The Waiting

It was quiet on the way to new Jacobs Medical Center in La Jolla, California.  The anticipation for this day had been building for months.

Last June, in 2017, they found it.  A 21mm tumor on the vestibulocochlear nerve.  The brains 8th cranial nerve.  6 months later another MRI showed a faster than normal growth, about 23-24mm.  

So there we were, in the pre-op room of one of the finest places on the planet to have an Acoustic Neuroma removed.  My wife is an all star at this stuff.  I'm just the support cast.  Bag carrier, company keeper, and mood lifter.

But then I had to leave.

I'll never forget the emotion that hit me when walking out into the waiting room.  I started getting teary eyed.  Some mad, some helpless, some confused.  I hadn't realized the amount of stress and work it was over the past few months preparing for this moment.  And I'm not even the one with the tumor.

I was getting overwhelmed by all the "thoughts and prayers".  But not in the way some do.  They were making me mad.  If all these thoughts and prayers worked for a successful surgery and speedy recovery, why didn't those same prayers work to have the tumor disappear?  Or didn't anyone pray for that?

Then I remembered Tyson Motsenbockers song.  In Your Name.  And it spoke to me.  You can listen to it here.  But that is all my own personal journey with understanding that stuff.

The donations on the other hand.  They were a total stress relief.  So thank you.

The first ten minutes felt like eternity.  Would my wife be ok?  Would the surgery go well? What if it doesn't?  What if she dies?  What if she's paralyzed? What if.....

Having Emily's youngest sister there helped keep me from wandering to far into the sometimes dark caverns of my mind.

Then at about 4 hours in an attendant came walking towards me with a blank look on their face. But they walked right passed me and knelt down to talk to the family sitting next to me.  I couldn't hear the conversation.  I didn't need to.  Watching the emotion come from the young lady right next to me told enough of the story.  She broke down into tears, fell into the arms of who could have been her mother, and sobbed.  Even today, it's hard to recall that memory without being overcome with emotion for this family.

I don't know what was said.  It was not my place to ask.  But it shook me that at any moment, any person waiting in this area for their loved one in the ICU could get a similar message.

We were told about 2 hours in that things were going well.  And then again at 3.5 hours we heard from the surgeon who performed phase one of the procedure.  He was in a hurry but told us all was well and it should be another 3 hours.

4 hours went by.  Nothing.  Not a word.  Then the first doctor came out into the waiting room and I overheard a conversation with another family.  He informed them the surgery is going well but he had an emergency to tend to.  Then he walked right past me, making eye contact, with no acknowledgement one way or the other.

It's one of those moments you hear about but never experience.  The unknown.  I wasn't supposed to hear that.  Yet, there was nothing I could do but take that walk to those caverns.

How would I tell everyone?  There are so many people following along with her journey.  Do I not give two shits about anyone else and just say it..."Emily died".  If I'm hurting that bad in that moment, why should I have to worry about what other people felt too?

Would I tell anyone? How do we word it so those that are 2300 miles away won't worry or panic?

But...thankfully, it was not about Emily.  And even if it were, I'm sure I would have figured it out.  Moments like that are also easier with another person present.  Though Sarah is closer to Emily in many ways I'll never be.

 She's fine.  She's began her recovery this morning.  Things won't be easy for a few days, but will get dramatically better day.

Thank you all for your care and your support, and your understanding. And even if I don't always understand it, the thoughts and prayers too.  Many people donated to us through our YOUCARING PAGE. Thank you.  It means the world.  When I created that page I wasn't sure what to ask for a "goal", but let's just say I way underestimated costs and am incredibly grateful for your continued support.

Other than losing total hearing in her right side, Emily should be able to live a full and productive life just as she was before the surgery.