Get Back Momofuku

Today must have been the longest day in the history of the world. And I’m talking BC or Mesozoic.

First, we had collective poop attacks before leaving the house this morning at the butt crack of dawn. So we were about 15 minutes late for check in. Shan and Brian caravanned down and were stuck to us like glue for the day.

The hubby and I decided to crank the tunes and settled on a little Eminem to settle our nerves. Worked like a charm. Ass Like That will do it every time when you’re headed to butt surgery.

Everything ran like clockwork and no one mentioned the tardy arrival. Super nice people abound in this place. And I’m thinking you’d have to have a heart of gold (and a stomach of steel) to mix up that body fluid cocktail every couple of hours. They put drains into places I didn’t even know a drain could go in a human being. Then they have to pour it all in a bucket and take it somewhere. I seriously hope the jello is far, far removed because the color is really similar.

We started the real fun with all four of us and our witty nurse (Molly) and the anesthesiologist (Dr. Arthur) working on putting in an epidural. I kept explaining to the hubby how I’d had like two or three of these and it’s seriously no big deal. Around this time I notice that the color has drained from his face and I hear him say, “I’m going. I’m going.” Since I was pretty sure that he wasn’t planning to go on a run or anything, I quickly surmised that he was about to hit the deck. And since I was the only one in between him and the floor at that particular moment, I did what any good wife in my situation would do. I panicked. Then I made eye contact with Brian, who quickly shuttled his way over and stood behind me. Luckily, we didn’t have to catch him. He went sideways onto the bed and it was all good. Crazy how feet above your head really brings you back to a nice pinky color fast.

It was a vasavagal. My new favorite word. (Shan really likes urp.)

So it was in that particular vein of worry that we were sent packing to the waiting room. I had been assured that Dr. Mozia was very prompt and we should most definitely be in the waiting area a bit before 11. I was pretty much glued to my seat and had the Cronins waiting on me hand and foot. Eyes glued to the door and then to the big screen with his patient number and status. And then back to the door. Like a tennis match.

It was somewhere around 12 that I’m thinking, “WTF.” And I head over to the info desk. I hear the one woman say, “And here comes your question.” So I say, "Yes. Question. You were obviously expecting me.” And they say, “Yes, we were just talking about you.” So I say, “And?” “And, we haven’t heard anything, but we’ll check.” Soon after, I am summoned back to the desk and they hand me a phone. It’s Matt, the OR nurse. “Hi. He’s doing well, but this does sometimes take longer than anticipated. We end up having to take more colon, etc. So just wanted to let you know that it won’t be a lot longer.”

My brain goes into overdrive. I realize how much I’d been watching the clock and that whole minutes to hours thing was actually happening. And I wonder if the cancer has spread. And if they are having to take out the whole damned colon. And. And. And.

Then I hear, “Respiratory department. OR. STAT.” And my legs go to jelly. Shan grabs me and gets me outside for air. I cry. Shed my panic like a big old furry dog coat in the summertime. And return to the waiting area ready. For. Whatever.

After two years, the doc comes out. They took out 9 inches of colon (3 more than we thought) and it was lower than they thought. But margins are clear (a good thing). No puckering in the wall (another good thing because that means early stage). And it's all off to pathology for final analysis. 2 or 3 more days and we'll have the full picture drawn out like a playbook in the locker room.

We breathe. Now we think it’s only 1 or so more hours ‘til we see him. Wrong.

Two hours later, the nicest nurse in the history of the world (back to Mesozoic again), Patsy, comes out and skooches up beside me on the couch. Puts her hand on my leg and says, “Here’s the deal. He knows you’re freaking out so I wanted to let you know what’s been happening back there.” Okay.

Seems the epidural didn’t take. He came out of twilight zone in pain beyond excruciating. Bone-numbing, bad, bad pain. After weeks of my nagging to “please just freaking tell me the truth. I need your REAL pain number,” he came out yelling “10! 10! 10!” So they knew it was bad. Since the scale is 0 to 10. (10 is highest.)

His blood pressure bottomed out. He dried up like a prune. And on and on. He spent almost four hours in recovery being re-juiced, re-administered (epidural #2) and numbed with narcotics. So that would pretty much sum up freak out number 2 for me for the day.

I finally get to see him. His parents arrive. I decide to take the break in the action to grab food (it was 3:30). We go. I talk to his boss and we laugh our heads off while I eat and Shan and Brian stare at me.

When we get back, I check in and the desk lady starts saying something about ICU. Freak out 3 is narrowly averted when we quickly realize it’s a false alarm. She’s just worried about the flowers that arrived from Gary and Mary. They aren’t allowed in ICU. Huh.

He gets a room. I get to walk with him the back way. His color is back. He is back (though in all dopey version). He’s tired, grouchy and all of the other five dwarves. We sit around and look at him. Then his parents leave to fetch the girlies.

He yells at me to turn off my cell phone. Turn off the light. Turn off the TV. Get him some ice chips. Stop talking. But call so-and-so. Right. Now. So I grab the bottle of wine, Shan and Brian and we escape to the family room to decompress.

They leave and I stay. Trying to get a cot. Trying to be quiet. Get him a popsicle. Answer calls and texts with the phone on vibrate. Then Purse Girl arrives straight from the airport and she and her fam whisk me off to dinner at this awesome Italian place. Random, but a yummy find right around the corner, Vincenza's Italian Bakery & Deli.

I return and the hubby is resting. I reassure True Blue via text that I’m all covered. It’s so rare for her to not be by my side, but I assure her that her turn is coming. Soon.

Now I’m ensconced on my cot. Listening to his epi pump and IV. Typing away in my PJs.

Can I just say that I am so freaking happy that this day is about to end that I could cry. Sheer exhaustion doesn’t begin to describe it. And the complete awe at the outpouring of love/concern/support/help/friendship from all corners of the universe. Thank you one and all.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Get Back. Luda. I came (I came). I saw (I saw). I hit ‘em right dead in the jaw (in the jaw).