It's Not a Sprint

I did not anticipate the incredible amount of support and love and that has been flowing from the comments on this blog.  I’ll reiterate how humbling and uplifting they are.  While waiting to go into surgery, I read through all the posts knowing that an unexpectedly large cohort of friends and family were pulling for me, selflessly taking some of your own time to pray, think, and send out positive energy.  I closed my eyes for a few moments to imagine it as some type of network, interconnected to help one person.  And in those moments, I realized more folks than just me were (and still are) helped. I have to believe that, while directed toward my current situation, reading through all those eloquent (and sometimes a bit too revealing!) posts that ideas were generated or thoughts arose in other folks as a reminder to call mom or dad, to check on the kids, to be a little nicer, or to just appreciate their current life situations.  Believing that one person is unknowingly helping another personally brings me peace, mindfulness and patience in this chaotic time.

Regarding everyone’s responses, please allow me time to respond accordingly. I realize that several of you will not require a response from me and thank you for that consideration.  However, I don’t think the blog is at a tipping point where there are too many posts for me to handle.  I’ll play that by ear.  But right now, responding to these inspirational and nostalgic prayers/stories/memories is important for me even if it’s just a thank you.  I want to and do not feel it’s an obligation.  At this point in this life-changing journey, establishing connections and communication is healthy, therapeutic and healing.  And I have to set the record straight on some of them!

We are fortunate to have the neighbors that we do.  We have only lived in our current house for 15 months, but from day one, our community has welcomed and treated us like 20 year friends; just such a good group of folks.  The night before surgery, a few of them dropped by to express their sympathy, talk, and have a group prayer.  It was just really nice.  Unfortunately, I think I was upright a little too long and the tumor either was shifting or had grown some after the biopsy, but regardless of the reasons, the word ready did not describe how much I wanted my leg separated from me.  It just hurt and lasted through the night.  So when I woke in recovery looked down and saw my leg was missing, I was beaming like the Cheshire Cat.  No more tumor pain!  I realize there is more pain ahead, but it is recovery pain and is much more tolerable.  The doctor informed us that the tumor had grown a bit more toward my knee and she believed that I was in for an even more world of hurt had we not amputated.  That was reassuring.  While I was in surgery they also implanted my chemotherapy port which significantly speeds the chemo process when we begin.  Nice. Two birds with one stone.  It was a good day!

I’m not sure how it happened but somehow I scored my own room, which is actually quite large.  Yesterday, I had several visitors.  My folks are up for the fun and to help with the boys.  Of course Jenn was here.  And many colleagues also took time away from their own lives to see me.  They brought a lot of food; critical for overnight stays at hospitals. Having visitors in and out yesterday helped me shift my focus from the pain to being a part of their lives for a few moments.   At one point, we had eight people in the room and while everyone was chatting, a physical therapist came in and informed me that I needed to attempt to “walk” around on a walker.  There was an awkward silence as people weren’t sure to stay or leave.  I decided I needed all the support I can get.  So, uncomfortable or not, several friends and family were a part of my first steps as an amputee.  It was perfect.  Not wanting to fall in front of my support team was an excellent incentive to succeed.  The walk went fine (although I think for one-legged folks it should be called a hopper, not a walker).  But what was even more satisfying was watching people sharing their lives with strangers and enjoying time out of their schedule to get to know someone else.  This experience is bringing people together in unimaginable ways.  Through both the blog posts and the visits I’m receiving, I think several people, including me, are realizing the positive results of what was originally a negative circumstance.  I believe this is one of the best ways to beat this thing.  I certainly haven’t thrown in the towel yet and plan on being around for a long, long time, but if I do succumb sooner rather than later, the radiant positivity and lighthearted atmosphere that has been generated (and so much more to come) will be the ultimate win.

Right now, I’m experiencing phantom pain, which is believed to result from the brain slowly turning off the neuronal pain pathways after a limb separation.  It’s really bizarre.  I’m physically sitting up right now, looking at my missing leg, knowing it’s not there, but feeling sensation and pain from it.  It feels like my leg is bent at a right angle going through the bed.  When I try to wiggle my toes, it feels like my leg is paralyzed.  And I can feel pressure on the bottom of my foot like it’s sitting on the floor.  Occasionally, there is pain, but again, it’s pain in the recovery category, so mentally it’s much easier to handle.  I have a lot of pain meds too, so life is good!

I’m not particularly fond of the term “stump.”  It’s a bit too brutal and makes me think of trees.  So I’ve renamed my stump to Short Round, after the character in the second Indiana Jones movie.  I think it is much more fitting.

I also want to document just how much Jenn has been a positive influence through all of this.  The whole situation is unfair for her in more ways than just me.  This is not Jenn’s first experience with cancer.  Her mother unfortunately passed away when she was 48 from a rare cancer and Jenn was only 20.  When this all first started, I wondered how she was going to cope.  I can only describe her contributions as nothing less than remarkable.  The easy road for her would have been to shut down.  But I have basically put my life in her hands and feel the strength of character and motherly love when I hold her.  I could not have the attitude that I do without her support and smile.  I love my boys and know they are well cared for throughout all this.  I love her more than anything and am just reassured when she is near.  Thanks Sweet!

Walker / Hopper

Hunter