Email: (from me to a friend, the wife of one of our pastors)

Thanks so much.  And please thank [your husband] for his thoughtful messages as well.  Surgery is this morning and your prayers mean so much.  We know God is in control & we’re trusting Him in this – please pray for peace for us through this.

Thank you!

-Kari

 

My Reflections:

J & I arrive at the hospital early and meet up with Nana & Papa who are already there, Papa dressed in his gown and getting prepped for surgery.  Papa is still jovial, still a bit out-of-character, overly-jovial.  And I’m a bundle of nerves, the adrenaline coursing through my veins enough to make me a jittery mess, no caffeine necessary.  In spite of the risks and unknowns, there is an air of excitement, a potential to “fix” this thing or, at the very least, figure out what we’re dealing with.

 

They wheel Papa back into the operating room and we say our prayers and good-byes.

And then we wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And as we wait, I find pacing more tolerable than sitting.  Anxiousness, nerves, adrenaline, still going full-throtle.  Nana strikes up a conversation with another woman in the waiting room about her same age.  This woman is waiting for her daughter to go into surgery, brain surgery, with the same surgeon who is operating on Papa now.  “Isn’t he gorgeous?,” the woman asks us referring to our shared brain surgeon.  Admittedly the brain surgeon doesn’t fit the much-older, socially-awkward, “brainy” image I’d had in my head (isn’t that what one should expect from a brain surgeon?).  No, Papa’s surgeon is more of the tall, sturdy, former-college-basketball-player type.  Dark haired and very personable, and yes, handsome in a distinguished doctor sort of way.  But right now his looks are the least of our concerns.  We just want an update.  We just want to know that Papa is ok.

And then finally, hours and hours after Papa’s surgery began, the surgeon comes into the waiting room with that update we’ve been waiting for.  And we’re relieved to hear that things went as well as can be expected.  Now there’ll just be more waiting to see how Papa’s recovery goes and what the pathology report will tell us.  For now though, we’re just glad (insert huge sigh of relief) to have the surgery behind us.  And to see Papa’s smiling face once again.

 

Email: (from me to friends & family)

Friends & Family,

Want to give you an update on how the surgery went.

First things first, surgery went well.  They were able to get most, if not all, of the tumor – good news!  The tumor is malignant and the pathology report will come in 3-5 business days which will determine which type of cancer and what prognosis we’re dealing with.

After surgery, they transferred my dad to the ICU (as expected) and we’re there w/ him now.  He’s better than I expected; he’s very tired, but talking a bit (although we can’t understand a lot of what he’s saying).  He does seem to be able to understand most of what we’re saying.  With the surgery, there was a risk that one side of his face would droop, but this doesn’t seem to be an issue.

The next 24 hours are crucial in regards to stroke, hemorrhage, and seizures – risks involved with this type of surgery.  Please pray none of these will be an issue.

More of the nitty-gritty details that were relayed to us by the neurosurgeon:

The tumor was the size of a small sausage, growing into the brain.  It appeared to be an intrinsic tumor (meaning it’s localized in the brain).  In removing it, most likely a small amount of brain tissue was removed as well, in the next couple of weeks we should be able to tell if this has any lasting effects.  In regards to speech, it will be worse for a few days and then hopefully will improve some.  Because of my dad’s age, full recovery of his speech doesn’t sound very likely.  Chemo and/or radiation are likely once they get the pathology report.

Best case scenario, recovery in the hospital should last 3-5 days.

Thanks for all the love, support & prayers!  We’ll continue to keep you posted as we know more.

Much Love,

Kari