Into the storm

Yesterday our drive to Minnesota seemed pretty uneventful. Karl and Mom took turns napping until I hit a bump or a song was louder than the one it succeeded. That is, until we hit just west of Camp Douglas National Guard Base on I-90/94 in Wisconsin. (It must be noted here that we stopped at a gas station at the Camp Douglas exit where Mom bought “squeaky fresh” cheese curds. We wondered what “squeaky fresh” meant, until we had a few curds and it actually squeaked against our teeth. They are yummy and I highly recommend them!)

As we traveled on, the sky grew cloudier and darker. Finally as we took the I-90 fork to the south you could see the sky was turning a strange greenish color -- the color you see when the weather is severe and usually packs damaging winds, hail, torrents of rain and even tornadoes. I kept saying, “We’re heading right into it Karl. It’s going to get nasty.” He said, “Naah, we’re going to miss it. We’re going to turn away from it.” Then we rounded a corner and headed dead-on into the storm. About 300 yards ahead you could see that a wall of heavy rain was waiting for us. On we drove. First there will large drops of rain and then, boom, it broke loose. The wind blew the car off course a bit and the rain was so heavy that I slowed to 40 mph. Both hands were on the steering wheel. I leaned forward to get a better look at the road ahead. Cars and semis had pulled off onto the shoulder.

I asked Karl if we should pull over. He said, “Naah, let’s keep going.” On I went, not knowing if a tornado was ahead, if a semi had jack-knifed in the road ahead, or if I’d hydroplane out of control.

It dawned on me last night that Karl has approached this illness with the same attitude. So far he has plowed through, persevered, pressed on. Nothing, not even a maelstrom of complications that appeared today, will keep Karl from weathering this storm.

Today started at 8 a.m. with a pre-surgical meeting in which redundant questions were repeated over and over (please note my redundancy). They need to make sure they get it right, they explained. That meeting ended by having the nurse and respiratory therapist tell us that the surgical team assembled for Karl’s surgery is impressive, even by Mayo’s standards. That certainly gave us confidence.

Next we met with the vascular surgeon Dr. Thomas Bower, who by divine intervention in my opinion, had a surgery cancellation for next Wednesday and took on Karl’s case. Our meeting with Dr. Bower may have saved Karl’s life. But I’ll get to that later. After explaining his role in Karl’s surgery, he acknowledged that he knew what Karl was going through…that several years ago he was diagnosed with colon cancer that involved 14 of 17 lymph nodes. He said this team of surgeons tends to be very aggressive. Because of his experience with cancer they want to attack it and get rid of it. There is something very comforting about having a physician who has had a similar experience take care of your loved one. Plus, he had a great sense of humor. I asked if he had a pretty steady hand, if he had any palsy, ticks or tremors. With a big smile on his face he stretched out his hand and wryly said, “Ice in the veins.”

Now to the life-saving part. Dr. Bower noticed that Karl’s left leg was swollen and so, “just to be on the safe side,” ordered a Doppler.

After the Doppler study, we had a meeting with Dr. Franklin Sim, who along with Dr. Michael Yaszemski, is an orthopedic surgeon who will carefully remove the tumor and “just enough” tissue around it to have clear, cancer-free margins. He got on the phone with Dr. Yaszemski and mentioned something about a blood clot found on the Doppler behind Karl’s left knee. He nonchalantly asked about postponing the surgery, or drug therapy, or an IVC filter. Needless to say, our eyes bugged out and our spirits dropped. He then scheduled an appointment with the thrombophilia clinic to evaluate Karl’s case. I don’t know about Mom or Karl, but my stomach was churning.

Dr. Wysokinski, with whom we counseled about Karl’s thrombosis during a 5 p.m. appointment, explained this is common in cancer patients. The bottom line is that Karl will now need heparin injections to thin the blood. On Monday he will undergo a procedure (probably with Dr. McBride, who he described as a "master" in this area) to receive a temporary inferior vena cava filter which stops blood clots from traveling to the lungs or heart, thereby saving his life. (Dr. Wysokinski was also impressed with Karl’s team of surgeons and said they are the best team available and again put us at ease. He said Dr. Bower may have saved his life by ordering the Doppler and marveled at the fact that it was ordered.) Karl will need heparin injections until he finishes chemotherapy and then will need Coumadin until he is cancer free.

As we crossed the Mississippi River yesterday into Minnesota, the rain lightened. The clouds broke and some clung closely like thin wisps of fog over the hills and valleys near the Mississippi. As we came closer to Rochester, the skies began to brighten and were clear light blue. Then as we entered the city, the sun was bright and even glared off the buildings of the Mayo Clinic.

The symbolism is pretty clear to me. God will help Karl weather this storm. And there will be a storm. We heard rumbles of thunder today and yet the right people were at the right place at the right time to order the right tests. Try to tell me God isn't with us. Just like yesterday, Karl needs to drive through and pay no attention to the vehicles stopped on the side of the road because on the other side of the storm are bright blue skies and sunny weather.

Peace and love,

Kerry