Bad Liver and A Broken Heart

 Entry 1     10:31 a.m.

Woke this morning at 6:00 a.m. with today squarely on my mind.  I am sitting outside the procedure room in the Jones Pavilion at Virginia Mason, almost exactly 13 months from the first time Jenny had a procedure done.  She is in with the health care professionals for a tumor biopsy of her liver. The women at the admitting desk tried to chase me away almost immediately. VM would prefer no one be in the building, save the workers and patients. I can't stand the idea of being farther away than necessary. They suggested I not come in at the entrance, but there is no bar, and Jenny needed  me to be with her.

Largely
empty corridor
waiting room.

Jenny had  blood work done, got some preliminary pictures taken (both done in the Buck Pavilion). We then walked or hobbled over here to Jones Pavilion.

 She told me one of her mets on her liver is the distance between, bending her forefinger and thumb to show the size, about 2.5-3 inches long. Many many more, but considerably smaller mets covered the liver as seen jn the MRI, she said.  Too many to count, she said. I'm nauseous with concern. Every fucking day is stressful.  She needs a break, we need a break.  None is coming.

The procedure should take just less than an hour. An RN will call me to let me know when it begins. (That never happened.) Once it is over, they keep her here for 3 hours to make sure her liver isn't bleeding, i.e., not nicked by the surgeon during the procedure, I assume.

Jenny called a few minutes ago, learning she would be away for quite a long time, worrying about me waiting for her, and encouraging me to go home. I can't do it. 

I realize this isn't Tacoma General, but an old friend of ours died there just a couple weeks ago after an elective procedure, in what was/is clearly malpractice. She died of sepsis after her duodenum was nicked and the error went undetected for days, killing her.

Living the dream. 
At least I have a leg up.

There were other variables at Tacoma Gen'l, for instance no doctor ever rounded on day 2 post-surgery, despite the family reporting serious problems.  Still.  I can't tear myself away, for the worry.

In bed by 9:05 last night.  Up a lot. Awake from 1:00 until 2:00. Then up again at 6:00 a.m. to meet the day.

And, here we are. I am sitting in a massive and largely vacant space, leg up fortunately, worrying and waiting,  waiting and worrying.

Jenny was terrified this morning. She doesn't know what the procedure is exactly, but knows she will have conscious sedation so they can talk to her. We were both puzzled by that. Is the surgeon lonely?  Does Jenny have a reputation as a stellar conversationalist in the hospital? What could they possibly need to ask her when she is getting a biospy of a cancerous growth on her liver?  Can you feel that?  Did we get the met?  A little more to the left you say?

While we were on I-5 on the way here, just north of the old Rainier Brewery around 8:15 or 8:20 a.m., a man walked from the left shoulder into traffic, headed toward the right shoulder. Traffic was slow rolling, but not stopped as he entered.  The last we saw, he was standing between the 2nd and 3rd lane, with two big trucks stopped.  Wonder if it made the news? I thought he was either attempting suicide or given the proximity to September 11, a suicide bomber.  Clearly, not the latter or shit would be going down everywhere, including at this hospital.  

Entry 2       5:22 p.m.

We are home. Jenny has two tiny holes in her side, fentanyl on board, and a completed biospy under her belt.  Results will not come in for 2-3 weeks. Also, she weighed 156 lbs. today.  I am off to make dinner, feed the dogs, take them out to the yard to do their business. Then to Bartell's to pick up meds and coffee. This too shall pass. Also, clearly, the doctor didn't fuck up and puncture her liver.

It took me almost 10 minutes to walk to and from the mailbox, twice as long as it should. It's only temporary. Also, to drive Jenny home from the procedure I had to use my injured knee--removing the brace so I could use the clutch.  This too shall pass. Also, today I got a letter reminding me to make an appt with Kaiser cardiology, the same Kaiser that cancelled all my referrals.  Fuck Kaiser.

Someone coded today in a procedure room while Jenny was getting prepped nearby. It looked like ants boiling out of a nest as between 20 and 40 people ran to the code from every direction and visible location.  Clearly, they need a better crash team method-too many ppl will slow things down.  I was worried for about 5 minutes. Jenny responded to a text I sent, and my fears were allayed.

Entry 3     5:51 p.m.

Jenny checked her labs taken this morning.  I hadn't thought to do it, didn't think they'd test the cancer antigens. They did test the cancerembryonic antigen for the third time, but not the CA 19-9.  HER CEA level has gone from 14.4 Aug 26 to 20.9 today. Anything greater than 3-5 (depending on study) indicates cancer. Increasing levels typically indicate increased tumor load. Jenny keeps repeating, "I don't want to die." I don't want that either.  At all. 

Entry 4.    7:47 p.m.

It's hard being on all the time. I don't envy single parents.  I made dinner, and Jenny wanted (not needed) me to serve her, so I did.  I am exhausted. All. The. Time.  I have been home 2.5 hours and have taken the dogs out 4 times, and got Willow back in the house when Jenny took her out without a leash--she refuses to use the leash for Willow. The last time I took Willow out, she played in the sprinkler briefly--she fears water generally.  She got damp, not wet.  But her paws were soaked so I walked her around on the concrete until her paws dried.  When I came in, Jenny asked, "Does she need a towel?" Clearly annoyed, I responded' 'Why, are you offering to go get one for her?"  She wasn't. This too shall pass.