You have to understand here... prior to surgery day Papa had been feeling pretty good. No real pain to speak of, some mild nausea from time to time, some occasional diarrhea. But then there was the urine the color of strong tea (oh yeah, did I mention that?) and skin the color of an over ripe banana peel.
How were we feeling at this point? I guess scared would be the best answer. Papa was very stoic. There was no weeping or gnashing of teeth or rending of clothing. We knew he had to go through this. What choice did he have? None, none at all. It was have the surgery and have a chance at life, or go home and sit on the couch and wait for death.
I, on the other hand, am a basket case inside. Even though I no longer work, I am still a nurse and I know too much. I am scared for my husband. I try very hard to keep this fear to myself because I know if I lose it, he will too and that would not be good for our kids and grandkids, it would not be good for him to go into surgery like that either, or for recovery from surgery. "They" say attitude has a lot to do with recovery and "they" are correct.
We have been together for a long time now and during our marriage, every time he had an ache or a twinge Papa thought it was cancer. He always had a "nervous" stomach too. I wish I had the money now for every bottle of Mylanta or Pepto Bismol I have bought over the years. He has a strong family history of cancer, especially digestive tract cancer but we always thought if he got cancer, it would be lung cancer. He was exposed to asbestos long ago in an auto foundry and has asbestosis and he was a heavy smoker in his 20's before he quit. That heart attack in 2007 was a biggie too... I sometimes thought another of those would take him one day.
They are getting Papa ready, taking his history for the umpteenth time, going over his meds again, blood pressure, blood draws, type and cross match in case he needs a transfusion... the endless rituals of pre-surgery admissions. I can see he is getting nervous, he just wants to get it over and done with. We were still waiting for the final results of the ERCP biopsy, thinking, praying, maybe Papa would only have to have his gall bladder removed after all. The surgeon had told us earlier, "a duck is a duck" meaning if it was cancer in the preliminary biopsy, it would still be cancer when he looked at it out in the open of the operating room. Of course he was right. We had been given the choice to go to University of Michigan Hospital, or a big one in Detroit but that would have put a burden on our entire family so we put our trust in this young man and in our local hospitals. We trusted that he would not do anything unnecessary but also that he would do everything necessary.
I was told at least seven hours for the surgery. My sister, my nephew and his fiancee, my daughter and her kids and my oldest grand daughter all took turns waiting with me down in the lobby with all the other families. God, that wait is unbearable. Doctors come and go, families cry or rejoice, cell phones ring, food and coffee are brought in and left to go cold by nervous loved ones and there is nothing you can do to speed things up. I was afraid to leave and go to the bathroom, for fear that news would come while I was away. Half way through they let us know that the doctor was proceeding with the Whipple procedure and after several more hours finally the doctor made his appearance... it was pancreatic cancer, right at the head of the pancreas. The surgery was huge, they removed the gall bladder, 1/3 to 1/2 of his stomach, about 1/2 of the pancreas, part of the small intestine and he thought the cancer was stage III already, not a good sign.
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