An update, live from Cleveland




Lord, take me where You want me to go;
Let me meet who You want me to meet;
Tell me what You want me to say,
and keep me out of Your way.
- Fr Mychal Judge

Throughout the events of the past five weeks, I have struggled mightily to stay positive, to trust in God's plan,  and to sincerely believe that at some point, my life would return to something that would be different, but something I would recognize as "normal."
Yesterday was the first time I doubted all of those things, and just got angry. Here's the backstory:
Last Wednesday was just about the best day I have had since The Diagnosis back in March. I went to Youth Group at church, and it was great to be back with my friends and the students for the night. I had a dynamite talk with Deacon Joe Malenfant from Maumee about faith, healing, and recovery. I felt like I was really turning a corner, both psychologically and physically. Thursday, I was still full of it. I made a big pot of white chicken chili, frosted and decorated a birthday cake for Jophus that night, and spent two hours painstakingly lettering a prayer flag that mom's cousin Janet got for me. I was really wiped out at then end of the night, and noticed what felt li ke a muscle pull, and a bunch of pressure in what my sophomore history teacher artfully called the "doobie and clackers." I figured I pulled a muscle with all of the stuff I had done that day, and the awkward manner in which I had to do it because of the large belly incision. Friday morning, the pain was a little worse, and I decided to sit all day with the leg up, and iced, to bring down what I assumed was inflammation.
By Saturday morning, the pain had spread a little further north toward the belly, and in the afternoon, my intuition and that of a lot of my friends and family was that I had blown a hernia.  So I sat around feeling sorry for myself that I'd have to have outpatient hernia surgery. But that day was J2's birthday party, and the next day was E's first communion. So I resolved to gut out the pain until I could get into my family doctor on Monday, and not miss these family events. I made it through J2's party, but by 10 pm the pain was getting more intense in my leg, and it hurt to stand on it. I fell asleep for y about two hours, and then at 0130, I woke up Katie with my moaning, and we took the sheets of the bed. My left leg was about half again as large as my right leg, and a sickening shade of purple.
For the first time in this whole journey, going back to the initial diagnosis of cancer on March 31, I had a real fear of imminent death. Katie called my dad to come over to stay with the kids, but as I tried to stand up - and couldnt bear weight on my left leg, I panicked more and more. I told her we needed to leave immediately or get an ambulance. She called our neighbor (and saint!) Bob, who came and sat with the kids while she drove me to the Wood County ER. Now, weird side note. We live exactly one mile from Four Corners, but we could hear bar noise all the way in our neighborhood. It was eerie, almost the sound of riot.
When we got to the ER, it looked like a riot must have happened downtown. A couple frat boys were in the waiting room swearing worse than anything I ever heard from sailors. A bunch of party girls were there because of a friend with alcohol poisoning or some such. The intake nurse, I think, had pity on us and moved me up in the queue. They quickly got me back to the exam rooms, and shot me up with morphine. The nurse said I was one of only two people "legitimately ill," and not suffering from "brown bottle syndrome." The ER doc said it was almost certain I had a blood clot in the leg, and called the Clinic for guidance. They were back and a forth with the Clinic from 0230 through 0500. The Clinic said they wanted me back there instead of at WCH, and arranged ambulance transfer for me. My dad came over, and rode in the ambulance with me. It was truly miserable- I had my last pain mess at 0610, and we hit the road at 0645. The driving rain made the trip slower, and I essentially went three bumpy hours strapped to a stretcher and off meds. I've never been so glad to get in a hospital as I was when we pulled in the port at the Clinics ER.
I wasn't in my room for too long before they sent me down for an ultrasound, which was incredibly painful as they jammed the sensor deep in the swollen flesh of my leg to get an accurate picture. What they found surprised them, and doubly surprised me; a clot extending from my pelvis down to mid calf. Absolutely enormous, as these things go. I met with my original surgeon, Dr K, and he told me the course of action - injected blood thinner, and then transitioning to coumarin. He was very optimistic, as always, and made me feel pretty good. As the pain management grew better, I felt pretty damn good as the day moved on, other than the leg. Then the vascular guys came in.
These two dudes just freaked me out. They said that the clot is so big, and my surgery so recent, that they can't eliminate it in the manner they would with a normal person. Therefore, the best we can hope for is to reduce it, and deal with the effects of having reduced capacity in that leg for the rest of my life. This will include wearing support socks virtually 24/7, and the end of running hard or over long distance, unless I am lucky enough to have the clot dissipate naturally.
Like I said earlier, I'm trying to accept that whatever happens is Gods will, and I'm trying to look at the bright side, and I'm trying to find grace, but to be honest, this really pissed me off and continues to make me sad, fearful, and angry. Running replaced a lot of unhealthy things in my life, and has become part of my self-identity for the past year, and to have it diminished at the least, and gone at the worst just makes me terribly angry, especially after the cancer problems. I feel like I can handle one major crisis, and recalibrate my diet, my lifestyle, and my expectations around it. But to get hit with a second major thing in four weeks just enrages me, especially when it can potentially take away one of the few physical pleasures I have allowed my self since quitting smoking, quitting drinking, changing my diet, and trying to grow in faith over the past ten years. I just wonder, what else? What more does God expect me to handle?
I'm still praying for a miracle, and I'm working my ass off here to do the things they tell me to do - they told me to get out of bed five times today, and I turned every out of bed into a fairly long and painful walk around the ward to get those veins moving and healthy. I'm counting again on the intercession of Blessed John Paul II - My cancer diagnosis came near the anniversary of his death, and this diagnosis came the very day of his beatification. I just know that his intercession is key to my recovery. Still. I guess as an asthmatic with bad knees who worked up to half marathons, I've beaten physical limitations before, I just hope I can again.
It's not all doom and gloom here. I'm back on the same floor of the hospital, and I love the staff here. Most of them remembered me, and they're just some of the coolest people I have ever met. They are everything you expect not just of medical professionals, but as children of God. I am constantly amazed by them. The food is also pretty damn good, as far as hospital food goes. Katie has kept me flush with contraband Vernors, and cookies and cream bars. My room has STO this time, so I can watch the Tribe games. On Sunday, the whole floor was cheering when the Indians pulled out the walk off win against the Tigers. And later that night, there was muted clapping up and down the hall at midnight when the president announced bin Laden's demise. So there's kind of a sense of community here, which is nice if I have to be stuck here until next week. I also got a roommate today, a younger guy who sounds like he got kidneyjacked, too. He seems like an ok guy.
My love goes out to all of you,and I thank you again for your renewed prayers.