Hi, it's Renee with a mostly medical update. Things are a little rough here at the moment. My mom ended her epidural pain meds this morning and it's proving difficult to take care of her pain with oral meds exclusively. My mom is incredibly tough, but I can tell the pain is starting to get to her. She's currently rating her pain at a 7 out of 10. Miserable!
Daniel and I are at the hospital with her right now while my dad attempts to get his work situation under control. We're doing our best to work with our nurse and doctors to get a handle on the pain soon, but prayers would certainly be appreciated (as always!). As many of you know, it's a crummy feeling to see a family member in pain but feel largely helpless to stop it. I so hope that our smart team at Northwest will figure this out soon!
On a much happier note, we had a pretty good night and morning up until now. I had the pleasure of staying at the hospital with my mom last night (girls night!). We watched the Golden Globes and she ate her first real dinner in a week: turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and zucchini. She fell asleep early and slept most of the night! Can't say the same for myself, but that's what coffee is for, right? I have never been so happy to hear someone snoring; as soon as that laryngeal metronome started up I smiled knowing she was temporarily free from pain and worry. Isn't sleep the best?
We keep reminding each other than in between all the hurdles we've had many small victories. There were several this morning. My mom got her epidural out, which is ultimately a big step towards leaving the hospital although it's currently hard to be off those meds. She also got her catheter out, allowing her to feel much more like a normal healthy person. And right now she's even disconnected from her IV for a while. That means no tubes in her at all! She and Daniel just left for her third walk of the day, and it's great to see her moving around totally unencumbered by an IV pole.
The second best news of the morning, if you ask me, is that her nurses cleared her for eating any food on the hospital menu, and they totally have Macrina Bakery cookies her! Nice one, Northwest! I ordered some molasses ginger cookies "for my mom," but she'll be lucky if there are any left when she gets back from her walk.
And I saved the very best news of the day for last: we heard the word "cure" for the first time this morning!!! That warrants three exclamation points at least. Dr. Lee came in this morning and reiterated that her surgery was optimal, adding that "an optimal surgery is the first step towards a cure." My mom and I were so encouraged by this. I keep thinking about the day I'll be able to say "my mom had cancer" instead of "has cancer." I'm confident we'll get there, and so are her doctors.
Still, looks like it'll be a tough afternoon for her. But as we've all said over and over, I'm blown away by her attitude. Just now the nurse suggested she teach my mom how to self-administer her at-home anticoagulant shots, and my mom said with complete sincerity, "Oh, that'll be fun!" I questioned her about it and she shrugged, saying, "Well it gets a little boring around here. Something to do." What a cool mom.
OK I'm going to track down a third cup of coffee before I start into my twenty-ninth hour at the hospital. But I'm not complaining--my mom's been here for about 120 hours and she's staying strong. I feel bad that we all get to take occasional breaks but she's stuck here full time.
Oh, and I forgot to add that we're not sure about when she'll be going home right now. There's a good possibly it'll be tomorrow but we of course want to make sure that her pain is managed well and that she's eating comfortably first.
Bye for now, and many thanks for your continued support!
Renee
PS: Special thanks to my best friend Karissa for bringing me a late-night snack of fabulous homemade dumplings last night. I'm definitely eating better now that I ever did in "real life" :)
Monday, January 14, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
1/13/13 Sunday evening
8:35 P.M.
Steve here. Not much new to report after Renee's great update. She is right: what with the "water feature", the whirring of the IV pumps and the view of The Mountain in the distance, it is indeed a relaxing place to hang out, up there on the surgery/oncology floor of Northwest Hospital. I don't know what's going on right now as I was told to vamoose and get some sleep. Last I saw Gabrielle, she and Daniel were heading down the hall on her final walk of the evening at a fairly brisk pace, IV pole in tow, with Daniel paying careful attention not to run over the back of her feet in the process. He is much better at this technique than yours truly.
Today, I got to see Gabrielle's incisions in all their glory for the first time. They consist of a long midline one going from the xiphoid process (lowest portion of the breastbone) all the way down, along with a couple of extra incisions on the sides where Dr. M. started with a laparoscopic approach, prior to proceding to the full "unzipping" (that's a bona fide medical term in my book, and if it didn't make the medical dictionary, it should). All the incisions have been closed with stainless steel staples. Being the curious doctor type that I am, I counted them: 41 in all! That number may be off by one or two. It is hard to count them in the vicinity of her oh-so-cute belly button which is a rather attractive "innie". As the incision dives down into the nether part of her umbilicus (another medical term for "innie"), I am not sure how many are down there, but I will be sure to snoop around later and get back to you on the final number.
As I looked at the staples, I was reminded of a sermon illustration today by Pastor Blake (full confession: I high-tailed it off to church rather than the sports bar. I needed the spiritual nourishment more thant some buffalo wings, a glass of warm beer and a view of what should have been a missed field goal). He showed a picture that had been given to him by Pastor Jan of a broken pot that had been fixed using the ancient Japanese technique of kintsugi which I had never heard of before. It means "golden joinery" and consists of sticking the separate pieces of broken pottery back together with a gold-infused lacquer creating a bright gold seam at the repair site. Rather than trying to hide the defect, the gold brings it out and turns the damage into a work of art. The result is that the final piece is more valuable in the "broken" state than the previous piece without the cracks. Imagine that!
As soon as Daniel comes home, I will try and upload a picture of this, hot off the internet. As he is under 30, he can figure these things out. Hopefully, the picture will go right here:
Is it there? Good! Daniel gets credit for that part. Isn't this a beautiful pot with golden seams? That's where the shards of pottery were stuck together. But to continue my story, I was fascinated by this illustration of broken things being more valuable and beautiful than before. Gabrielle has certainly been broken this week. She can never be more valuable to me than she already has been, but she is more beautiful than ever, especially sporting those staples. And here's the really interesting part. In researching kintsugi, I found out that it was apparently started (if you can believe Wikipedia) when a shogun from the 15th century was all upset that a broken pot he had sent off for repair had come back held together with "ugly metal staples" and had his craftsmen try and come up with a more aesthetic patch job. That's when they hit on the gold idea.
Well, all that may be well and good in 15th century Japan, but I have to confess that as far as "ugly metal staples" go, Gabrielle's are first rate and they look like the purest of golden seams to me for they tell me that she has been "broken open" for the cancer to be removed and what can be better than that? So here's to my very own piece of kintsugi art work! Gabrielle, you are indeed more precious to me than gold. Sweet dreams, dearest, I love you!
Steve here. Not much new to report after Renee's great update. She is right: what with the "water feature", the whirring of the IV pumps and the view of The Mountain in the distance, it is indeed a relaxing place to hang out, up there on the surgery/oncology floor of Northwest Hospital. I don't know what's going on right now as I was told to vamoose and get some sleep. Last I saw Gabrielle, she and Daniel were heading down the hall on her final walk of the evening at a fairly brisk pace, IV pole in tow, with Daniel paying careful attention not to run over the back of her feet in the process. He is much better at this technique than yours truly.
Today, I got to see Gabrielle's incisions in all their glory for the first time. They consist of a long midline one going from the xiphoid process (lowest portion of the breastbone) all the way down, along with a couple of extra incisions on the sides where Dr. M. started with a laparoscopic approach, prior to proceding to the full "unzipping" (that's a bona fide medical term in my book, and if it didn't make the medical dictionary, it should). All the incisions have been closed with stainless steel staples. Being the curious doctor type that I am, I counted them: 41 in all! That number may be off by one or two. It is hard to count them in the vicinity of her oh-so-cute belly button which is a rather attractive "innie". As the incision dives down into the nether part of her umbilicus (another medical term for "innie"), I am not sure how many are down there, but I will be sure to snoop around later and get back to you on the final number.
As I looked at the staples, I was reminded of a sermon illustration today by Pastor Blake (full confession: I high-tailed it off to church rather than the sports bar. I needed the spiritual nourishment more thant some buffalo wings, a glass of warm beer and a view of what should have been a missed field goal). He showed a picture that had been given to him by Pastor Jan of a broken pot that had been fixed using the ancient Japanese technique of kintsugi which I had never heard of before. It means "golden joinery" and consists of sticking the separate pieces of broken pottery back together with a gold-infused lacquer creating a bright gold seam at the repair site. Rather than trying to hide the defect, the gold brings it out and turns the damage into a work of art. The result is that the final piece is more valuable in the "broken" state than the previous piece without the cracks. Imagine that!
As soon as Daniel comes home, I will try and upload a picture of this, hot off the internet. As he is under 30, he can figure these things out. Hopefully, the picture will go right here:
Is it there? Good! Daniel gets credit for that part. Isn't this a beautiful pot with golden seams? That's where the shards of pottery were stuck together. But to continue my story, I was fascinated by this illustration of broken things being more valuable and beautiful than before. Gabrielle has certainly been broken this week. She can never be more valuable to me than she already has been, but she is more beautiful than ever, especially sporting those staples. And here's the really interesting part. In researching kintsugi, I found out that it was apparently started (if you can believe Wikipedia) when a shogun from the 15th century was all upset that a broken pot he had sent off for repair had come back held together with "ugly metal staples" and had his craftsmen try and come up with a more aesthetic patch job. That's when they hit on the gold idea.
Well, all that may be well and good in 15th century Japan, but I have to confess that as far as "ugly metal staples" go, Gabrielle's are first rate and they look like the purest of golden seams to me for they tell me that she has been "broken open" for the cancer to be removed and what can be better than that? So here's to my very own piece of kintsugi art work! Gabrielle, you are indeed more precious to me than gold. Sweet dreams, dearest, I love you!
1/13/13 It's like Christmas!
3:00 pm
Hey people! It's Renee again. Man, my mom is impressive. But we already knew that.
So far today she has:
-taken a shower with very little assistance, taking special care to make sure her hair is nicely "fluffed" for visitors
-brushed her teeth and given us a lecture on the merits of various styles of floss
-eaten an exciting breakfast of thinned creamed wheat and applesauce
-taken a couple laps of the fourth floor, stopping to check out the view
-ordered creamed chicken soup and tapioca pudding for lunch (She rated this meal a "3 out of 10." She's a food snob.)
-shown off her rad incision to everyone who walks by (it looks great--nice and neat, no redness.)
Every doctor and nurse we've talked to today is amazed with how well she's doing. They keep telling us, incredibly, that there's a good chance she'll go home tomorrow. She's working on weaning off the epidural pain meds. As soon as she's done with those, the catheter can come out. This of course thrills my mom, though I'll sort of miss it--watching the little bag fill up with pee is like sitting by a soothing water feature ;)
Daniel and our good friend Kristi are helping my mom get up for another walk now. Off she goes at her usual competitive pace! My dad and I are hanging out eating tasty roast beef sandwiches that my grandma brought over. It turns out when your mom has cancer, people bring you anything you want. It's like Christmas! Need some coffee? Here it is! Lunch, dinner, dessert? Ta-da! Daniel and I are trying to get someone to buy us new laptops, but no luck with that one so far. Maybe we don't seem quite pathetic enough. We've been smiling all day because my mom looks so great.
I made three New Years resolutions this year. The first is to do my first century (bike 100 miles in one day). The second is to learn to drive a stick shift (don't judge me). And the third is so cheesy I didn't tell a single person until now: to write lists of things I'm thankful for whenever I'm feeling stressed. I had no idea this one would be such a lifesaver. It's been the craziest, most exhausting week ever, but I can honestly say I have so much to be thankful for. I was reminding my mom this morning that about 90% of the news we've received since coming to the hospital has been positive. The cancer was found relatively early, no other organs were involved, the surgeon was able to remove all visible cancer, the prognosis is good, the best possible medical team was assembled for her case, etc. etc. Focusing on the good news, cheesy as it sounds, is a real mood booster. As is the sun! If we all go home tomorrow, we're going to miss watching the gorgeous sunsets against Mt. Rainier (aka the Mountain) and the city skyline. The view in Shoreline doesn't quite compare.
Well I hear my mom coming back to the room, so I better sign off for now. She played the cancer card to strong-arm me into playing her favorite card game with her. I wonder how long she'll be able to milk this? I would have been happy to play a strategy card game with her while she was all doped up, but now that she's pretty much her old self I don't stand a chance.
Bye for now, dudes! Sorry about your Seahawks or whatever.
~Renee
PS: I just remembered that I also told myself I'd write more in 2013, and now here I am blogging about hospital adventures. My mom's resolution was to lose a little weight this year, and my dad's was to work less. Be careful what you wish for, I guess!
Hey people! It's Renee again. Man, my mom is impressive. But we already knew that.
So far today she has:
-taken a shower with very little assistance, taking special care to make sure her hair is nicely "fluffed" for visitors
-brushed her teeth and given us a lecture on the merits of various styles of floss
-eaten an exciting breakfast of thinned creamed wheat and applesauce
-taken a couple laps of the fourth floor, stopping to check out the view
-ordered creamed chicken soup and tapioca pudding for lunch (She rated this meal a "3 out of 10." She's a food snob.)
-shown off her rad incision to everyone who walks by (it looks great--nice and neat, no redness.)
Every doctor and nurse we've talked to today is amazed with how well she's doing. They keep telling us, incredibly, that there's a good chance she'll go home tomorrow. She's working on weaning off the epidural pain meds. As soon as she's done with those, the catheter can come out. This of course thrills my mom, though I'll sort of miss it--watching the little bag fill up with pee is like sitting by a soothing water feature ;)
Daniel and our good friend Kristi are helping my mom get up for another walk now. Off she goes at her usual competitive pace! My dad and I are hanging out eating tasty roast beef sandwiches that my grandma brought over. It turns out when your mom has cancer, people bring you anything you want. It's like Christmas! Need some coffee? Here it is! Lunch, dinner, dessert? Ta-da! Daniel and I are trying to get someone to buy us new laptops, but no luck with that one so far. Maybe we don't seem quite pathetic enough. We've been smiling all day because my mom looks so great.
I made three New Years resolutions this year. The first is to do my first century (bike 100 miles in one day). The second is to learn to drive a stick shift (don't judge me). And the third is so cheesy I didn't tell a single person until now: to write lists of things I'm thankful for whenever I'm feeling stressed. I had no idea this one would be such a lifesaver. It's been the craziest, most exhausting week ever, but I can honestly say I have so much to be thankful for. I was reminding my mom this morning that about 90% of the news we've received since coming to the hospital has been positive. The cancer was found relatively early, no other organs were involved, the surgeon was able to remove all visible cancer, the prognosis is good, the best possible medical team was assembled for her case, etc. etc. Focusing on the good news, cheesy as it sounds, is a real mood booster. As is the sun! If we all go home tomorrow, we're going to miss watching the gorgeous sunsets against Mt. Rainier (aka the Mountain) and the city skyline. The view in Shoreline doesn't quite compare.
Well I hear my mom coming back to the room, so I better sign off for now. She played the cancer card to strong-arm me into playing her favorite card game with her. I wonder how long she'll be able to milk this? I would have been happy to play a strategy card game with her while she was all doped up, but now that she's pretty much her old self I don't stand a chance.
Bye for now, dudes! Sorry about your Seahawks or whatever.
~Renee
PS: I just remembered that I also told myself I'd write more in 2013, and now here I am blogging about hospital adventures. My mom's resolution was to lose a little weight this year, and my dad's was to work less. Be careful what you wish for, I guess!
1/13/13 Censored in China
10:00 AM
Not to brag, but I have one patient who lives in China. He is seeing me for an appointment next month. I suspect that he is coming back to Seattle to visit his mother and is throwing in a visit with me just because he is in town, but I prefer to reverse that and say that he's flying all the way over here to see me. He gets the award for my patient who lives the farthest away. All that to say that he has taken an interest in this whole Gabrielle journey, but has expressed frustration that the Chinese government has blocked access to this blog. For some reason, that sounds pretty exciting in a subversive sort of way. Makes me think that Gabrielle is one of those ragamuffins singing about when tomorrow comes on the barricades in Les Mis. Apart from China, people from eight countries, at last count, have been following her. So, perhaps we should rename the blog "the whole world (except the Chinese government) loves Gabrielle". I don't know what she did to offend them. Heck, some of our first dates were the old Ming Tree and Toys Cafe restaurants in Bellevue. Daniel is friends with the Louies folks of Ballard fame, so we are well connected.
As far as medical updates go, she is currently noshing on some thinned cream of wheat with a HUGE smile on her face. Kids have just showed up and they are forcing me to leave so that I can get some rest. I will tell them that I am heading straight home to bed. How will they know that I am making a beeline for the Ram Sports Bar at Northgate to check on the Hawks? Go Seahawks!
I have instructed them to update you guys shortly in matters medical. As for the Seahawks, as far as I know, they are banned in China too.
Not to brag, but I have one patient who lives in China. He is seeing me for an appointment next month. I suspect that he is coming back to Seattle to visit his mother and is throwing in a visit with me just because he is in town, but I prefer to reverse that and say that he's flying all the way over here to see me. He gets the award for my patient who lives the farthest away. All that to say that he has taken an interest in this whole Gabrielle journey, but has expressed frustration that the Chinese government has blocked access to this blog. For some reason, that sounds pretty exciting in a subversive sort of way. Makes me think that Gabrielle is one of those ragamuffins singing about when tomorrow comes on the barricades in Les Mis. Apart from China, people from eight countries, at last count, have been following her. So, perhaps we should rename the blog "the whole world (except the Chinese government) loves Gabrielle". I don't know what she did to offend them. Heck, some of our first dates were the old Ming Tree and Toys Cafe restaurants in Bellevue. Daniel is friends with the Louies folks of Ballard fame, so we are well connected.
As far as medical updates go, she is currently noshing on some thinned cream of wheat with a HUGE smile on her face. Kids have just showed up and they are forcing me to leave so that I can get some rest. I will tell them that I am heading straight home to bed. How will they know that I am making a beeline for the Ram Sports Bar at Northgate to check on the Hawks? Go Seahawks!
I have instructed them to update you guys shortly in matters medical. As for the Seahawks, as far as I know, they are banned in China too.
1/13/13 Sunday morning
7:30 AM
Steve here.
I got night duty and it went fairly well. She dozed much of the night in a light sleep. Can't get much deeper than that with the humming of the pumps and things like that. Once her fever and pain were addressed and knocked back, she was feeling more comfortable. Is still snoozing right now.
The day is dawning with pink skies to the east. To heck with that sailor's adage about "red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky at morn, sailors take warn". I prefer to think "red sky at morn, a good day to be born" (and to fight cancer, but that doesn't rhyme). Maybe I can work on it a little: red sky in the east, time to beat the beast? Red sky at dawn, cancer begone! Hey, I like this! The Bard's got nuthin' on me!
Mt. Rainier stands sentinel over the scene with one of those funky lenticular clouds sitting near the summit. It is always a good day when we can see the Mountain (see prior post about being capitalized). It will be a good day.
Now, one quick story. For those interested in medical updates, you could have stopped at the first paragraph. If you want to read Steve's anecdotes, fueled by hospital coffee and as good a night's sleep as one can be expected on a hospital cot, then read on.
Had a bit of a break yesterday and hightailed it to Golden Gardens. There is something about being at the seashore that always brings me solace. I was looking for something to bring back and came up with the following:
An oyster shell. It was rough on one side smooth on the other. Oysters, when giving grit and dirt turn it into something of real beauty, a pearl. That's what Gabrielle will do with this cancer.
A mussel shell. OK, a bit of a stretch here. It sounds like muscle (I guess they're homonyms, that's the word I'm looking for). Muscle reminds me of strength. Gabrielle has lots of that. So her blue mussel shell tells me she is strong and will marshal that strength to fight this, with every muscle she has. And when she is ready she would like to have a pot of mussels in coconut curry sauce (not too spicy please).
Some pieces of beach glass. It is just like the ocean to take something that is broken with sharp rugged edges and polish it off and turn it into a thing of beauty (thanks, by the way, to Dean and the boys for your contribution to the beach glass and shell collection as well yesterday). That is what is going to happen to the cancer. I like beach glass.
Here's to the dawn of a good day. Oh, and Go Seahawks!
Steve here.
I got night duty and it went fairly well. She dozed much of the night in a light sleep. Can't get much deeper than that with the humming of the pumps and things like that. Once her fever and pain were addressed and knocked back, she was feeling more comfortable. Is still snoozing right now.
The day is dawning with pink skies to the east. To heck with that sailor's adage about "red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky at morn, sailors take warn". I prefer to think "red sky at morn, a good day to be born" (and to fight cancer, but that doesn't rhyme). Maybe I can work on it a little: red sky in the east, time to beat the beast? Red sky at dawn, cancer begone! Hey, I like this! The Bard's got nuthin' on me!
Mt. Rainier stands sentinel over the scene with one of those funky lenticular clouds sitting near the summit. It is always a good day when we can see the Mountain (see prior post about being capitalized). It will be a good day.
Now, one quick story. For those interested in medical updates, you could have stopped at the first paragraph. If you want to read Steve's anecdotes, fueled by hospital coffee and as good a night's sleep as one can be expected on a hospital cot, then read on.
Had a bit of a break yesterday and hightailed it to Golden Gardens. There is something about being at the seashore that always brings me solace. I was looking for something to bring back and came up with the following:
An oyster shell. It was rough on one side smooth on the other. Oysters, when giving grit and dirt turn it into something of real beauty, a pearl. That's what Gabrielle will do with this cancer.
A mussel shell. OK, a bit of a stretch here. It sounds like muscle (I guess they're homonyms, that's the word I'm looking for). Muscle reminds me of strength. Gabrielle has lots of that. So her blue mussel shell tells me she is strong and will marshal that strength to fight this, with every muscle she has. And when she is ready she would like to have a pot of mussels in coconut curry sauce (not too spicy please).
Some pieces of beach glass. It is just like the ocean to take something that is broken with sharp rugged edges and polish it off and turn it into a thing of beauty (thanks, by the way, to Dean and the boys for your contribution to the beach glass and shell collection as well yesterday). That is what is going to happen to the cancer. I like beach glass.
Here's to the dawn of a good day. Oh, and Go Seahawks!
Saturday, January 12, 2013
1/12/13 Doing better!
Hey friends! Renee here. Just a quick update to let you know that my mom is doing so much better than she was a couple hours ago. Her amazing anesthesiologist, Dr. Escribano, came in and saved the day. He was able to get her pain under control and now she reports feeling only a 2 out of 10 on the pain scale! It turns out one of her IV tubes was kinked and she wasn't getting nearly enough meds. Dr. Escribano figured out the problem and got her all squared away. He'll also be back in the middle of the night to check on her, which is a huge relief to her. He's so encouraging and is very pleased with my mom's progress. She looks like a happy little stoner over there now sipping her "horrible" chicken broth and choking down some "sickeningly sweet" Jell-O. If the food quality is her biggest complaint right now, I think we're doing OK.
Oh, Dr. Escribano also explained that her fever is probably just a symptom of her shallower breathing due to surgery pain--NOT and infection, thank goodness! The fever should pass before too long, and it's nothing to worry about.
My mom says Dr. Escribano is her hero tonight. As for me, I have all sorts of heroes on this adventure so far: all the compassionate nurses, the brilliantly skilled doctors, my endlessly thoughtful brother, my brave dad, our overwhelmingly supportive friends and family, and of course my incredible mom (just to name a few)! In spite of all the chaos of this week, I continue to feel surprisingly peaceful and grateful.
God has brought us through every trial in our lives so far, and we're confident He'll bring us through this one too. "Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come; 'Twas grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home!"
Oh, Dr. Escribano also explained that her fever is probably just a symptom of her shallower breathing due to surgery pain--NOT and infection, thank goodness! The fever should pass before too long, and it's nothing to worry about.
My mom says Dr. Escribano is her hero tonight. As for me, I have all sorts of heroes on this adventure so far: all the compassionate nurses, the brilliantly skilled doctors, my endlessly thoughtful brother, my brave dad, our overwhelmingly supportive friends and family, and of course my incredible mom (just to name a few)! In spite of all the chaos of this week, I continue to feel surprisingly peaceful and grateful.
God has brought us through every trial in our lives so far, and we're confident He'll bring us through this one too. "Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come; 'Twas grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home!"
1/12/13 Saturday evening
7:00 P.M.
Not doing great right now. Earlier in the afternoon, she was much perkier. Has been up and walking. Took two walks (being careful to add an extra gown so as not to add to the upcoming full moon in the sky) and did quite well. Ate two servings of Jello. Let's see now, that's a total of 200 calories in the last four days. We are waiting for some chicken broth to be sent up from the cafeteria. When Sara, the nurse's aid, asked Gabrielle what she wanted, broth-wise, she offered the choice of beef, chicken or vegetable. Gabrielle quickly said, "chicken", to which I added: "She only wants broth from free-range organic chickens from the People's Cooperative Collective in Sequim". For some reason that resulted in a blank stare from Sara. After Sara left to hunt down the aforementioned free-range broth, Renee reminded me, yet again, that people don't understand me. She's been reminding me of that for years and I still say things like that.
As for Gabrielle, pain is getting worse right now. Rates it as an 8 out of 10. Has called for the anesthesiologist who has ordered up a bolus dose of Dilaudid and will be up shortly after he is done with a C-section. I suppose that's reasonable. She is also having a fever: 100.6. An hour ago, it was 100. If it gets a little higher, she gets blood cultures to look for infection. Just got some Tylenol on board, so that should help. A moment ago, for the first time since checking in to Hotel Northwest, a tiny frown came across her face, indicating she's having a tough go.
But, good things along the way: on her walk, she paused at the gathering area adjacent to the elevator where she was delighted to see a delightful pink glow across the sky and Mt. Rainier in the distance. She planted herself and reflected on the time that she climbed that mountain as if it were a walk in the park.
Speaking of Mt. Rainier, our dear friend, Frank Minton came by to visit two days ago. He's the one who led the ascent of Mt. Rainier. In our visitor's log, he wrote the most encouraging words as they pertained to Gabrielle, the Mountain (summiters always capitalize it...kind of a cool thing to do), and her current struggle. I would like to quote him as we were all so touched by his wise words. I hope you don't mind, Frank.
From Frank:
Gabrielle,
Remember when we climbed Mt. Rainier that the ascent became increasingly difficult, the yawning crevasses were scary, each step was painful, and you were tempted more than once to stop. Yet, you persevered and reached the top. The next day, as you met people struggling upwards, you could flash a high five saying "I made it".
This evening of January 10 you are figuratively at Camp Muir and you have challenges ahead, but you have the faith and will power to triumph this time too. On Mt. Rainier only four people were on your rope, but this time scores of friends who love and admire you are on your rope team.
We will be with you as you progress, and our thoughts and prayers are especially with you during surgery.
Wise words from a wise man. Here's to everyone on her rope team. You guys are amazing.
Not doing great right now. Earlier in the afternoon, she was much perkier. Has been up and walking. Took two walks (being careful to add an extra gown so as not to add to the upcoming full moon in the sky) and did quite well. Ate two servings of Jello. Let's see now, that's a total of 200 calories in the last four days. We are waiting for some chicken broth to be sent up from the cafeteria. When Sara, the nurse's aid, asked Gabrielle what she wanted, broth-wise, she offered the choice of beef, chicken or vegetable. Gabrielle quickly said, "chicken", to which I added: "She only wants broth from free-range organic chickens from the People's Cooperative Collective in Sequim". For some reason that resulted in a blank stare from Sara. After Sara left to hunt down the aforementioned free-range broth, Renee reminded me, yet again, that people don't understand me. She's been reminding me of that for years and I still say things like that.
As for Gabrielle, pain is getting worse right now. Rates it as an 8 out of 10. Has called for the anesthesiologist who has ordered up a bolus dose of Dilaudid and will be up shortly after he is done with a C-section. I suppose that's reasonable. She is also having a fever: 100.6. An hour ago, it was 100. If it gets a little higher, she gets blood cultures to look for infection. Just got some Tylenol on board, so that should help. A moment ago, for the first time since checking in to Hotel Northwest, a tiny frown came across her face, indicating she's having a tough go.
But, good things along the way: on her walk, she paused at the gathering area adjacent to the elevator where she was delighted to see a delightful pink glow across the sky and Mt. Rainier in the distance. She planted herself and reflected on the time that she climbed that mountain as if it were a walk in the park.
Speaking of Mt. Rainier, our dear friend, Frank Minton came by to visit two days ago. He's the one who led the ascent of Mt. Rainier. In our visitor's log, he wrote the most encouraging words as they pertained to Gabrielle, the Mountain (summiters always capitalize it...kind of a cool thing to do), and her current struggle. I would like to quote him as we were all so touched by his wise words. I hope you don't mind, Frank.
From Frank:
Gabrielle,
Remember when we climbed Mt. Rainier that the ascent became increasingly difficult, the yawning crevasses were scary, each step was painful, and you were tempted more than once to stop. Yet, you persevered and reached the top. The next day, as you met people struggling upwards, you could flash a high five saying "I made it".
This evening of January 10 you are figuratively at Camp Muir and you have challenges ahead, but you have the faith and will power to triumph this time too. On Mt. Rainier only four people were on your rope, but this time scores of friends who love and admire you are on your rope team.
We will be with you as you progress, and our thoughts and prayers are especially with you during surgery.
Wise words from a wise man. Here's to everyone on her rope team. You guys are amazing.
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