Rescue Me

First, a story…

One day in a small town, the weather forecast predicted heavy rains and floods.  Authorities urged people in the area to evacuate.  Emergency crews went door to door making sure that everyone knew to get out of town.

The crews came upon a farmhouse and encountered an old man who refused to evacuate.  He had faith that God would save him.  No amount of argument could convince him otherwise, so the crews left.  The next day, the rains came.  Soon the floodwaters were up to the first floor of the old man’s home.  He climbed to the second story and looked out the window to find a rescue boat coming to save him.  Once again, he refused to leave and reiterated his faith that God would save him.

By the next morning, the water was up past the second floor, and the old man was sitting on his roof.  A helicopter came along and lowered a rope ladder for him to grab. Still, he rejected the offer of help, for he knew that God would save him.

Later that afternoon, the old man drowned.

When he entered through the gates of heaven, he asked to speak with God. He asked God why he didn’t save him, a man with faith as strong as his.  God replied kindly, “My child – I sent an emergency crew, a boat, and a helicopter.  What more did you want?”

I love that story.  I first heard it as part of a homily years ago; when I thought I was Catholic.  It stuck with me all these years, and often serves as a reminder to stay aware of the opportunities and messages the universe sends my way.

Today the universe sent me a boat and a helicopter.

I was reading an old magazine while waiting to get blood drawn this morning.  I came across an article about how to be a smart patient.  The article strongly urged anyone facing a major procedure to seek a second opinion.  An inner voice started whispering.  I like my surgeon, but he does want to remove my entire rectum.  That’s a pretty major procedure in my book. 

Then, a different inner voice spoke up (yes I have more than one inner voice; doesn’t everyone?) This voice reasoned that surgery was already scheduled and seeking a second opinion was akin to a lack of faith in my current surgeon.  The second voice stifled the first, and quashed my thoughts of a second opinion.

I came home and hopped onto the computer.  My home page greeted me with a headline about US News and World Reports rankings of America’s best hospitals.  Number one for the 22^nd straight year is Johns Hopkins University Hospital (JHU).  I live fifteen minutes from this award winning hospital, but my current surgeon works with Baltimore / Washington Medical Center (BWMC).  I decided to see where my hospital fell in the rankings.  I learned that BWMC is not nationally ranked, and it’s number 13 of 31 hospitals in the Baltimore metro area.  I also discovered a below average rating for patient safety.

Suddenly, my initial inner voice jumped up and dropped kicked the other from my head.

I called my insurance company and inquired about coverage for a second opinion and accessibility to JHU.  I was pleasantly surprised to discover that second opinions are covered and JHU is affiliated with my insurance provider.

Contacting JHU made me feel like I was cheating on my current surgeon.  Then I called my surgeon’s office and asked them to fax my records to JHU.  I expected a negative reaction to my “infidelity”, but the staff was very kind.  They understood something I had yet to grasp.  This isn’t personal to them.  Seeking another opinion doesn’t hurt their feelings.  I’m just another patient trying to find the best possible care.  It would be foolish to turn away from a chance to be treated at the best hospital in the country. 

JHU will call me back next week for a consultation.  Unlike the old man in the flood, I have every intention of accepting any opportunity that increases my chances for recovery.  Boat, helicopter, whatever it is…I’m climbing in.

Detours

You have my apologies for the lack of posts over the last few weeks.  There hasn’t been much news to share, and life has been pleasantly busy. Casa Dewaele is open for the summer season, and in the 12 days since my last radiation / chemo treatment, we’ve had friends and family visiting from Thailand, Hawaii, and Massachusetts.  The house is empty until Saturday, when we look forward to more family visiting from the West Coast and the Northeast.  I’m thankful that my cancer is not interfering with all of this.  I’m happiest when my house is full of the people I love.  An added bonus is that as each day passes, I feel a little bit better.  I’m no longer in significant pain.  I still have moments, but for the most part, I’m only experiencing tolerable discomfort. 

With everything moving in such a positive direction, I’d begun to think that the worst of this experience was behind me (no pun intended).  I’m sorry to say, I met with my surgeon today and learned this is not the case.  Be warned, there is no polite way to explain what’s going to happen next.  Squeamish readers should continue at their own risk.

I walked into the doctor’s office hoping to hear words like “laparoscopic”, “minimally invasive”, and “quick recovery”.  Unfortunately, Dr. Cifello’s vocabulary was much less pleasant.  Here’s the plan…

In September, I will literally “kiss my ass, goodbye”.  Dr. C. will surgically remove the tumor along with my entire rectum.  That’s right…the whole damn thing.  He explained that this was the best course of action to avoid a recurrence.  Then he will “create” a new rectum from the lower part of my large intestine.  As he explained this, I heard the theme music from the Six Million Dollar Man playing in my head, and I couldn’t help but think, “I’m going to have a bionic ass.”

The most unsettling part of this whole thing comes after the surgery.  It’s going to take time for both my colon and my new and improved rectum to heal. This means they will be temporarily out of order, and my body’s waste will require a different exit.   This disturbing detour is called an ileostomy.  For anyone who may be wondering, an ileostomy is an opening in the abdominal wall, and the end of the ileum (the lowest part of the small intestine) comes through this opening to form a stoma, usually on the lower right side of the abdomen. Digestive contents leave the body through the stoma. The drainage collects in a pouch that sticks to the skin around the stoma.  This is truly a special kind of EEEWWWWW!!!

Normally, the surgeon will reverse the ileostomy in a month or two, once the colon and rectum have healed.  However, as usual, I’m far from normal.  A month after surgery, I start my next round of chemotherapy.  Dr. C. doesn’t want to reconnect everything until my chemo is finished, so I’m looking at about 6 months of living with a poop pouch stuck to my stomach. 

Of course, the key word in the previous sentence is living.  I’m holding tight to the notion that every mortifying moment of this experience is necessary to save my life.  No matter how gross and undignified it may be, if this is what it takes to see my kids grow up and live a long, happy life with Gregg, I say bring it.