Looking Back - One Year Later

Flashback one year ago today - one of those days that burns into your memory, burns into your heart.  March 11, 2014 - I experienced what I then called a "heart-stopping moment" and with today's reflection, I can still recall that feeling - deep down inside where we store those moments for a lifetime.  Following this; when my heart began to beat again - my day was filled with wonder as I pondered what had happened and knew with a certainty that Heaven had intervened in our behalf.  
Today is the anniversary of our initial attempt to remove Jackie's chordoma - a fist-sized tumor tucked up in the center of her thoracic cavity.  It was bordered by her spinal column, her aorta and her lungs.  Four surgeons would be working on her, sometimes simultaneously, through two different incisions; one vertical along the left side of her spine, the second running along the rib line on her left.  They would have to collapse her left lung in order to access the tumor.  
Weeks later - two of the surgeons would declare it to be "one of the coolest surgeries they had ever seen."  On the morning of March 11, we weren't thinking it was very cool - it was rather frightening.  We did feel, however, that we were in very good hands.  Our primary surgeon was very accomplished, and just within our own family he had removed a tumor from Mark's left shoulder, multiple tumors from Natalie's right shoulder, and replaced 10 inches of Greg's tibia with an awesome prosthesis.
We had to wait several weeks to get the correct operating room for Jackie's surgery - she was almost ready to be taken in when there was a thoracic emergency in ICU and our procedure was bumped back several hours.  They finally came for her, so Mark and I decided to go eat and then enjoy the spring sunshine outside.  She had been gone for a couple hours when we decided to go to the family waiting area.  We were not there long when I looked up and saw our surgeon enter the room... how strange... why wasn't he with Jackie?  I knew the surgery could not possibly be finished.  Through the window into the hallway I thought I saw her anesthesiologist... who was with my daughter?  They asked to speak with us in a conference room - there were five doctors waiting to talk to us!  This could not be good....
They were quick to assure us that Jackie was alive and there were still several doctors with her (OHSU is a teaching hospital).  These several hours had been spent trying to start her arterial line - when the time came to collapse her lung they had to switch breathing tubes, but her airway had collapsed.  They had resuscitated her, but it seemed that they were all rather shaken.  They had come to ask us permission to stop the surgery and resume it in two days.  They did not want to begin a surgery such as this when her body had undergone such trauma.  YES!  By all means, stop and let her recover... (Apparently one of the doctors had seen this happen before and that family had been upset at the notion of postponing.)
Mark and I returned to the waiting area until she could be transferred to ICU.  We were both struck by the notion that his recently-deceased father had had a hand in this.  Mark said he could just see him there saying, "Stop!  Enough!"  Each doctor in the room had been in agreement that they needed to stop the procedure - I thought this somewhat remarkable from orthopedic, thoracic and neurosurgeons.  My experience working in the operating room was enough to know that these men are highly specialized, maybe a bit arrogant, and extremely busy and driven.  I appreciated their humility.
That night in the ICU was not very nice - Jackie woke up on a ventilator which is an awful experience.  Her hands were tied down and she could not speak or breathe on her own.  Then we had to communicate to her that the surgery was not over - she would have to begin again.  She was able to communicate with us by finger spelling.  
Naturally, no one was very anxious to remove the breathing tube.  We had many visits from a variety of physicians.  The anesthesiologist in charge was particularly attentive.  On one of his visits he expressed that this was an unusual situation, but it was as though God had told them all, "STOP!"
I don't know that he was a particularly religious man, but he had been struck by what had happened.
I had been praying that not only would the surgeons receive help, they would know the source of the help.  My sister, Lori, told me later that she had been praying that not only would they know the source of their help - that they would express this back to us!  
What a harrowing day!  What a beautiful day!
I would never want to repeat this day!
I would never want to change this day!
Writing about it has made me feel weak.  Reflecting on it makes me strong.  The testimony felt that day - that God is so very aware of us, his children - stays with me. The reality of angels - loving us and strengthening us - this stays with me also.  
Life's experiences teach us so much.  
Coming into the ICU and seeing Jackie unresponsive and hooked up to so many machines... well, it wasn't a high point in my life.  Throughout the night, one-by-one, tubes were removed and monitors were cleared away.  Memories remained.  Love grew and intensified.  
I am so grateful to have had this experience with my daughter, husband and family.  The weakness I feel in remembering isn't from the horrors of the day, it is from memories of my involvement in a day full of humility, love, trepidation, and support from loved-ones on earth and in Heaven.

Happy Anniversary Jackie!!  

Why Me?

Why me?  Usually this seems to indicate someone feeling sorry for themselves and their circumstances.  I've been there a time or two, as has everyone I know.
"Why Greg?"  That was a question I had in the similar state of mind one day in Autumn of 2010.  I was outside when I looked up at Greg's bedroom window - he had been on chemotherapy for a couple weeks.  We were home from the hospital and I knew he was lying asleep in his bed.  He was very sick and weak - and the anti-nausea meds we had at the time were playing tricks with his mind.  It was just awful - It was definitely a "Why me... Why Greg?" moment.  He was such a good kid; always happy and helpful, setting goals for his life, etc.  Looking up at his window, I had a good cry... one of my better ones in fact.  Looking back - this was probably the beginning of change in myself...
At this point we were trying very hard to be positive and upbeat, and doing a pretty good job of it.  Embracing the situation, being grateful for this trial --this had not yet happened.  Then it did - I have written about this many times.

The sunrise on the way to Chemo

I went beyond knowing that this would turn out well in future years - I learned for myself that this could be well right now; all could be well in the present.  If I was going to be thankful for this later on, I was going to be thankful for this in the present.  After several attempts over a period of days I was able to pray and give heartfelt thanks that my son was able to have this experience.
And I meant it.
So do I still ask, "Why me?"  Sure, but in a new way with a new emphasis.  "Why" is a great question, but how about asking it and really meaning it... Take it deeper! Why?  Why this?  Why now?  Why not?  What am I supposed to learn?  How am I supposed to behave?  How do I need to change?  Who needs my attention? How will I be able to help others with my new-found knowledge and experience?
There are a lot of questions that go along with that Why?

Huntsman chemo infusion unit

What if there is no major life trial happening at the moment?  When life seems easy, do we ever ask why me?  Why?  Why are things going so well?  Why are awful things happening to other people but not to me?  Here is a chance to use the "who" question... Who around me is having trials?  Who needs my help?  How can I use  my time to brighten someone's day.  How shall I use this time to prepare for whatever is over the horizon.

Greg's fantastic view during Chemo

Enduring it Well - this is a radio program that I listened to a couple days ago.  I came in on the end... they were interviewing a man who was severely burned.  He said that everyone has trials, but some of them are very obvious.  He felt that those of us who have obvious trials have a responsibility to speak about it and share what we learn in order to help the majority whose trials are hidden.  I was so excited to hear him say that.  I have a very obvious trial.  I also have some that are not so obvious and I would not be comfortable discussing in public.  The strength I receive in being a mother of cancer-kids spills over and helps me in my other trials.  I hope that it can spill over and help my friends in all of their hidden trials as well.
If life has a purpose (and it does), then there is a purpose for our trials.
"Why?" is a good question, especially without the whine...

chemo-to-go!
Take one home today!

Speaking of not whining - let's check in on Greg.  He began chemotherapy yesterday morning.  He had a two hour infusion and then brought home a 48 hour infusion in a fanny pack to carry around for awhile...
...drum roll...

Greg sent me a screenshot of his
texting with one of his bishopric
member's wife.  I thought this was
so sweet!  Thank you!!

He is feeling great!  He texted me last night that, although he had not eaten anything at the hospital, when he got home he reported, "I have a huge appetite.  I ate almost a whole pizza.  I had pudding. Candy. Chips.   And I don't feel bad at all.  Being at home helps with sick feelings"
Has a mother ever been so pleased to have her child eating pizza, pudding, candy and chips?

Halfway done- there is a
hard ball in the center.

Greg has enough experience with anti-nausea pills to be able to manage this ---so far so good.  Another bonus - the chemotherapy is clear.  Last time there was one that was off-color.  I won't say the color because we try not to think of it... As he got progressively more sick the nurses would fill his hospital room with spearmint scented cotton balls before he was admitted.  We carried mint gum to sniff just in case... but the moment that off-colored chemo made it on the scene... ugh!  Let's not talk about it.
Anyway, the good news is that he is doing well.  I am humbled and grateful for the prayers of so many.  I have received many answers to my question of Why - and they are all good.  I will surely learn many more in the future.  We CAN be grateful for our trials!

Blogging question?  I have had so many people tell me that they comment on this blog but it never works.  Almost a year of blogs and only a few comments, but several people that try... who can tell me how to leave a comment?   I would love to have comments to read!

The Lower Lights

When I say that my children are my favorite people, it is more than a mother thinking that her kids are great.  They are strong and good  - smart and fun - and I learn from them.  They are more than that... and all of these things puts them at the top of my favorites list.
   Today, as I was walking down the sidewalk to church, I received a text from Greg.  He had read my blog post from this morning, and he agreed that it was good to write those things.  He also told me that while he was at church this morning they had sung Brightly Beam Our Father's Mercy (by Philip P. Bliss).  This was on Greg's mind while he read the blog - and he reminded me that we are the lights along the shore.  Here are some of the words:

Brightly beam our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

Trim you feeble lamp, my brother;
Some poor sailor, tempest tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

It wasn't until I typed those words that I remembered I had used a wave/ocean metaphor this morning.

Bless that boy!  I felt like smiling all through church.

Why do I blog?  A year or so ago I continued to hear the message that there was a need to have clean and uplifting content on the internet... The feelings kept coming that I had something that I could share.  It was incredibly hard to begin - social media had never held too many charms for me.  However, I had a lot to say and was ever so grateful to be able to put it all into a format that could be viewed by friends, family and others.  I am usually not too inclined to share personal thoughts - but I do like to keep a journal.  In a journal I would be able to go deeper - but who would know about any of that until after I die and perhaps a great-grandchild shows an interest...
I have discovered that a positive, joyful, peaceful approach to life isn't natural for everyone.  Sharing this approach to a world that is saturated with trials of all kinds... well, I hope that it does provide light to someone.  As we shared our story with a medical assistant at Huntsman, he asked if he could share our story with others when it seemed appropriate.  We gave him our blog address and asked him to please share with anyone he felt could use it.

Christ can calm the waves
when we are tempest-tossed also!!

Back to the hymn - I read the words and pictured myself holding a light on the seashore, hoping to be of help to someone lost in the waves.  Here on the shore there are also storms.   It can be cold, rainy, windy and dark - but having a foundation under my feet is worth everything.  I am not tempest-tossed.  Out in the waves it is too easy to get
lost or feel like giving up.  Lights along the shore may be dim, but they are there, and their purpose is to help others.
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and
glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matt. 5:16).
God is the source of our light.  Brightly beams our Father's mercy - He has provided our light and then "to us he gives the keeping of the lights along the shore."  It may be a "feeble lamp" - last week my light felt rather dim, but it was there.  I feel discouraged when I don't have the mental or physical strength to be out serving in a traditional sense, but I do have light.  My Savior is my light and I will serve for now, in the best way that I can for now... and simply share that there is hope for peace and stability in the harbor!

Purple Ports and Deep Breathing

   Sometimes I picture myself swimming in the ocean... I am underwater and can see the foamy white water above me... I swim toward it, anxious for some air.  As my head rises above the surface, I try to take in a nice big breath, but manage only a gulp before another wave knocks me tumbling back beneath the surface.

   This past week has felt like this.  Sometimes there is no energy, only heaviness.  I look at the things that I need to do and just think, "hmmm.  that needs to get done..."   I wrote that sentence in lower case because that best matches the depth (or shallowness) of how I feel about getting those things done...

   On top of our own cancer issues, my friend's stage-4-cancer-husband is back in the hospital.  We visited with them yesterday and hope that I can take some of her heaviness onto myself because I have an idea how it feels and wish I could ease her burden just a bit.  It is for her sake that I really, really wish I had more energy.  My friend with the darling little brain-tumor-removed-the-pituitary-and-drastically-changed-the-course-of-life daughter marked their one year surgery anniversary this week.  Bless her heart!

   I still feel very deeply all of my positive, uplifting, grateful feelings.  That is very, very real.  But this week the heaviness is here as well, and I cannot deny the weight of it all.  I also have had some great experiences that I am anxious to share, but not quite able - until this passes.

This is Greg's actual port from 2010-2011.  They saved
it for him.  He can make his wife a necklace.
Natalie thinks that it belongs on Dr. Who.

   In the meantime, Greg is working hard at his schoolwork, trying to catch up and maybe get ahead before chemotherapy begins this week.  His first infusion will be on Friday at Huntsman.  After this he will be able to go to a clinic which is somewhat closer to his apartment and will be able to schedule it around classes and work a little better.  This is truly the source of my burden this week.  I feel that I am going in with him, yet I won't even be there and the distance doesn't help me at all.  I can totally remember that first night with the nurses gowned, gloved and masked while hanging his chemo-bag which was in the dark brown wrapper.  It seemed unreal that they had to wear so much protection while it was being pumped inside my child's body.  

   These are the feelings that I am reliving.

   Enough of that...

   One of the best moments of Greg's first cancer experience was during our pre-op visit before he had his port implanted.  I have mentioned it before.  The doctor brought Greg a sample of what his port would look like and asked if we had any questions.  Greg took it, studied it, and said that he did have a question...... "Do they come in any other colors?"  The whole room busted up laughing.  I feel like that moment set the stage for our approach to his treatment.  

This is what Greg's new port looks like.
This would make a better necklace.

   When his port was implanted on February 12 - he was pleased to tell me that his port was, indeed, a different color.  They didn't give him an option - but this time it is purple.  He says that it is state-of-the art; MRI friendly and even three raised portions that will help the nurse locate the edges of the injection site.

   We are used to ports, but as I talk to people I realize that not everyone is familiar with them (lucky them).  Essentially it is implanted under the skin with an injection site and a catheter that can go into a larger vessel.  He will not need another IV during treatment.  His surgeon said that she would implant it at the same site as his old one which was in the center of his chest.  She got to surgery and went into auto-pilot and put it in her regular spot on the upper left chest.  Greg said he can feel the catheter at his clavicle.

   His surgery was on a Thursday and he went to work on Friday night and Saturday morning.  It hurt to wear a seat belt, but he did.  He tells his mom these things so that I am grateful he wore a seat belt and this lessens my scolding about going right back to work.  This is why he tells me to stay in Washington.  He has a sister and a grandmother to take care of him, and he does quite a good job of taking care of himself.  Apparently his roommates are trying to help him gain back the 20 pounds from last semester... so he is in good hands.

How it works...

 BLAH - I have not wanted to write anything while feeling so BLAH... but I think that it is important to record this experience as well.  It is a reality.  All of the wonderful parts of our trials are also a reality.  This is my focus - sometimes it is more difficult to keep that focus, but it is always there. I think that even these BLAH weeks are important, they make the peace and gratitude that much more powerful.   How can we know the magnificent if we don't experience the less-than-magnificent?  I wouldn't trade a moment!  The waves keep coming, I can scarcely catch my breath, but.... LIFE IS GOOD!!!

Cancer Kids & Elephants

Lab facilities at the zoo...

Being a cancer kid - it's not all bad.
There are perks, and this is a good thing...
Greg left the hospital on Sunday which meant Dr. Schiffman wasn't able to get his blood draw.  In order to entice us back to Salt Lake City to share our Li Fraumeni blood, he arranged for us to meet at the Hogle Zoo and have our blood drawn simultaneously with the a couple of elephants.   Yes, elephants... we would get to feed them and he would get three samples of blood because giving blood with an elephant sounded worthwhile for Jackie and David as well.

Jackie and Bella

Humans have two p53 genes... one from each parent.  Elephants have FORTY p53 genes!  We use our genes to fight mutated (cancerous) cells.  We either repair those cells or just get rid of them.  Elephants simply get rid of them... and they don't get cancer.   Elephants also have so many more genes than we have - it would seem likely that they would have a much higher incidence of cancer, but they don't... what does it mean for all of us?  I don't really know, but Dr. Schiffman is going to find out - and we will all benefit.
Dog, by the way, have an abnormally high rate of cancer - he is studying that as well.

Bribing David with peanuts...
it worked for the elephants!

We arrived at the zoo just before it opened and were taken into the elephants holding area.  The blood needs to be drawn and tested within the hour, so the phlebotomist, Bella, set up a "clean area" for my kids - they found a little step ladder for them to sit on.  The elephant handler drew the blood from the animals.  Most spectacular? - when he opened up a little door in the cage and the elephant came right over and stuck her ear out through the crack.  The blood is drawn from the back of the ear, and the animal is fed constantly throughout the experience.

Backstage at the elephant cage...

Elephants - this is always my answer when I have to respond to the "what's your favorite animal?" question.  I don't know a lot about them, but I like to see them at the zoo.  Being just a few feet closer... whoa... we were pretty impressed by their size.  At first there was just one elephant in a relatively small enclosure.  She wasn't too happy and was banging around... yes, we were intimidated!  She was huge, powerful and surprisingly agile.  They said she was upset because her baby wasn't there.  When the baby came in she trumpeted... yikes!  So loud, so cool!
We all had a chance to come to the cage and feed the elephant.  She would reach out her trunk and grab the carrots and bananas from us just as quickly as we could take them out of the bucket.  The trunk grabbed them just like a hand, and felt like a sea anemone.  It was better than I thought it would be.. and when we left we were feeling brave... well, not really brave because we had been so awed by the size of the beasts and glad that there were strong bars between us.  We decided to extend the animal experience and contacted our friendly reptile whisperer, Nathan's best friend Shanna.  She agreed to take us behind the scenes at the Bean Museum at BYU and show us the reptiles.

The zoo asked us not to
photograph the elephants
so we found this one at
the Bean Museum instead.

We had done this before, and proven ourselves to be pretty wimpy - but this time we had been touched by an elephant and were ready to face the tarantulas and snakes.  Last time I touched them, this time I held them.  Nathan wasn't too thrilled to see Mom with the tarantula... this meant he would have to do it too - Greg was quick to hold everything first - winning the courage award once again.

Our new friend the Python.
They all had names that
I cannot remember.

His surgeon is also thinking of giving him some sort of courage/positive attitude award also - she asked where I found him... such an upbeat guy!  I told her how his nurses used to fight over who would get to care for him each shift and she said it was already happening at her clinic as well.  When her team saw Greg on the schedule there were several who offered to see him, but she's the boss and she took the slot.  As we checked in - both Friday and last week before surgery - I had been impressed that several staff members stopped to greet him and ask after him.  He is a new patient at the Hunstman Institute, but he has already made friends.  His smile, positive outlook and friendly demeanor make all the difference.  Not only does he brighten the day for others, I am positive that it affects his recovery as well.
Our news from yesterday:

One-handed!

Greg's cancer is called adenocarcinoma - the most common type of colon cancer.  How refreshing to not have something rare and unusual.  It is stage three and Greg will be having six months of chemotherapy treatments - two days every two weeks.  It doesn't sound too bad after what he has already experienced... super easy in fact; except that chemotherapy is not ever easy.  There are two different drugs - one will infuse in clinic and one will go home with him in a syringe-pump which he will carry around in a fanny pack.  Cisplatin was the worst chemo of the three he had last time... this time he has a mild cousin to Cisplatin... such-and-such-platin.  We used to carry around a mini-pharmacy and know all the names and when to use what... mercifully that has all been blocked rom our memory.  Now we begin again.

Shanna, Nathan & the Boa

In two weeks Greg will have a surgical procedure to implant a port.  Two weeks after that he will begin treatments.  In the meantime he is going to be eating some high calorie foods (I hope) and spend some time trying to get ahead in his classes.  I arrived home last night, but he texted me today - happy to be grocery shopping and moving back into his apartment.  We are both glad to be home.  How strange the past two weeks have been.  Greg sees that July will be the end of the chemotherapy treatment and knows that time will continue to move on, this will pass and life will resume.  Those are my words; I know that Greg would remind me that life won't need to resume, life will continue - maybe just slow down a bit.
My life has certainly slowed way down... it started four years ago and continues to slow - I really think that I have given up every "un-needful" thing.  How interesting when you are forced to do this, to look around and see just how rich and full your life really is.  I wish that I could communicate this to all of those busy-busy-busy people that I see - but it seems to not be in our nature, at least not in our society.  I guess it is one of those perks of being a cancer-mom - it's not all bad.

Family & Friends, Angels, & Ancestors - Sticking Together

Recently, I wrote about our family "sticking together" - one little stick on its own is weak... a bundle of them together is strong and hard to break.  One our own we may be weak, together we are hard to break.  These past weeks I know that our family is more than eight strong... we are supported by many friends; each one adding a stick to our little bundle...
A friend brings my family dinner while I am out of town... add a stick...
A friend sends a fun care-package from home... add a stick...
A friend who babysat my kids (and taught them piano) over ten years ago has grown up, moved to Utah and came to visit with treats at the hospital... add a stick...
A friend from home who moved to Utah a few months ago visited in the hospital brought treats and a back massager and twice took David to spend time with their family... add a stick (or two)
A friend who is carrying a heavy burden of her own covers for me and runs a youth activity I was supposed to be in charge of last week... add a big stick
Exactly the same scenario with another friend for last night... another big stick...
Friends send their love... stick, stick, stick...
Friends pray... stick, stick, stick.
Family doing what family does (all over the nation)... strong sticks added to the bundle

We have been strong and supported, and we have quite a team on our side!  Thank you to all of our friends.

My dad pointed out something that I thought was beautiful - we were discussing this blog.  I was also saying that I know there are angels all around and somehow supporting us.  He reminded me that I have grandmothers and aunt from Mark's side of the family which are aware of us.  These ladies also had children with Li Fraumeni Syndrome - they know how it is to watch their loved ones suffer.  They are aware of me and my family, and they are also on our side.  I have enjoyed that thought all week.

Now - an update.  I have been having quite a technology nightmare.  I am borrowing Greg's computer - trying to do my online homework has been awful and I will have several hours of catching up before midnight Saturday... hopefully computers at home will cooperate.  Anyway - I do have photos, but they will have to wait (sorry Mark, haha).
Greg was a superstar!  Last Saturday he found out that he would get a certificate on his hospital door if he could walk a mile, and suddenly he was able (like getting stickers on a chart - you never outgrow that!).  It was no problem to come home on Sunday.  He has been taking it easy - Grandma's house has a recliner that works well for recovering.  The weather has been nice so that he can walk down the street.  He can eat whatever he wants... and for the first time in a year he has found his appetite.  I had really suspected that he would be limited to jello until he moved up to applesauce... we just shared some pizza.  I love knowing that he can eat - and is eating.  Everyone has noticed that he has color in his cheeks again, and we are all looking forward to a return to health.
Greg has a few weeks until he meets with his oncologist - to me that means almost a month of eating before any sort of chemotherapy takes away his appetite - and then it will be temporary.
I was supposed to be driving home today, but elected to stay when they scheduled an appointment for tomorrow - we should learn about his tumor/cancer staging and discuss future treatments.  The appointment is in the morning and then David and I will hit the road.  Greg should be back in his apartment this weekend and plans to be in class on Tuesday and at work on Wednesday... I am so grateful that I could be here, but I am very anxious to be home with Mark, Natalie and Kimberly.  I feel completely and totally wiped out.
All good news...
And more good news this week... our long-awaited Li Fraumeni test results are in for Nathan!  He is NEGATIVE!!  What a great sigh of relief!!  I celebrated with him by eating our favorite little tacos in Provo along with a large horchata (one of the only drinks that tempts me away from water)... then a couple packs of Costco muffins for his freezer... He took a date to dinner the night before to celebrate... I am getting rather hungry... perhaps I should find Nathan and celebrate again.  I am on BYU campus - maybe a visit to the creamery... a blueberry fritter in the Wilkinson Center.... chocolate covered cinnamon bears in the bookstore....so many options - luckily he is always hungry...

A Great Night

We had a system at Doernbecher to ensure the most peace and quiet in the morning.  I would leave my curtain drawn over the "parent" section of the room and Greg would lay in his bed.  We would quietly converse until we heard a knock on the door - then he would close his eyes as if asleep until he knew who was entering.  He always "woke up" but whoever it was would quietly go about their business and leave.  Between housekeeping, aides, nurses, nurse practitioners, and at least one team of doctors... mornings were always very busy.  

The view from Huntsman as we checked in yesterday.

Here we were this morning right back in our old routine without even thinking.  After a few "visitors" he realized I was also awake.  His first words were, "I had a great night!"  What good news.  He was up in a chair twice during the night.  A heating pad and an icy-hot patch helped relieve the back pain.  He drank a large glass of Power Ade and had a little jello and Italian ice.

Here is what I think is amazing - the surgeon came by today... advanced his diet to "as tolerated" and told him his goal today was to do 12 laps of the floor (this equals one mile).  

Yesterday my mom was telling me that when my grandmother had colon cancer (about 50 years ago) she was in the hospital for 6 weeks with an open wound.  A drain came out of the wound and emptied into a bedside jar.  Last week my mother-in-law was describing my father-in-law's colon cancer/surgical experience.  It included a long hospital stay and a mild, bland diet for quite some time.  That was about 35 years ago I think.  

Sunrise across the valley as I read in the lobby this morning.

If you have to be sick, this is a wonderful time to be sick... I am still all astonishment when I see his small incision. ("All astonishment" - name the movie!)

 Currently I am in a lobby enjoying the view while he sleeps.  The catheter is out and his PCA pump is discontinued.  I think the new IV pain med has him wiped out, and it is good for him to sleep so soundly.  He has also had a few bits of saltines!  Hooray!! 

For some reason our room is some sort of internet vortex.  Yesterday our devices that had coverage kept that coverage for awhile.  Today I have had to hike around to find coverage - hopefully it will last for awhile. (I have a lot of online homework to figure out before tomorrow night.) 

Not too bad - the view from my couch-bed.

 There is a lot of sadness in the faces of families as they are in the hallways.  Yesterday we met a friend of my mom's who was here with his son (my age).  His son had brain surgery last week and has still not woken up.  How my heart goes out to all of them.  It is very humbling to have everything going so well for us... and I am soooo grateful.

It is possible that Greg will be able to go home on Sunday, though we will have to see if he meets the requirements.  Dr. Schiffman (Li Fraumeni Specialist) came to see us last night and would not be sad to see us here on Monday so that they can take a little more of Greg's blood for testing.  This would have to do with the elephant studies... I will have to write more about that later... It's pretty cool.