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| Mom, just moments before being wheeled into surgery on Tuesday morning |
32 degrees/partly cloudy/breezy
Terre Haute, Indiana
To begin with, on behalf of Mom, my sister, and me, I want to thank everyone for the outpouring of prayers, thoughts, and good wishes for Mom these past few days. If anyone ever doubts the power of prayer, all he has to do is look at yesterday's outcome. Mom will be 90 years old in June and she flew through major surgery like a twenty year old. Again, our sincere, deep, appreciation.
The trip to Indiana was an adventure, interspersed with occasional frustration.
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| Monday's sunrise in my rearview mirror just a few miles away from home. |
I'd no more pulled from the drive when my cell phone rang. It was Sargie saying one of the front headlights was out on the Kia, the one thing I didn't check on Sunday.
Since I couldn't leave until it was light enough to see, I decided to continue on and have the light repaired later in the week in Terre Haute.
I tried to take in the sights along the way, but it's difficult while starring straight ahead at the highway.
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| The ski hill in Wausau, Wisconsin |
Whew.
After driving past entrances, exits, failing to read multiple signs, and feeling a rumble strip or two as I veered out of my own lane, I quickly learned that I was on my own for this journey. Absence isn't the only thing that makes the heart grow fonder, so does driving.
With over 175,000 miles showing on the odometer, the Kia ran flawlessly and gas mileage averaged around forty miles to the gallon.
I arrived at Mom's late in the afternoon and we had a great evening just talking, sometimes about life, often about family.
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| Westminster Village - Mom's community |
Mom was obviously thinking about the upcoming operation, one to remove the cancer that was growing in her colon. Knowing that Tuesday morning would begin at 4 AM, we went to bed early.
It was 6 AM, check-in time at the hospital. I was amazed to find Mom's minister and his wife waiting to see Mom. My sister and brother-in-law arrived soon after.
We made nervous small talk and the clergyman's presence put everyone at ease. I think most of us had a case of the nerves, but we acted as though the coming operation was an everyday sort of happening.
I've shown more fear before getting my teeth cleaned than I did Monday morning.
Inside, I was a mess.
Mom acted as though what she was about to go through was an everyday procedure. If one would have given her a six shooter, a cowboy hat, and a galloping steed, she could have led the charge into enemy lines.
Poked and prodded, with tubes everywhere, Mom visited and smiled. Her biggest fear seemed to be someone might see her after the operation without her dentures. I saw her without them for the first time, ever, two years ago, when she had open heart surgery. We assured Mom her portable pearly whites would be well taken care of, along with her hearing aid.
Mom's a rock star at the hospital. Several professionals, including the anesthesiologist, stopped by, saying they remembered her from her heart surgery. This is no six room medical center, it's a sprawling complex. Mom cuts a wide swath.
At one point, one of the surgical team came in and asked Mom what kind of operation she was having.
Her response, "I've got cancer and you're going to get rid of it."
No fear, no tears, no outward nerves, no nonsense.
Damned the torpedoes, full speed ahead.
Mom was ready to ride into battle with guns blazing.
And ride she did.
It was an hour into the operation when the phone rang with an operating room nurse saying everything was going as planned. She reported that Mom's vitals were normal and she was doing well.
It was after two hours in the operating room when the surgeon came to talk with us. He reported that the procedure went as he had hoped and that after examining the organs surrounding the cancer and taking out several feet of colon on each side of the growth, he was optimistic Mom was cancer free. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Most of Tuesday afternoon was spent with Mom in her hospital room. She was given doses of morphine for pain as needed, but by last night, she told one nurse who offered to administer another, that though her abdomen ached, she didn't think she needed any more. That's my mom.
As with the drive down, I managed to get lost (I prefer the term "misplaced") in the hospital, not once, but twice. Those hallways and rooms all look the same.
At one point, I walked into a room and found an old man lying in bed. THAT wasn't my mama!
Nurses are, by and large, very nice people. After asking directions, I finally found my way back.
I kissed Mom goodbye in the late afternoon with the promise I'd be back today. Though I wanted to stay longer it appeared as though she wanted to sleep. It was time for me to go.
I had supper with the girls last night. In the same manner as two years ago when Mom had her double by pass heart operation, (at the age of 87) friends stopped by the table to inquire how she was doing.
I was invited to play cards last night, but I was simply too tired. My head hurt, my eyes ached, and my body was about done in. I came back to the apartment with the intention of taking a shower and going to bed.
What? It was just 6 PM? I couldn't go to bed that early. I'd be up at midnight for the day. For whatever reason, that made me mad. Really upset. What to do?
I felt my body tremble and sat down to feel sorry for myself. I do that well.
Oh no. I hated what followed. The first tear slipped down my cheek. The second came soon after. The dam of emotion burst and flood waters poured through.
Mom may lead the charge with six shooters blazing, but she still has a little boy who needs his mama. The frustration of the long drive and worry for Mom let go in a flood of tears. I cried. No, I sobbed. What ever happened to that rough, tough, fear-nothing, Alaska mountain man?
Finally drained, I decided to go for a walk. Simply walk. It's what I do best and what I enjoy the most.
I'd walk the frustrations and fears of the past two days from my body. I'd walk in gratitude. I'd walk simply because I could.
Where to?
I hadn't seen Mom in the past two hours. With that, I hiked to the hospital where I found her awake and watching television. We had a short, but wonderful, visit and after a quick kiss and a few "I love you's," I made my way back to the senior's complex exhausted, but relaxed and mentally and physically ready for a good night's sleep. Mom was going to be okay.
I awakened this morning at six rarin' to go. Mom only drinks decaf coffee so I had to go prowling the complex for some high octane stuff. I found it on the first floor and filled my travel mug to the brim.
Since Mom will be occupied this morning with getting a bath, a change of dressing, and all that hospital stuff, it'll be later before I visit. I brought my hiking boots and will strap those on fairly soon and take off to explore Terre Haute, Indiana. Indiana State University is located two or three miles to the north. I may walk up there and look around. There is a large mall a half a mile from here. Sargie would wring my neck if I didn't at least make some pretext to find a clearance table.
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| Walking isn't nearly as rural here as in the UP |
So with that being said, it's time to get ready for the day.
Again, thank you for your support. Though I don't personally know all of you who read this, I do know it was you, the family of readers, who helped pull Mom through this very major operation. God bless you.
OK, enough of that sensitive stuff. Hey, I'm the rough, tough, fear-nothing, Alaska mountain man. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.
Think I'll ask Mom if I can polish one of her six-shooters. Maybe some of that toughness will rub off on me.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road... by way of Terre Haute, Indiana...
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| It was a stressful day for my brother-in-law, John, who hates to have his picture taken. Hey, you snooze, you lose. |
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