Surgery being planned again . . .

(another beautiful quilt creation by Penny . . .)

Well, surgery is a go-ahead, got the blessing from Bob's cardiologist yesterday, which was blessing and a damn fright at the same time. No date, just confirmation at this point, that we can move ahead. . . had an early morning appointment and ended up taking all morning, for many reasons. First, because Dr. B's nurse, Stephanie, who is one awesome chick, squeezed us into see Doc B right away, so we didn't have to wait weeks, and face any unnecessary delays. When we're squeezed in like this, though, it's a given that we're gonna be doing a lot of waiting around, because Doc B runs late, late, late even if we have a scheduled appointment, doesn't matter if your his first or his last of the day. Unlike Bob's oncologist who is so freakin' punctual, early or late in the day, it kind of underscores just how much he doesn't like to spend time with patients. . .

Second, once Doc B came in to see Bob (he always seems so genuinely surprised and enthralled to see Bob conscious and upright—gives him a huge smile and such an over-enthusiastic handshake that I fear'll shake Bob right off his feet), he gets right down to business. He knows this surgery has to happen for Bob, if he has any chance to regain any semblance of a normal life again. That, and to get this cancer out of Bob's body. He also knows it's been a long, difficult road with unbelievable roadblock after unbelievable roadblock that have gotten in the way time and again, and knows Bob doesn't want to—no, make that can't— put off the surgery any longer than necessary.

(Bob resting while we wait in the doc's office . . . )

Our meeting with him is an insane flurry of activity—I've said it before, but I'll say it again—Doc B is an adrenaline junkie. I can tell he just feeds, no, he thrives on intense, complicated cases like Bob's, y'know, the critical cases that end up in ER at 2 a.m. . . . After a quick but thorough exam (Bob's up to 115 lbs, and it's actual weight gain, not fluid build-up, btw! Yea! to the domestication of Jen! All for a good cause, baby . . .), Doc B gives us his plan for Bob's surgery, from the complicated cardiac standpoint. Bob is absolutely, without a doubt not going to go off blood thinners—we've seen too many times now that he's such a dangerously high risk for developing a clot, so his plan is to stop the Plavix but keep Bob on aspirin and put him on the IV blood thinner, Integrilin, for a week or so before the surgery (this gives time for the Plavix effects to leave the body, but still able to remain on a blood thinner.) Bob will have to be hospitalized for that week or so while on the Integrilin, as it can only be given intravenously.

He pauses a moment and says, "Well, wait a minute. Maybe they can send you home with a pump, so you don't have to be just sitting around in the hospital—" I interrupt him. No, no, NO way will Bob be at home while this is done! Absolutely not, no way, I protest. Not after what happened last time. I want him in the hospital, so he can be monitored. This is too much to handle at home! Doc B looks at me a moment and slowly nods his head. "Okay, I hear you. Scratch that idea. So moving on, then, we'll have you admitted for that for a week or so, then Integrilin will then be stopped just a few hours prior to surgery, the surgery will be done, and Bob will be put back on Plavix, plus aspirin immediately following surgery." WHEW . . .

Doc B tells us people are operated on while on aspirin all the time, when there's no choice in the matter, when one is so dangerously prone to clotting as Bob is. He looked Bob straight in the eye and said, "Trust me. If you're going to die on the OR table, it won't be because you've bled to death. It'll be because of a heart attack." Holy shit, Batman . . . dude's nothing, if not direct.

"Sound good to you guys?" he asks. I think we both just kinda stared at him like, like, ummmm. maybe not . . . he interpreted that as an "Okay!" and said, "Alright, now I need to make a few phone calls to run this by a few people, see if it sounds like a good plan, 'cause I've never done this before, and then need to try to get a hold of your surgeons, to see if they're okay with this plan . . ." and dashes from the room before we can grab him by the lapels and scream, "What the hell do you mean you haven't done this before?!?"

We wait in the exam room, Bob lying on his stomach on the table, as his leg pain is starting to amp up. We can hear Doc B outside our room, describing his plan of attack in detail to an unknown listener. Bob is looking at the wall, forehead bunched up in a scowl. "What are all your thoughts on this, " I ask. Bob looks at me and says, "I'm scared. It sounds so experimental and I'm just so damn scared." I'm scared too, Bob, I tell him. But it's not like this is all new news to us—Doc B had told us of this plan a few weeks back, remember? But when he comes in again, tell him you're scared, than maybe you need more information, more assurance that you'll be okay. Try to think of this is the thing that's going to give you your life back. You've said countless times that you can't live much longer like this . . . this surgery will give him back all the things he hasn't been able to do for so long. It's scary, yes, but we have know all along it's scary . . . the alternative is living like you are now. . .

A tornado watch is issued for Hennepin county till 4 pm, is announced over the PA system. I get up to take a look outside, but the windows are textured and I can't see anything but grey. Not surprised, as it was grossly humid when we set out today, already, at 8 a.m. A colleague of Doc B finally appears, and we talk with him a while. Bob tells him how experimental all of this sounds, that he's more than just a little freaked out about it all. The doctor explains that this is not an experimental procedure, that it is done frequently, but usually under very different circumstances, mainly for people undergoing bypass surgery. It's just that they just don't have a lot of data about doing this procedure for someone with Bob's complicated history. "But from the sounds of it, it appears to be the only way to be able to proceed with your surgery, and this surgery definitely has to happen for you, to get this cancer out. You've had so many set-backs, and so many delays, that extreme caution needs to be taken, and Dr. Berger wants to confer with as many people as possible before giving the official 'o-kay,'" the doctor says. "You'll be in the hospital, and closely monitored, so if anything were to happen, you're right where you need to be." Somehow, those words seemed both comforting and disturbing . . .

We sit for a while longer until Doc B enters again. He can't get a hold of the surgeons, so he'll keep trying all day, if he has to. He got a hold of some colleagues and some people from hematology, as well, and they all agreed the plan sounds like the only option for a successful surgery outcome. He also wants Bob to have another echo on his heart today, while we're here, to get a better picture about how it's looking now that it's been over 6 weeks, and then he'll let us go.

More waiting around. I pick up a magazine from the slim pickins offered in the room. Valerie Bertinelli on the AARP magazine? WTF? I didn't know she was 65 . . . turn out she's not. Not even 50 yet. Talk about giving seniors a complex . . . we were finally lead down to another room for the echo. Bob undressed from the waist up and laid on a table and the tech started the show. I sat on a chair in the corner of the dimmed room and watched the sketchy untrasound images flash across the screen. High-frequency images of Bob's heart and it's working parts . . . I try to figure out what the chalky sketches are . . . two little things that look like tiny hands clapping in a static rhythm must be a heart valve . . . that tunnel-like image might be a big artery or vessel . . .the technician is very friendly and the 20 minutes or so got by quickly. The test is over and the tech tells Bob to dress and that he'll go see if Doc B needs to see him again or if he's free to go.

As Bob slowly dresses (he's been calling himself TwoTimer lately, because everything he does takes him two times as long as it used to. "The mind is willing, but the body is weak," he says . . .), Doc B knocks and enters the room with the tech. "I just want to take a quick look here, Bob. The test results will be read in more detail later, but I want to get an idea of what's going on." He and the tech stand over the monitor and images are played out before them. mmmmmhmmmm. . . okay . . . yes . . . ummm . . . wait, can you show that again . . . Bob, this is looking good, real good . . . "Well, Bob, this is just great news. It looks like your heart function is showing a remarkable improvement from your last echo a month or so ago. This is great, even just looking at a little bit of this, I'm really feeling good about how your heart is recovering. We'll have it analyzed in more detail and give you a call with the results, so until then, you're free to go. We'll keep trying to get a hold of the surgeons to tell them of our plans and keep you guys posted, okay?"

And with that, we're ushered out the door and head for home. I am filled with hope again, and fear. Bob is, right now, I think, just filled with fear . . . hopefully that'll change as he has time to process the crazy appointment we just had.

So, we get back home, have a bit of lunch and Bob goes to lay down while I pick up around the house. It's been overcast all day, but doesn't look tornado-ominous, just sticky-hot, sopping wet humidity. Everything in the house feels just damp, my feet stick to the hardwood floor, the blankets on the bed feel damp, so we close everything up and turn on the AC. We aren't home maybe an hour or so, when suddenly the skies open up and dump a deluge of rain on us. And I mean suddenly literally, not figuratively. No pre-storm sprinkles, it was like someone turned a faucet on above our house, just started pouring. I grabbed the dogs from outside and turned on the weather report on channel 5. Tornado warnings for south metro, looks like the bad weather is more south of us . . . I putz about the house a little more until I hear and see the wind picking up. The trees out back are nearly horizontal. I call Bob to come down to the basement with me, I think the weather's getting really bad. The dogs are already downstairs, I grab my laptop and phone and head down, as well. Bob joins us.

I'm standing at the bottom of the stairs and look up to the tall window in the landing that looks out to the front yard. Normally, I can see trees and green. Now, it's grey/white-out, except for debris slapping against the pane. Just as I turn to look out toward the backyard, I hear what I swear is a loud roaring, followed by crashing above, more debris tumbles into the backyard, down into the woods behind the house. As all of this is happening, I'm screaming at Bob to get over to where I am, because I am sure the roof is next and god knows he'll be sucked out, like a little rag doll if he doesn't hold onto something! He looks at me like I'm a stark raving lunatic and walks over to the patio door. I am sure our house is going to go tumbling down the ravine any second . . .

Almost as soon as the typhoon hit, it begins to die down. As Bob looks outside, he says, "Uh-oh. I think there's a big tree branch on the deck upstairs." Really? Are you sure it's not the view of house turned upside down in the backyard that you're seeing? I stand in my corner, clutching my laptop against my chest for a few moments, listening. The wind seems to have died down to almost nothing. The rain has faded to a gentle pattering. I put the computer and phone down and run upstairs to see what Bob was seeing from the downstairs patio door.

Holy cow! What used to be our patio is now a jungle. It's still lightly raining when I ran back downstairs to grab my phone and take some pictures. It appears that the gigantic oak tree between the garage and house launched a branch onto the deck, taking out the patio table, maybe a chair or two . . . but my hanging plants have

been miraculously spared! I snap a few pictures from different angles, and then a few more. Bob got his good camera and started taking pictures, too. The more pictures we took, the more I thought for sure we'd have to hire a tree service or clean-up crew—someone to help us with this crazy mess. I posted some of the pics on facebook, and I am not kidding when I say we had at least 4-5 people respond with clean-up assistance in a matter of minutes. I got a call from my new bro-in-law, Brian, who said he saw my pics on f-book and if I wanted him to come out with a chainsaw, let him know and he could help us clean up the mess. I thought there's

no way we could do this ourselves, but called him back anyway, to come out and maybe just eyeball the damage, see what should be done. Later, after dinner, Brian, Gretch and Brian's daughter, Sophi arrived, and Brian started working.

Less than two hours later, our deck was void of tree parts—I still can't believe it! I love, love, love my family! BG&S Tree Service rocks! Only damage was one board in the middle of the deck and, well, obviously, my patio set! So much for my outdoor office . . . hey, maybe that's how I can make an insurance claim—"office destroyed." I do have pictures to prove I write out there . . .

Today, Jim and Penny arrived for a visit. They were going to help with the clean up efforts, but there was nothing left to be done, so they started in on our other two decks, to get them power-scrubbed, as they'd done to our big deck a few weeks ago. I continued to clean up the aftermath on the big deck and yard—lots of broken glass and sawdust, and branches all over. Penny and Jim sweated and scrubbed the smaller decks till the wood looked fresh and brand-new. Man those two, the way they work. Make me feel like such a slug . . . they are awesome, just awesome. LOVE them!!! After we'd called it quits for the day, Penny and I headed over to Hudson, WI, to check out what Menards, etc. might have for patio furniture. Can you believe that Menards, Home Depot and Mill's Fleet Farm are nearly CLEARED

OUT of patio furniture?!? WTF???? It's only mid-July, for freakin' crying in the rain!! Guess they gotta make room for Christmas decorations . . . oh, well . . . I'll keep lookin' . . . LOVE! to all!