August 17, 2004

July 31, 1998, John went in for surgery. This would consist of the removal of his left lung and the removal of his pericardium. The surgeon also replaced his diaphram with a piece of gortex. We were worried of course, but the surgeon told us that John would most likely just spend four days in the hospital and come home with no oxygen needed. He would be sore, but they weren't expecting any complications because of his age.

The surgery itself took about 12-17 hours. That day is a HUGE blur to me. John woke up in ICU and I thank God over and over again for saving his life. His family, my family and our kids all came down for a very short visit, then we all went off to the hotel for the night. My mom, sister and I spent the night playing and laughing with our two children. Never did I expect that anything was going wrong.

The next morning, we all agreed that I would go to the hospital by myself to see John first. I arrived only to find a number of hospital personnel already in his room. I walked up to the side of his bed and said, "Good morning sweety". His response was abrupt and rude, not like him at all. I asked the nurse what was going on, that he wasn't himself. She said "John, who is this?" pointing to me. Again, very abruptly, "MY WIFE". I said there is something terribly wrong here and that's when they rushed me out of the room. The nurse came out and told me that his oxygen levels had dropped and that he was basically suffocating.

I called the hotel in full blown sobs. My mom came as fast as she could. They rushed John back into surgery where they discovered that his right lung had collapsed and he was bleeding out on the left side. I was then told that he would need to be on life support and the doctors weren't convinced that he would pull through. Our children were told by their aunt and uncle and given the option of seeing their dad. Our son, 9 years old, decided that he wanted to. He went into that room, looked at his father hooked up to all those machines, walked over to the bed and held his hand. He told his dad that he loved him and wanted him to be OK. It was probably the most touching moment I had ever seen. My little boy, trying to be so grown up.

Some of the family left that day. We set up a call method so that I wouldn't need to call everyone. My kids went home with them so that they could have some sort of "normalcy" with other family members. My mom, brother and sister-in-law and I all stayed. Prayer was the only form of activity I could possibly think of doing. I sat there next to his bed, holding his hand, begging him to come back to us. God and I had lots of conversations that day and the days that followed. The next day, my mother decided to go home. With John's brother and wife still there, I wasn't going to be alone.

The morning after my mom left, I woke up with a horrific headache. I left the hotel early and stopped to get some meds. I took two and headed for the hospital. Once there, my headache just didn't seem to get any better. One of John's nurses gave me some more pain meds and I went to lay down in the visitor's room. After an hour, my head was still killing me. I decided to head down to the ER to see if I could get a shot of something to help. I figured that I had dehydrated myself over the past few days and a shot would do the trick. What I didn't bargain for was meningitis!

I begged my brother and sister-in-law not to call my mother, but to my surprise, my phone rang and it was my poor mom sobbing on the other end. I was assigned my own room and given some serious painkillers. I was admitted for two days. They had to do a spinal tap on John to make sure I didn't give it to him, and I was allowed to talk to him by phone. Of course, he never responded, but the nurses said his vitals were stronger when he heard my voice.

I was released and resumed my position next to my husband. We were blessed with the best nurses on the face of the earth. One in particular took to John without even talking to him. She set up camp in his room for her entire shift. She asked numerous questions and kept me informed of everything that was going on. She would dig into what he liked and didn't like. I told her that he was very private so she made sure that he was covered at all times. I also told her that he didn't like his hair messy and dirty. So 2-3 times a day she would wash his hair and comb it. Never had that man had better vitals than when he was getting his hair washed.

After a week, I came in his room one morning to find his eyes wide open. The doctors were about to take the breathing tube out and by the looks of it, he wanted it out as well. He spent the next couple of days in ICU trying to regain his strength. He had to learn to talk, walk, feed himself and hold himself up all over again. We moved to another room where he spent another week recovering. Physical therapy everyday to regain motor skills, breathing tests to make sure the lung was working, and x-rays and CT scans to make sure no mesothelioma was left. He came home two weeks later on oxygen still needing nurses care while I was at work.

Posted by Jeanette at 01:45 PM | Comments (1)

July 13, 2004

John was 37 years old, I was 29. John's daughter was 6, our son was 3 1/2 and our baby girl was almost 1. It was 1993 and John laid on the couch unable to breath without being in pain. I finally talked him into going to the ER and we were told that he had pnuemonia. Antibiotics were perscribed and a week late we were back in the ER because he was worse. The doctors decided to tap his lung and drain the fluid. Tests run on the fluid showed up negative so the doctors thought nothing more of it. One year later John was back in the ER with breathing problems again, same situation as the year before and then nothing again for another year.

This went on until 1998. John got pneumonia twice in 6 months and this time the doctors decided to talc his lung to the chest wall to prevent more fluid from building up in the future. Up until this time, they had tested the fluid everytime they removed it, did X-rays, CT scans, bronchoscopies, etc. Nothing ever showed up as abnormal.

June 12, 1998, John went in for surgery. We were nervous, but optomistic as the doctors told us that since nothing showed up on the scans previously, we didn't have anything to worry about. The surgeon along with the pulmonary specialist we had been working with for the past five years came in after the surgery was complete. The pulmanary doc grabbed my hand as the surgeon began to tell me that they found mesothelioma in my husband.

I just remember shaking uncontrollably, crying and asking the surgeon if they could fix my husband. He told me that John would have 6 - 12 months to live and that I should take him home to prepare for him to die. The entire time, the pulmonary doc was holding my hand and crying right along with me. After the surgeon finished talking, he handed me a picture of my husband's infected pluera and walked out. I ran out of the room, past my mother-in-law and sister-in-law right in to the ladies room. I thought for sure that I was going to vomit. In that room was the most wonderful nurse I had ever met. She grabbed me and held me right at the sink and let me sob in her arms. On this day, June 12, 1998, eight days before my 30th birthday, I was told that I was going to be a widow. I was sad, angry as hell and a whole list of other feelings. I couldn't go see John right away until I knew I could be strong enough for him. All we could do that night was cry really. We held strong and decided who would need to be told right away and who could wait. He spent time with his family while I made phone calls to his daughter and other friends.

The very next day brought us another option. I decided to get on the internet and John decided that he didn't like what the surgeon had to say and decided to ask for a referrel to the Rochester Mayo Clinic for a second opinion. At that time, the internet provided very little hope for finding any survivors of this disease. The small handful I did find had already lost their loved ones and in a very short amount of time. I tried for about a year, occasionally getting into cancer support chat rooms and still had no luck. After about two years, I gave up looking.

Mayo Clinic opened up a whole new world of hope for us. A radical surgery, chemo and radiation and John's life expectancy was moved up to 40% chance of surviving over 5 years. John decided it was worth the risk. July 31, 1998 was the date and we were both very excited yet very scared about what lay ahead for the both of us. With the kids set up with family, John and I made the 1 1/2 hour drive to Rochester, Minnesota and got ready for our lives to change.

Posted by Jeanette at 02:44 PM | Comments (1)