The ICU doctors asked me and Karen if we had a recessitation order. How many times should they try?
Tears came to my eyes and Karen and I just looked to each other, stunned. It was immediately sobering realizing the severity of my condition.
Backing up just a bit, I was in the hospital after suffering from what had started as fevers and chills and had escalated to a critical blood infection with abscesses in my liver. I was in sepsis. That’s when bacteria invades the blood and basically tells the body to start shutting down. My heart was fluttering, my blood pressure was below 70, I was throwing up, my fever was high and I was shaking uncontrollably.
The ICU doctor thought I was dying. It never occurred to me—I just knew I felt horrible. A few days later, my oncologist told Karen that she’d saved my life—literally—by getting me to the Emergency Room just as my body began failing. I had almost died.
So began a long bad journey from near-death to a removal of 2/3’rds of my liver and 12 weeks of a strenuous recovery. It was horrible from start to finish.
I spent several weeks in the hospital very ill before all of the doctors agreed that the only way to heal the abscesses and blood infection was to remove the sources of the infection. The surgery would be radical—4-6 hours to shave off most of my liver and get rid of all the mess. The remaining liver was healthy and the liver regrows. It was a chance to start over, relatively speaking.
I awoke from the surgery in pain, confused and afraid. My family informed me that the surgery was a success and that while they had my liver exposed they did an ultrasound and found no tumors in the good part of the remaining liver. So it was a great relief. In days I was feeling great—the infection was gone. I was released within a week. Sent home to spend 12 weeks healing from a severe incision that was leaking profusely, returning to eating after having lost 30 pounds, and learning to sleep and walk again. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Looking back, now, I realize that the hardest part was mental. Sure, the healing was tough. I was completely without energy and could barely make it through a day upright. My wound was open and healing slower than normal. My body was swollen from water retention. I couldn’t sleep. Every day was a battle. But again, the worst part was mental as I had way too much time to wonder if I’d ever be healthy again and resume a life worth living.
Karen drove me hard—she took me on errands and got me to walk. Every trip ended up with me back in the car—I couldn’t last more than 15 minutes. She got me to hold Jonah and out for short walks in his stroller. She fixed up the hammock in the back for me and I laid there for hours soaking up the healing sun. She helped me eat again. She wouldn’t let me lay on the couch all day even though my body longed to. She took me to New Orleans for my brother in law’s triathlon and ‘made’ me enjoy the scenery, odd collection of people, and amazing food. Her efforts paid off—I started gaining stamina, was laughing more, and began to believe there was life yet to live.
Fast forward and here I am working again, riding my Harley, spending time with family, loving Jonah, eating well, painting some, and feeling great—physically and mentally. Life has returned. It was almost as if, at the 12 week mark, I woke up feeling as if I was back to normal. My liver regrew to 95% its original size and my weight was back up to a healthy range. I am sleeping normally. It’s a great life, again.
So, behind me is the pain, the nasty weeping 6 inch incision, the high fevers and excessive vomiting, the lack of energy to stand, the constant digestive issues, the sore joints, and most of the worry. Ahead is life with my loving and supporting family and friends and lots of miles on the bike. With a few good paintings in there too.
Karen saved my life and I am so thankful, even though now she expects me to do chores, lift things, and get up and on with ‘it’. I am blessed.
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