Before and After

Today we are feeling a bewildering sense of gratitude. Dr. Garcia told us the man who came in around the same time as Parker last year, with the same horrific case of acute pancreatitis, passed away. We were both stunned by the news. The nameless man left the Intermediate Care Unit a few weeks before Parker and went to a regular room, presumably to prepare to go home. He didn't make it. But Parker did. And again we ask, "Why?"

The bewildering part is because it feels wrong to be grateful at the news another person passed away. Of the four people I knew who were in the ICU at the same time as Parker, the other three were the ones the doctors expected to live. They did not expect Parker to make it, but he did. All three of the other people died. What does that mean?

The photo on the top was taken shortly after Parker had the skin graft last July which covered the mesh holding his abdomen together. The faint red marks in a circle around the skin graft show where he had those incredibly painful retention sutures that held everything in place inside his body.

The bottom photo was taken yesterday, after the doctor took off the bandages. The little circle looking things at the top of the photo are the lines that feed Lydicain continuously into his body all along the incision line. That runs out tomorrow. The two square bandages cover drains between the muscle wall and his flesh inside the body that empty into little plastic pouches pinned to his gown. This is normal fluid build up after this surgery. Those will likely stay in after we have gone home, which means I'll have to learn how to empty them.

Dr. Garcia said if things continued to progress as well as they have so far, Parker MIGHT be able to go home on Monday. We still have to get past the worrisome MRSA risk, but the catheter came out today (yipeee!) and the incision looks really good so far.

Please continue to keep Parker in your prayers as we head toward the finish line of this long road to recovery.

48 Hours Post Surgery

Parker continues to recover with relatively few complications. Yesterday his white cell count was a little high, which of course brings back scary memories. But after the extensive surgery he went through that is to be expected. I hope.

This morning he walked as far as the bathroom before he had to lay back down. The pain is manageable until he starts moving around. Dr. Turner, the plastic/reconstructive surgeon, yesterday explained what he did to rebuild the abdominal wall.

Dr. Garcia first removed the mesh that was holding Parker's abdomen together under the skin graft. Then Dr. Turner peeled back the layers of his body: skin, flesh, fascia, etc. He took the six-pack muscles which were located off to Parker's side (because of the large opening in his abdomen) and sliced them in half horizontally, sliding one section over in front of his abdomen and stitching them together side by side. Then the two surgeons sewed in mesh made from pig and human cadaver dermis for added strength, pulled everything back in the front and sewed it all back in place with staples on the outside. Now instead of looking like he has an angry red basketball on his belly it looks like he has a zipper all the way up.

We had some visitors from IMC this morning, Amy, Lindsay and Alan. It was great to see them and it made Parker's day.

Dr. Turner said yesterday if the MRSA was going to cause any problems (it is a very "opportunistic" bacteria) it would be about five days before we knew. Which is Sunday. If we can make it past Sunday without an infection the odds are much greater he will pass through this final procedure with the ease he deserves. He has been through so much.

Quinn the Medicine Dog is very happy when I get home each night. I take her out to the bathroom but she drags me over to Parker's car first, looking for him. She is a really smart dog because ~ and I swear this is true ~ when I say, "Parker's okay. Parker will be right back," she calms down immediately. Okay laugh if you want, but she knows his name because when she brings me the toy and I say, "Give it to Parker," she runs right to him. Even if there are 3 or 4 people in the room. The dog is a genius, I tell you.

Parker is going to walk again at 4:pm and hopes to be able to get the catheter out today. He hates that thing. Can't say I blame him. Next the automatic delivery of Lydicain to the wound area will be discontinued (and the doctor assures him he will know when it has run out because he will feel it), and eventually he needs to be able to control his pain with pills only, before he can go home. He has two drains on either side of his body that are keeping the fluid from building up under his skin, and those are putting out less and less every hour. Today they had to take out one of the IV's from his hand because it was starting to swell. Not sure why, but I am glad they took it out.

Will keep you posted. Please continue to keep Parker in your prayers, as well as James who will be making the trip back down here soon.

Sounds of a Sleeping Child

I'm sitting in Parker's room watching him sleep, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, and feeling quite blessed that there are no other sounds except the noise from the table top fan which is a constant presence. There are no beep, beep, beeps and click, click, clicks of the heart monitor. No whooshing of the ventilator he was hooked up to when his lungs failed last year. And on this floor there are no bugle sounds which means another patient has stopped breathing. Just the sounds of my son sleeping peacefully.

The surgery went as well as they had had hoped. Before the surgery he had a 13" circle where the skin graft and mesh covered up the opening in his abdomen. (See April 12-May 21st posts for all the gory details of his surgeries last year). Two surgeons worked on him yesterday, Dr. Garcia who was his primary surgeon last year, and Dr. Turner who was the plastic surgeon who did the skin graft in July.

Yesterday they removed the old mesh, cleaned out the scar tissue from all the procedures last year, sliced his six-pack muscles horizontally and slid them over in front of his stomach. They used a collagen mesh material (no, they ended up not using the pig and human cadaver dermis), pulled his abdomen back into place and stitched it all up from the inside out. So now instead of the big circle of skin graft on his belly, he has a 1" wide scar down his front about 15" from top to bottom. Kind of like a zipper.

He is still sad over the loss of his belly button, but maybe we can make one for him like you do for a teddy bear. Parker said only aliens don't have belly buttons. But to be honest, what he has now is going to be so much easier to look at than the huge skin graft he's had since July.

And there I go sounding so ungrateful, worrying about appearance. I'm not ungrateful. In fact, I am so grateful he lived I have changed my entire life. This event has changed me, changed my life (www.literacyforhope.org), changed both my sons, and I am told has changed almost everyone who knows Parker. It is a miracle he is alive, a miracle and a blessing.

Yesterday when he first got up to his regular room from post-surgery, he got teary eyed and his first words to me were, "We did it Mom. It's over! We're done!" We both cried. It has been such a long journey.

His second words were, "Oh *#$%!!! This hurts!"

Yes, it is going to hurt. A lot. But he is alive. Thank you God. My son lives.

Prayers

Parker's big abdominal repair surgery is being done a week from tomorrow. We are all nervous yet excited, relieved yet anxious. But one thing I know without any hesitation is that we continue to be so grateful for his life, and humbled by the efforts and work going into getting his body 100% healthy again.

Please keep us in your prayers once again. Thank you!

Full Circle

On January 24th I will return to Austin for Parker's final big abdominal repair surgery. We hope it is his final surgery, but as this last year has shown us, expect the worst, hope for the best.

Parker will be back to work and ready to start his life again exactly one year after this ordeal started. Full circle.

After he has recovered, I will move to Bay Head to care for my elderly parents. It might be for 6-8 months, it might be permanently. There is so much to do to help them, and while leaving my home, my friends and my life in MD was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, it was also the easiest. A no brainer. These are my parents, and they need me.

As I said to my Dad, "Isn't this the way it works? When I am young you change my diapers, then when you are old I change yours?" We both got a chuckle out of that.

In the middle of all this, James is planning a move to Austin sometime in the next few weeks, hopefully to get there before Parker's surgery. It is time for him to move away, as well. He and Parker are so close, that was a real no brainer, too. Their love for each other shines a bright light in the middle of everything else about my life.

There is a lot of stress and organizational details to be worked out and very limited time in which to accomplish it all. But after what we have been through this past year, it will be a walk in the park. Regardless, prayers are always helpful. :-)

Midnight New Year's Eve

When the clock struck twelve and we entered 2010, Parker and I were both crying. All I could think was, "We made it!"

Ode to Mom and Dad

Not bad for a couple of old folks in their 80's, eh? That's my Mom and Dad. My Dad is 84 and has two kinds of cancer which he has miraculously made temporarily disappear. My Mom is 82 and still hopes to dance in the living room if my Dad can ever remember to come when she calls. :-)

My father is a retired advertising man who was a Managing Director of Ogilvy and Mather, where he worked for almost 30 years. That was back when being an ad man was a good thing. During the Camelot years, as they call them. He taught me about honor, and about how to use my curiosity to keep learning, and how to use that learning to develop tolerance and compassion. That is the legacy he will leave behind when he goes.

My mother was a concert pianist before she married and had a family of six kids. Yes, S-I-X! When I think about how hard it is to raise one or two children, I am filled with more admiration for her than I can possibly express. She did it with her eye focused on our becoming good, educated, healthy, talented and productive adults. She never once let her guard down, and if you look at my family you will see her work continues to this day.

I think it is fair to say her job was more important than my father's, although without his we wouldn't have had the music lessons, the sports, nights at the opera or symphony, or the lovely home with a library filled with books and music.

This post wasn't what I sat down to write, but as a writer I know, sometimes you just have to let the juju work and it will be good. Here is why I ended up writing about them. I was thinking about how Parker's final surgery has been postponed to February. Then I was thinking about the blessings that have occurred in my life as a result of that terrible, horrific time spent earlier this year while he critically ill.

Then I thought about how over the past few weeks I have had two complete strangers email me after they found this blog. One had a father, another a husband who was someones son, who were in the midst of very similar experiences with severe pancreatitis. They wrote to tell me my writing had given them peace and comfort and hope. I can't even express to you what that meant to me, to Parker and to James. That what we endured made a positive difference to someone else.

Then I started thinking about the Literacy for Hope Project that was born from my need to do something to give back after what we went through. I thought of how excited my 82 year old mother is to be a part of this, how it has given her a new purpose when she really needed to feel needed again. And I thought about how I will take her on my birthday next week to deliver books to a homeless shelter in New Jersey, because that is how I want to spend my birthday.

And then I thought about how it was my parents who gave me the ability to get so much joy from spending my birthday that way, and I realized how incredibly lucky I was to have those two people, with all their flaws, and all their dedication, at the helm while I was growing up.

Thanks Mom and Dad. It made a difference.
P.S. I just realized with surprise that today is the 14th, which is the 8 month anniversary of the first time the doctors told me to say goodbye to my son. For the first time since then, I didn't spend the days before this with that burning feeling in the pit of my gut. In fact, I might not have even remembered if I hadn't been writing this post.