutes later, Dr Garcia Aguilar came in and ushered us into a private consultation room. He was still in scrubs and looked remarkably at ease, which I took as a good sign. His summary was that the surgery had gone fully according to plan – i.e. it was very “clean” and highly successful. Julie had handled the anesthesia well, and had lost little blood.

He confirmed what the PET/CT scans had suggested – that the primary tumor in the colon was almost entirely gone (thanks to the chemo and radiation), and that only a very small residual was actually visible. As planned, he had removed the remnants of the tumor and a significant amount of damaged tissue in the area, and then re-attached the remaining portion of her colo-rectal tract. He also did a comprehensive exploratory evaluation throughout the pelvic region and saw no signs whatsoever of any other areas impacted by cancer. All good. All according to plan. A shutout. A perfect “10”…whatever you want to call it.

He said that Julie was still asleep from the anesthesia, but resting comfortably in the post-op recovery room. He estimated that she would be there for another 2-3 hours for observation as they brought her out of the anesthesia.

By mid-afternoon (~3:30 PM), we finally saw her again – nearly 8 hours after they had wheeled her away. Soon thereafter, we settled comfortably into Room B-519, our new home for the next 6-7 days. Julie is still pretty groggy and was still taking oxygen as I left the room a few minutes ago. We were, however, able to have a brief conversation as the nurses were settling her into the room.

“How did it go?” she asked. “You did it, honey,” I replied. “The Bitch is gone. Gone. And the liver is clear”. Tears welled up in both our eyes, and she simply said, “I love you. Life is good….”

So, the path to the top of the mountain has gotten a bit more manageable; the skies have brightened; and our guides are that much more knowledgeable and confident about the route to the top. We’ve still got a long, long way yet to climb, but today we’re stopping to enjoy the view, to celebrate how far we’ve come, and to reflect on how blessed we’ve been to be in the hands of some of the best doctors in the world, and to have had each and every one of you supporting us along the way.

Whoever you are, and wherever you find yourself tonight – give someone a hug, say a prayer of thanks, and take comfort in the fact that Julie is resting peacefully and starting down the path to recovery from the surgery. On the other hand, the Bitch – though not in the “lonely tumor graveyard” just yet – is at least in a cold, metallic tray in some sterile pathology lab down the hall, lamenting the fact that she’s just had her ass kicked by the courageous woman that I’m proud to call my wife. Way to go, Julie. And adios, Bitch.

Over and out…