Surgery Monday...again

Hello all! Just wanted to send an update as some have asked. Surgery is scheduled on the 16th bright and early.

I liked what C. Hitchens said recently and to paraphrase some of it here: In return for at least the chance of a few more useful years, I had agreed to surgery. So here’s the wager: you might stick around for a bit, but in return Stanford says we are going to need some things from you. These things may include, your organs that do not regrow, your breath holding ability, your ability to concentrate, your ability to digest, most of your future, your mobility, your strength. This certainly appears to be a reasonable trade. Unfortunately, it also involves confronting one of the most appealing clichés in our language. People don’t have cancer: they are "battling cancer". No well-wisher omits the combative image: You can beat this. It’s even in obituaries for cancer losers, as if one might reasonably say of someone that they died after a long and brave struggle with mortality. You don’t hear it about long-term sufferers from heart disease or kidney failure.


Myself, as a coach, I do love the imagery of struggle. I sometimes wish I were suffering in a good cause, or risking my life for the good of others, instead of just being a terminally endangered patient. When I take the first few very difficult shallow breaths after waking up in fog of ICU, the image of the ardent soldier is the very last one that will occur to me. I feel swamped with passivity and impotence.


I met with surgeons and did pre-op last Monday and it looks like this one is really a nasty operation. They have the room booked (hospital not operating) the entire week so I am not sure when I would leave. Basically because of the two previous lung surgeries they have to do some goofy lung ventilitation stuff where they deflate one lung, tie part off, reinflate, and repeat the process. After this then they do the cutting. They have to do an open thoracotomy which involves lots of ribs and cutting and wiring and stuff... The Dr's exact words to me were "Major and Complex" (I have found out this means in surgical speak.. a very painful recovery). I enjoyed that moment... Always sobering when they want a copy of your advanced directive and tell your wife to make sure all things are in order… I’m sure he just wanted me to tell her the passwords to the computer….right……


Actually Julene and I have had too many, "Chip, show me how you do that so that I know how to," talks. It is so important for her and practical but it really stings and is awkward showing her some of the tasks I do, (clean the jacuzzi, tech stuff, wills, death info, very modest home repair, where tools are located, etc.), I show her because there may be a limited time left. She realizes that the odds are not good at all and she must plan for the future as well as enjoy the present. I do not know what I would do without her.


The surgeon asked if I was getting an epidural and I said yes and he said "Good, that will cut down on some of the pain." I asked him what about ALL of the pain. I know those buttons they make you push for pain are just like crosswalk buttons that really aren't connected to anything but make you feel better that you are doing something. Somewhere I know the nurses have a competition counting which room patient pushes their button the most. Here's a hint to all of you...bet on me.

As I left, I thanked him for his positive bedside manner, putting the patient at ease, etc. As I walked out I thought I always wanted my obit to read something like.. "Died after a long happy life in a violent, druken, casino orgy near the buffet table," not, "Never woke up from rectal surgery..."


I am actually in a pretty bad place mentally and am frustrated, hurt and down. I honestly feel like I let people down and I hurt them when I have to go in for this "Mother of All Annoyances". Sorry, I wish I could stand up, go in and come out smiling but the fight like hell gene is missing right now. Julene and the kids are great and have really helped me and we have drawn much closer. I love them all so much and the pain that I feel I give them because of this is so extreme that it sometimes paralyzes me. Mentally, I understand and get it and am grateful surgery is an option, but there have been too many major surgeries and too much worrying and suffering.


The school staff and volleyball team and many students made a wonderful card for my room that is a huge poster. That made me cry. They office gave me a signed hockey stick becaue this surgery is not just regular season hockey it is playoff hockey. (Harder hits, every shot counts, bigger checks...). That made me cry. In a few hours, I will really be crying...



Lots of Love to All

Chip Fenenga