Abide With Me Tis Eventide

Some months back, a sweet friend found this image on Pinterest.  The subject happened to resemble me as a teenager, circa 1994- shoulder pads, big 90's hair, and all.  Oftentimes, I have held fast to it as I have been about to take another uncertain step on this scary cancer journey.  The image of being encircled about in the Savior's arms proved to be especially significant during my most recent step on my road to recover- the 2nd stage of the 2-stage liver resection. 

                                                    This photo was actually shot in '94!

I returned just yesterday from a 10-day stint at UCSD Hillcrest Hospital. How relieved I was to be wheeled out!

I had been warned that the 2nd step would take more out of me than the first, and that there were some risks involved but nothing could have quite prepared me for what would be one of the most painful ordeals of this entire cancer battle.  

On the evening of Wednesday May 25th, a week following the surgical procedure I was wheeled down to the Radiology to get a CT scan to check on said surgical risks, such as blood clots.  I was told by the team of doctors supervising my care that they would let me know soon about the results of the scan.  I wondered what the scan would find, but assumed that no news was good news and I would continue with my typical recovery and would be discharged in a couple of days without disruption. 

On the morning of Thursday, May 26th, I awoke with one objective; a shower. I hadn't had a full one since I arrived over a week ago, and I was overdue.  The kitchen staff brought up my breakfast tray as usual and even though the eggs were too greasy and the potatoes too heavy, I ate them.  I didn't have any company at the moment as Carl was at work my dad was on his way to pick up my sister Natalie from the airport to do just as she had with the last surgery, help nurse me to recovery at home.   I had assumed I would be home by now as my last hospital visit from the first stage of the liver resection was only 6 days.  At least I would be able to enjoy Natalie's company at the hospital, assuming we could convince a staff member to hook us up with a hospital chair bed, which was at times, no easy feat.  At least I finally had a private room.  Prior to that, I had shared a room in the ICU, with a lady who had a party of friends every night at approximately 10 PM. I was on such heavy medication that I was able to sleep through my  neighbors' nightly chorus of laughter, but still.... This hospital stay seemed to drag on and on.

As I was finishing my breakfast , my nurse Kellan arrived to deliver the news that last night's CT scan had revealed a blood clot, and that my team needed to put in an Infereior Vena Cava filter that very morning.  Not understanding the gravity of the situation, I asked if I could have my shower first.  Kellan replied that Radiology could fit me in now, and this was important.  A doctor informed me minutes later that this procedure was not just important, it was urgent, because if the situation weren't addressed immediately, then there was a risk of the blood clot leaking into my lungs, which could have deadly potential.

For this type of procedure, I was supposed to go fasting for at least 6 hours, but there was no time for that now.  I only had a quick few minutes to call Carl and Dad to let them know of the coming events as best as I understood them.  I would be going into surgery within the hour, at about a quarter to 11:00.

I quickly got ready and a team of nurses who all happened to speak Spanish wheeled me down the elevator to Radiology.  Although my heart was racing, I somehow managed to make conversation in Spanish from my surgery cot, and was even complimented on my skills.  As they handed me off to the attending surgical team of doctors and nurses, the Hispanic gentleman nurse said, "Que Dios este contigo (May God be with you)."  This was quite kind, but it also scared me!

Then came the clincher.....Because I had already eaten breakfast, I would be given no anesthetic!  Why the teams did not coordinate and have me wait to eat until they had reviewed the scans, I will never know; I just knew that I had to go forward with the decision the team had made on my behalf.  The heaviness of the cafeteria food made me nauseous as I tried to manage a few questions about what this procedure would entail.  They were putting a filter into my inferior vena cava.  They would have to balloon my artery to insert the device. The procedure "may be painful," but was simple and should only last "about 5 minutes."  The local anesthetic I would be given was akin to the kind used during a dental procedure.

These were major understatements, but a detailed, accurate description of what I was about to endure would have only added to my increased sense of panic. 

Well, 5 minutes became 45 of the most harrowing pain I have ever experienced. When I had my 2 girls, I did have the benefit of an epidural,  As they worked on inserting the filter in the back of my neck, they used a latex balloon to block half of my face.   As I tried to take deep breaths to manage the pain, I felt I was suffocating as the smell of latex overwhelmed my senses.  I had my typical, sharp abdominal pain from the surgical site, and now I was feeling it acutely at the non-anesthetized point on my neck where they were performing surgery now.  

One of the nurses had a pleasant Australian accent, and the team had asked me who my favorite band was , so U2 blared in the background.  The song that was playing while I was losing my cool and beginning to scream was appropriately "Stuck in a Moment."

"You've got to get yourself together; you got stuck in a moment, and now you can't get out of it."

Now I have to wonder if I'll ever enjoy that song again!

The all-male team kept telling me "I was doing great," and did what they could to calm me down.  I was told to remain completely still, but at a desperate point, I disobeyed and moved my leg.  For this, I was reprimanded by  the surgeon, who said:

"Carmen, you can't move or you could put everything at risk!"

OH NO!  Would we have to start all over again as a result of my foolish mis-step?  I felt like a scolded child. A few minutes later I was told that we were "halfway done," and I cringed as I didn't know how I could endure even another moment.  As I remembered the warning that "blood clots could be deadly" I felt like my life hung  in delicate balance. Could one small error risk all that I had fought for these past 8 months?

Although I would not have been allowed to bring a family member into the surgery room even if this procedure would have been scheduled in advance, how I needed the hand of a loved one to squeeze.  There was not one available, but I did have prayer.  As I took a deep breath, a portrait of a woman being strengthened by an army of angels which my parents had gifted to both my cousin Stacy and I days before came to mind.  How I needed those angels now!

By and by, the torture ended.  I was shocked to look at the clock and find that it was only 11:45.  It seemed like a lifetime had passed since I had been wheeled into that emergency room. I was told my the team wheeling me out that my family was now waiting for me in the lobby.  It was such a comfort to see Dad, Natalie, and Carl. My mom arrived later that afternoon.

 Miraculously, I did not experience any additional physical pain aside from the typical pain at the post-surgery site. But I felt emotionally traumatized  and drained from this unexpected turn of events.  I did not want to be alone tonight.  I finally got my shower with the help of my nurse's aide, Elena, who was grateful I could speak Spanish.  She then sat with me in my room to watch her favorite tele-novela.  When I requested a bed chair for Natalie, instead of giving me the typical run-around, she quickly commandeered one.  

Carl had to return home to be with our girls and go to work the next day.  My sweet husband is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders right now but he soldiers on, without complaint.  As I sat in my hospital room with my parents and Natalie, I confided to them how scared I was.

Although the scan had revealed that the cancer was now gone, it seemed that there were endless looming threatening risks. I didn't know how I would sleep tonight.  My mom shared her faith that everything would be alright, reminded me of all the miracles we had witnessed up until this point, and told me that we could request the presence of our Savior Jesus Christ in our very hospital room this night.  She then requested that we all sing one her favorite hymns, which has recently become a personal anthem, "Abide With Me, Tis Eventide."  The song is a heartfelt plea for Christ's presence as "the shadows of the evening fall."  This is an arrangement that was often sung by the BYU Singers during my time as a student there.

As we sang the hymn together, a sweet spirit enveloped the room. As I looked at my sister sleeping next to me and thought of the time she sacrificed away from her own family to care for me, I knew that I had an angel with me to attend me as the shadows descended.  

I am now past the darkest of the night, and am in the comfort of my home on the next step on my road to recovery.