I'm sitting in the waiting room at Duke University Hospital feeling surreal. I've felt this way on several occasions in my 41 years. I can count on two hands the number of times and I can remember each one. Times like the birth of my children or my Dad's triple bypass or the loss of my friend TJ Pattillo.
When my Dad was "opened up" it all happened really quickly. One minute he's doing a stress test and the next they are doing heart surgery. The surreal feeling hit me when I visited him immediately after the surgery. It's like a sick feeling coupled with the inability to concentrate. It's was my first real scared and helpless feeling as an adult. He was still on a ventilator and all hooked up to everything. Like in the Matrix.
I don't think Dad likes that movie so I won't tell him.
It was months later when he called my brother and I into his office and said, "Boys, you're going to do two things; get a lot of life insurance while it's cheap and get yourselves in shape." So began my biking obsession. Anyway, that was the first time I realized how fragile I am... we all are. It was obvious at that time that the only thing keeping him alive were those machines. And by the same token those doctors had saved him. In other words his life was in someone else's hands. He wasn't in control. And neither was I.
Lisa is back there under anesthesia and a surgeon is cutting her head open to remove a tumor on her optic nerve. It's as simple as that. Yet unbelievably complex. The battery of people charged with making this whole thing happen are precise and methodical. They have a lot of confidence that somehow never becomes arrogance. Accept for some of the people at the reception desks. They obviously allow ignorant people to frustrate them which must make common courtesies from the rest of us seem trite. Here at Duke there are patients from all over the world, including up North where love don't grow, that can be a little demanding. So I understand why they are the way they are. But the doctors and nurses are great.
This whole thing started a few weeks ago with a routine eye exam. That led to MRI's and referrals which ultimately led us to Dr. Allen Friedman, somewhat of a celebrity around here. My brother-n-law Joe Hicks did some research that led him to tell us Dr. Friedman was the Michael Jordan of neurosurgery. So here we are in Durham, North Carolina at arguably the best place in the world to have your brain worked on by evidently the best surgeon to do it.
Somehow all that doesn't help. I'm still not in control. But as I learned with TJ's accident... there's really only one person in control... a Holy God. So let's call what I'm feeling... nervousness and not worry.
We did managed to eat out the night before our pre-op. We lucked up and stopped at Metro 8 Steakhouse. Lisa was loving it because the chefs were from Argentina and prepared things like Empanata's and lots of Spanish flavored dishes. Everything was delicious and the servers were fun. It was perfect before the days to come.
After pre-op we checked in at the hospital and waited. We were visited by 20 different people from residents to nurses to "experience coordinators". My favorite was the doctor who glued sensors on her head and shaved little spots to put some of them. He even traced them with a blue sharpie. And with that sharpie he made notes on her head for the surgery. It was very funny.
I just watched her rolled back for surgery. They had her so jacked up on steroids she was talking a million miles an hour. To anyone. She was particularly happy with the "Georgia" red cap they put on her head. I love my Georgia Girl!
So... now I'm sitting here in the waiting room. People are snoring. It reminds me of some airport terminals. There are wide eyed newbies who pay attention to every sound and movement. Then there's the waiting room veterans who have their bags of magazines and pillows and one lady brought her own coffee creamer. Ma (Lisa's Mom) and her sister Emily will be here soon. My parents are on the way. And I feel ok.
Before I left Georgia I asked my friends to share any surgery stories or cycling stories with us for encouragement and laughs. They came through so greatly that I knew I had to publish them. So here you have a series of short stories that may or may not amuse you. Thanks guys!
Stories for Lisa
Ralph
Atkinson
I was sitting with a family in pre-op. The wife was ready for surgery, and
had already had the dose of twilight meds to calm the fears. Surgery was then
delayed for a while and her buzz had lost its joy. We were then told time was
short and more twilight meds were given. It did not take her long before she
was feeling no pain.
The surgical nurse walked in and the wife got very vocal. She was convinced
that Chick fil A was in charge of her surgery. We could not change her
perspective. The surgical nurse smiled and excused herself from the room. She
returned a couple seconds later and reintroduced herself to everyone as the
surgical nurse. We were puzzled. The wife asked what happened to the last
nurse. The reply was she was from downstairs and not part of the surgical team.
The wife calmed down and was ready for her procedure. The husband and I were
confused by the events. We were then asked to see the nurse in the hallway. We
met outside the door. We had not noticed on the first visit the nurse was
wearing a cow print head covering. She left and had replaced it with a standard
blue paper cap and all was fine.
The husband and I still laugh about it.
Michel van
Musschenbroek
In 1974, my
father introduced me to cycling. Living in Ottawa, we made the trek to Montreal
for the World Cycling Championships. Back then, the Road and Track events
were held at the same time. Pursuit, Sprint, Team Pursuit, Derny Racing
all on an open air wooden track. I remember having to wait over a couple
hours for the track to dry, because of the day's rain, until the officials said
it was safe. To help it dry up, they put a half dozen of the large derny
motorcycles on the track...I know that it was a cycling event, but at 12 years
old, watching 6 of these motor beasts drive around at 50kph...well, I thought
that was pretty cool. Coming from Holland, cheering for the Orange
jerseys became a quick learn. Roy Schuiten won the men's pursuit much to
the delight of my Father and I. When I think back, I guess the memory
which sticks out the most, was watching the men's sprint. During one of
the matches, one of the men fell hard. 30 minutes(I am guessing) he showed
up for the next round all bandaged up, but ready to ride. That is when I
realized, cycling is not for the light hearted, but in fact a very tough
sport.
Four years
later, we are on a family vacation in Europe. My father is going to
represent Canada at the World Masters Cycling Championships - St Johan in
Tirol, Austria. In our preparation to leave for Europe, I was fortunate
enough to be able to bring my bike along also. A nice little Reynolds 531
frame with CLB Brakes, Stronglight Crank, Campy Chorus derailleur/downtube
shifters and paired up to High Flanged Campy Wheels - tubular of course.
(side note - the frame is gone, but the components now sit on my father’s 1974
Motobecane that he rode at the world Masters).
Landing in
Holland, we stayed with my grandparents. I was able to ride around with
my father on some of the local roads and experienced "pave" for the
first time. If the roads are well used and maintained they were quite
nice...not smooth, but comfortable. Older roads, where the bricks have
loosened, provide a bit of music. As you ride the bricks will hit against
each other, and since they are not all the same, there will be a tune coming
from the road. Then again, there are other roads, which have heaved
because of the loads of trucks and ground frost; these will down right knock
you off if you are not paying attention. My shoulders and forearms ache
after the ride, but somehow there is always a smile on my face because I am on
my bike.
We had been
there about 3 weeks, when we heard about a local race which takes place on flat
roads between farmer's fields. The town was Weesp, not too far from where
we were staying. The riders had told us it was a fast race, and very
safe, as the road is quiet and there is little or no traffic. There were
four groups racing that night on the loop around the farmer's field. Each
lap was about 10 kilometers long. Groups 1 and 2 did four laps, 3 and 4
did three laps with the hope of finishing everything within about an
hour. All four groups line up with the first group on the line.
"Go". Thirty seconds for the second group to line up on the line,
a couple quick reminders about safety, then "go", group 3, then group
4, my group. I was just 16 at the time, not a very strong rider, but I
could hang on to a wheel as long as the pace was
steady......"GO".
My heart is
pounding, the group is attacking hard. The riders had told us that the
first 5km are super fast, because each group is fearful of being caught, and
are trying to catch the group in front. Being ready for this I made sure
to push through the pain so I could prevent being dropped. After about 10
minutes the pace slows down to a comfortable race pace and I exchange a couple
"hello's". They knew I was a Canadian and were all very
friendly to me. Going into the corners the pace would slow slightly and
the sprint out was hard, but the long straights were like a massive team time
trial. About 25 guys working well and pushing hard, peeling off the front
and sliding back for shelter from the crosswind. Something you should
know about Holland, it is always windy.
One lap to
go. We turn the corner and begin heading down this long road, if the
previous two laps showed anything it would be a nice long group of
riders. What is going on? Everyone is sprinting like crazy, or at
least the pace is about 10-15% faster. I am breathing like crazy, my legs
are burning. Did I miss something about a "prime"? Was
there a sprint coming up? Soon I was about to find out why. Strung
out and pushing hard the road begins to spit up grass in little clumps about
2-3 inches round...."smack". This didn't happen the two laps
before, what was going on? Smack...another chunk of grass....Smack,
another, only this time...it hits me in the face. Immediately, the smell
fills my sinuses. This isn't just grass, but grass with fresh cow patties
mixed into it. You see, what happened differently between lap two and
three, was the farmer transferring his cattle from one field to the next.
As the cattle cross the road they carry with them, some of the grass, which of
course...has ...well...droppings. So that is what caused the uncalled for
acceleration. Those near the front finished clean, while those in the
back, such as an inexperienced Canadian, finished not so clean.
There was much laughter and hand shakes
at the end of the race. Interestingly...my father had the same
experience. It may be my favorite memory.
Trace Nabors
Two reasons it's good to
get away from North Georgia for surgery:
1.
Crazy nurses: The first time I
went in to have my ankle scoped, I ran into a crazy nurse. I was in the pre-op room and they were
getting me ready. This lady came in with
a razor and asked which knee they were operating on. Remember, this was ankle surgery. I said neither and she was seriously
bummed. The reason was that she said she
just loved shaving knees. Mine were
still hairy at the time. They proceeded
to right the word NO on both knees and my left ankle. My right ankle got a YES and the disappointed
nurse went to go find a hairy knee somewhere
2.
Overzealous orderlies: Aimee was
in the hospital a couple of years ago with some kidney issues. Good thing I stayed up there with her most of
the time. After being there a day or so,
a guy with an empty wheelchair came in to the room and announced that he was
taking my wife down for dialysis! I said
WHAT?! First of all, she doesn’t even
have the required surgically implanted port you need to do that. Second of all, no doctor had said anything to
us about dialysis, thank the Lord. We
told him to go get a second opinion on that and we never saw him again. Made me wonder what happens to people in the
hospital by themselves.
I hope everything goes
well and these two stories can be a short distraction. 😊 Later
Alex Fuentes
Some time back I was laid off from United Airlines and took
a job working at the
Longstreet Clinic. Once they found out I spoke fluent
Spanish I was quickly put into service as the resident translator. I had one
patient in the oncology department who was undergoing chemo. During one of the
appointments, I had to translate to the doctor that he was experiencing nausea.
The doctor prescribed a suppository to help with that and scheduled
another appointment in two weeks. During the follow up the doctor asked how the
medicine was helping with the nausea. I had to translate,"Well doc, I
might as well put it where the sun don't shine because it is not doing a thing
for me!" The doctor really did not miss a beat. He said,"That
is exactly what you need to do with it." Moral of the story, never
assume people understand how to take medicine!
The second; my
brother oversees a wheelchair basketball league (no limits sports) in which
some of the kids are truly amazing. Two of athletes due to cancer had up to
half of their brain removed. Incredibly, their personalities are intact but
half of their bodies have significantly reduced capability or paralyzed
altogether. When my brother coaches, he will get on to the players just like
anyone else. When one of these special players missed a play during practice my
brother went to him and said, "What were you thinking Ryan!"
Ryan said, "What do I know coach, I only have half a brain."
Moral of the story, you can never take yourself too seriously!
But, in all
seriousness, we are here for you and your family. Let us know if you need
anything!
Brian Oliver
Funny story – My wife was diagnosed with a cancerous
carcinoid tumor in 2010. To make a long story short, she had to have 3
surgeries that summer (May, June, and July). One of them was to remove 15
inches of her colon. Being the funny guy that I am I told her she could
go as a semi colon for Halloween. It was not funny then, but it is funny
now. Safe travels.
Sal
Badalamente
I
don't have any funny jokes for this occasion but can tell something you surely
already know...Duke is an outstanding facility and Lisa is in capable hands.
Most
surgeons I have met are athletes or former athletes ... They can stand on their
feet and operate for hours without moving anything other than their arms, hands
and fingers. They are dedicated and precise individuals.
Brain
surgeons in particular are a special breed and they see the world very
differently. They will only accept perfection and I was once told by one that
he spoke personally with God regarding each of his patients.
If
there is anything you need done, i.e.: lawn mowed, car moved or any life
related issue please do not hesitate to call or email.
Regarding
prayers... I am certain God hears me. Friends always appear when I need them
most, and my path always seems to present itself.
This
week I will pray for Lisa's way to be clear. My best to Lisa...
Your
friend,
__________________________________________________________________________
Surgery is complete
The surgeon came out to tell us he was happy. He got all but some small bits of the tumor and believes she could gain all of her eyesight back in a few weeks. The tumor was benign which means "not cancer". It's the best possible news! Obviously it changed the mood and we started rejoicing.
After a couple of hours we were allowed to visit her in two's. Which really meant I could come out and trade partners because I wanted as much time as I could with her.
Lisa was the perfect patient. That's what everyone told me each time we transfered into another wing of the hospital. Over the next 2 days we moved as Lisa got better. She flew through ICU levels until we got to one that forced her to walk around. She did great... and then took a long nap.
We'll be here another three days so I'm sure there will be plenty of milestones to come. For now I'm satisfied that we are well on our way to a full recovery. She's a real fighter. My wife. I'm so proud of her.
Before I go I suppose since this is actually a cycling blog I'll share my one time getting to ride during the 6 days we stayed in Durham. It was on Saturday afternoon and Lisa had been sleeping all morning with the promise of more napping to come. I was tired of being in that room, in that chair, and there's only so much daily television that's worth watching so I made the decision to leave her in the care of the nurses and explore Duke University.
I'd spent the morning memorizing the roads and finding things I wanted to see. There are beautiful gardens and a famous chapel and other pretty things. There are also lots of bike lanes because in a college town there are a ton of people on bikes. So I headed to the car to change and have at it.
I rode around town and to the chapel. I visited a track meet and watched the races for a while. I found a really old cemetery but the oldest year on any stone I saw was 1946. I even found a cool path that traveled along beside a golf course next to a swamp. Weird. But nicely done.
After that I had to get out my trusty smart phone to find my way back to the car. The ride was a great distraction that wore me out so I could sleep in that stupid chair. I felt a little guilty for doing it but in the end I think I've shown how my bike ride was the right thing to do.
I'm sure you all agree. :)
Thanks for reading!
Chad Hayes
A beautiful day dawned in
Northeast Alabama. If you have never done this road race, it is a great
one and I highly recommend it. The Northeast Alabama Bicycle Association
did a great job organizing the Foothills Road Race, while providing a great breakfast
and excellent recovery lunch, which were all inclusive in the registration
cost. Job well done and I will be back.
