Surgery Day

Dearest Rachel –

I haven’t told you about this, because up until now, I didn’t see it as my story to tell. Besides, I’m likely to get the details messed up in any event. But as it now becomes part of my timeline, perhaps I need to fill you in on at least the barest of details, as I know them.

You know about Dad’s illness, in any event, as it all started about a month before your mom’s passing. Indeed, it kept you from seeing your mom the weekend she passed, since he was so deathly ill at points that you decided to stay up here with me (you had, after all, rushed down to see her the weekend before upon receiving word from Twofeathers that she was declining; your presence may have contributed to her rallying for a week, and if you had gone done there the following week, she might have done the same again. At the same time, she was already no longer who she was when you were growing up, and her passing may have been a mercy) in case the worst might happen, and I would need you at my side. Somehow, he pulled through then, and several times since when by anyone’s estimation, he ought to be with you by now.

But he’s been kept here, for whatever reasons. He’s certainly been a pillar of support in helping me get my footing in your absence. And I’m sure there are plenty of others to whom he has been able to be a help and inspiration in the intervening years.

At the same time he’s had to deal with things that have kept him from getting out and doing the things he used to be able to, albeit not for the reasons one might suspect, given his age and constitutional condition. While he’s able to drive (and tends to prefer chauffeuring Mom about when she has errands and appointments; certainly more than she seems to enjoy doing so), he can’t stay out for any substantial length of time, since there’s always the chance that the wound in his stomach (from a previous installation of his gastric tube that has since been relocated) would leak. As a result, things like church are out of the question, despite being otherwise fit and able to go and attend. It’s a frustrating situation, to feel thus imprisoned in one’s own home. It would be one thing if were a matter of bodily infirmity or frailty (and to be sure, he’s not got the strength he had before his illness, but that could as easily be attributed to the effects of age), but he could go out and about – and it would likely do him good if he did more often – except that this wound refuses to close up.

So that’s why he’s in surgery today; there are several different options the doctors want to try, in order to take care of this leak. I’d say “once and for all,” except that nothing is ever truly permanent down here; it’s more a matter of getting it to the point where he can resume something akin to a normal life, without having to worry about the possibility of having to deal with gastric leaking.

And this is where I start to lose the thread of what, exactly, they’re doing today. Dad went in on Monday for a pre-operative briefing, and they mentioned three different possible plans of action. Evidently, they won’t know exactly what to do until they open the hood (to use an automotive metaphor) and see how complicated the situation is underneath. One was already all but ruled out given his age, and another would be a bit more invasive (and require more recovery) that the doctors would like given those same circumstances, but all three would require at least a night’s stay in hospital for observation before being released.

Then again, when I arrived at the hospital this morning (after receiving a text asking “where are you?”; evidently, the procedure was delayed by an hour after arriving, and in the down time, they wondered when I was going to be there. For my part, I figured I’d make my way over at about the same time as I might head out to the ‘office’; the fact that they were initially reporting at 7:30 struck me as too early for me to show up. And at least, they were joined by other friends, encouraging and praying for him), there was a fourth option that was under consideration, one that might not even require an overnight stay.

And as best I can tell, that new laparoscopic option is the one that was taken, as he was out of surgery by eleven or so, although we weren’t granted permission to see him in recovery until half-past noon. Not sure specifically what the delay was about, but between the anesthesia and other pain medication, I’m sure he wasn’t in a condition to receive visitors straightaway. Even once he was ready, he was still tired and sore, while at the same time glad to know that he didn’t actually have to stay overnight in hospital. And, after an hour and a half, he was sufficiently rested to allow himself to be wheeled out to Mom’s car (while I was tasked with picking up his prescription painkillers on my way back to their place, which he would take with his next meal).

Strangely enough, despite having no eaten throughout the day (because what doctor wants to deal with that kind of mess while doing gastric surgery?) and it already being halfway into the afternoon by the time we were home, Dad didn’t seem ready to eat (or whatever you call it when you feed yourself through a tube); he and Mom agreed that he would wait for his first dose of medicine until his next scheduled mealtime of four. By contrast, despite having had several waffles for breakfast, I was absolutely ravenous; I couldn’t stick around until then to get myself something to eat. So, with Dad safely and comfortably ensconced at home, I decided to take my leave for the day, contact Daniel to see what he wanted from the place I’d suddenly developed a jones for, pick up a very late lunch and call it a day.

And this is why it’s taken so long to get back to you about the events of the day, honey, and remind you that it’s still going to be some time yet before Dad shows up where you are. There were jokes at the time that his cousin Dennis probably asked you what you were doing showing up when Ralph was expected, but after so much time has passed, maybe you’ve all gotten used to the fact that he’s not coming for while. Still, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you were to keep an eye on him over the evening, and wish him luck. He might very well need it more than I, for the moment.