My father walked into Stanford Medical Center at 5:30 this morning with impressive determination and the eternal twinkle still present in his eye. He claims to have slept well, but we had to be up at 3:45 AM to get ready to go, so it was a short night. As he pointed out, though, he would be getting an awful lot of rest in the coming weeks.
He was in surgery from 7:30 AM to 12:45 PM today with two phenomenal surgeons. Mom and I were able to get updates through hospital volunteers, so we knew when the first surgery was completed and that things were going "well" throughout. Mom knitted, I read, we chatted, talked to family members, and went to a nearby shopping center for a bit to get some fresh air. Despite our methods of self-distraction, these were an incredibly long 5 hours.
Dr. Whyte, the Thoracic Oncology surgeon who was with my father for the duration of the surgery, met us in the waiting room at 12:45 to say that all had gone well. He noted with satisfaction that the chemo and radiation had done its job without leaving much scar tissue, and there had been no complications today. My father would be taken to the ICU for the night, as is standard procedure after such a major procedure.
We visited with my dad for a short while at about 1:30 PM, when he was first brought to the ICU. He was awake, and had more color in his face than we had anticipated. He is on oxygen and has a nasogastric tube in place. As is customary in Intensive Care, he has a nurse by his side at all times; this afternoon's nurse was kind and intelligent. She explained that since all of Dad's vitals are fine, her job is to help him manage the pain.
And, unfortunately, the pain today is considerable. He has an epidural in place and yet stated that on a scale of 0-10 his pain was registering as an "8". The nurse showed him how to give himself a boost in pain medication by pushing a button, but this had not taken effect by the time we left. She was calling a doctor to come in and increase the dosage going in through the epidural, and promised us that he'd be down to a "3" by the time we got back this evening. It was extremely difficult for us to see him in such pain, particularly knowing as we do that he is not a complainer; this pain is not minor.
It is going to be an arduous couple of weeks for my father. He will have an x-ray swallowing study on Monday in which they give him a trace amount of fluid and watch to be sure it follows the appropriate course through his body. There is no reason to believe that it won't, but until they do this procedure, he may not eat or drink at all. Yes, that's right: he must wait 5 days before even having a sip of water; no ice chips, no swabs. It is difficult to know at this point when he will come home, but the 7-10 day estimate seems appropriate.
We will go back this evening to visit again; there are brief visiting hours for family every two hours. We believe that he will feel better each day and that the pain we've seen him experience is as bad as it's going to get as they learn to adjust the medication properly.
The strain of the past five months has been tremendous on my parents, but they have risen to the occasion and shown incredible strength. They are a strong couple, but they couldn't have done it without you. We are all grateful for all of the love and support we have received from all of you, our family and friends. We are also overwhelmed with gratitude for the medical staff who has treated him.
My mother or I will continue to update this blog as frequently as there is news. If you would like to contact us directly in the next week, feel free to email us at either sharonsadler@earthlink.net or jordansadler@sbcglobal.net. We will print out any email messages (or comments on the blog) for my father, and bring them to the hospital. I expect to be here until Tuesday, May 29. In the meantime, I have selected some of my favorite photos of my father from over the years to share; and, truly, with some of them, this is the perfect time to showcase them because he isn't available to stop me!!
