I am pleased to reportgood news regarding my prostate surgery that took place on August 15th. Notably I survived. There were a few moments that I felt I would have to get better to die but thanks to your support and the unbelievable nursing of Pat, Amy, Kendall, Champ, my sister Dora and brother in law Rich, I am back to my commitment: live until I die. The next good news, no let's make that great, is that the pathology reported that the lymph nodes were clear and that the surgical margin, although close, was clear of cancer. Sitting here ten days after entering the surgical protocol I am reasonably free of pain, holding my own with post surgical issues and regaining strength to hopefully resume my passion for life, my family, you my friends and succession planning. My surgeon has stated that next Tuesday I can step back into an active routine excepting that for another two weeks I can not do any lifting or other specific activities that could convert one of these four abdominal wounds into a hernia. Is God great or what?
For those of you interestedin my passage through the "valley," nine of the last eleven days were pretty dark. Your visits, prayers, cards, calls, flowers, gift baskets and emails were very instrumental in helping me, Pat and family through these challenging days. From the deepest level of my heart and soul Pat and I thank you for your help and we will continually seek ways that we can stand in the gap for you. The fundamental revelation of this experience is that there is an army of brethren out there who are just waiting for the opportunity to exercise their faith in the healing hand of the Lord on our behalf. To not allow your friends to participate in your trials and tribulations is to withhold them from an opportunity to exercise and be blessed through the experience.
Our family went over to St. Pete the weekend of August 12th to relax and position ourselvesfor the surgery which was to take place in Tampa the following Tuesday. Sunday evening, forty hours before the surgery I was instructed to begin fasting of everything but clear liquids as well as do a colon prep in the event of surgical complications. In retrospect I now better understand why the robotic surgery is described as being very easy. I will have to admit that as compared to being starved for a couple of days, when we arrived at the hospital Tuesday morning, surgery looked like a great opportunity to get fed again.
The presurgical processing was as anticipated other than the "ring thing." Just as anticipated witha well refined surgical program, I was out of my cloths, on a gurney and hooked up to an I. V. in what seemed like less than ten minutes. While laying on the gurney and being asked the same allergy questions by three different anesthesiologists, a surgical nurse noticed that the processing nurses had not been able to remove my wedding band. Earlier the processing nurse had unsuccessfully applied all of her skill and accepting that it wasn't coming off had taped it down. However, the three anesthesiologists gathered and committed themselves to the challenge of removing the ring noting that they had never encountered a wedding band they could not remove. Recognizing I was already half way in the bag from the I. V. juice, one grabbed my wrist stabilized through her arm pit, another stabilized my ring finger and guru of the team worked the ring for about fifteen minutes. While constantly yelling, "Mr. Rawls does that hurt" they grunted gowned and tugged. As reflective of a significant finger bruise, the changing color of my finger must have motivated concern that they were about to dislocate the knuckle. However, due to the fine juice, I was feeling no pain and was unconcerned other than a fear of being jerked off the gurney. They took so much time that the classically impatient surgeon came out of the operating room to see if he had been abandoned. He offered a couple of jokes about the apparent lack of dexterity of an anesthesiologist and how many anesthesiologist are required to change a light bulb. Ultimately, I give kudos to the gas gang because while giving reasonable odds that I was going to need an orthopedic surgeon before a urologist, they won and celebrated like little leaguers when the ring came off.
As I personally expected, the actual surgical procedure was a snap because immediately after noticing the amazing indention in my finger in lieu of a ring, I was out. Maybe they jacked up the juice to make up for the traumatized finger. Four hours later when I awoke I was amazed to learn that the prostate was out and the catheter was in. I was feeling no pain but just the thought of that catheter put me ill at ease. As you might expect, the rest of Tuesday was a blur other than the nurses predictably waking me up to make sure I was comfortable. No doubt I slept better than Pat who apparently wrestled all evening with a reclining chair.
Afterthis drug assisted evening, the surgeon bopped in the next morning about 10 AM, and of course his first comment was "how's the finger?" He quickly transitioned into stating that the surgery went very well and telling me I was going to be just fine. A great surgeon I hope he is but a bed side communicator he is not. In a flash he pulled back the covers, removed a drain tube and said go home and take it easy. As though he had a pressing tee time, he was gone. An hour later, less than 24 hrs after going under the robotic knife I was riding Interstate 4 with the family back to Orlando. What should have been a simple two hour trip became progressively more stressful as we recognized that I had not receive any departing pain medication. Net result, I can remember every bump in the newly resurfaced I-4.
Upon arriving homethe first mission was to fill the vicodin prescription. The "bottom" and belly pain became up front and personal. A couple hours later, I was relieved of significant pain other than to say that nothing seemed to overcome the actual or perceived pain of the catheter. The excitement of trying to get out of a chair or go to the bathroom achieved previously unimaginable levels. As I settled into "house arrest" with the darkside handicap of the catheter my outlook was greatly brightened by your visits, cards, letters and get-well encouragement gifts. Again I was overwhelmed and stand as a witness to the comforting hand and healing power of the love of family and friends.
From a more bizarre perspective, the prescribed pain medicationI confirmed what many of you have recognized for a long time, I am weird. Yes, the vicodin relieved the pain but unfortunately it also revved me up like "speed." Although I was free of significant pain, I did not sleep for the next four nights. "Where was that stuff during college!!" In the wee hours of the evening, it was just me, my catheter, HBO and Pat saying "are you still awake?" A desperation prescription for an antidepressant and a sleep drug could not even overcome the bizarre stimulation of the vicodin. Pat described me as a "deer in the headlights" as I restlessly stumbled around the house carrying the catheter. I don't know who was more weary, me or Pat because as you know it is difficult for one to sleep and one to ramble in the same bed? After my doctor confirmed what you have known (being weird) for some time, I gave up all drugs in search of relaxation and sleep. Subsequently the sixth day after surgery (Monday) was exhaustion day which manifested itself as pain from every pore of my body. The impact of the surgery and the sleep deprivation just finally hammered me.
After a decent night's sleep, Tuesday was a noticeably better day. Tuesday was also brighter in anticipation of the Dr.'s visit on Wed for the removal of the catheter. But of course, after living with that thing for a week I was also in wonderment of what I should expect when it was removed. Wed and the removal of the catheter met every favorable expectation. Maybe I overreacted but irrespective of the norm or my surgeon's smart-mouth nurse who claimed catheters were great because you do not to have get up to go to the toilet, I did not do well with that bugger. As soon as that catheter was removed on Wed morning, there was light at the end of the tunnel, Florida's ambient temperature dropped ten degrees and my wine glass immediately became half full. No doubt the very good pathology report also lifted my spirits. There is no prescribed follow up treatment other than to monitor my PSA closely. I did not even mind hanging around for a few hours to prove that I could empty my bladder without that stupid catheter. Trust me, I would have had Pat jump on my belly before I have allowed them to put it back in.
Again the checkup by the surgeon was brief. On inquiry Dr. Mastandria did say that he did not play golf so I think he is just not the patronizing type. The only real information we got including the pathology report was responses to the questions we asked. Unfortunately, we are currently finding out that we did not know all the questions. Surgeons may be artists but they are not notably good communicators.
I timidly walked with Pat and the family in a mall for a few hours before the afternoon appointment. This was incident free other than an encounter with another gentleman who had the same surgery on the same day and was also killing time before returning to have the bladder check. This gentleman after hearing my storybragged that he had encountered no pain, slept like a baby and apparently loved the catheter. I was impressed that he was dancing around while I was walking gingerly but privately I wanted to coke him. Pat was similarly effected and we consoled ourselves by resolving that this was not a competition. Then we agreed we would beat him back to the doctor for bladder clearance so we would not have to listen to any more of his gloating. Actually, I am now happy for the dude but at the time, our patience had just hit a low.
By 2:30 that (Wed) afternoon, we were the first (we won something) to be released by chatty Mastandria and were on I-4 heading back to Orlando. This was a much better ride! The road was now smooth as glass, the grass looked greener, the traffic was lighter, life was better.Words do not describe how good it was to go to bed without the catheter that evening. Thursday I was feeling better and here we are Friday and I am no longer wearing Depends and progressively feeling better. I am not ready for belly laughs or sit-ups but I also no longer look like an eighty year old hunch back. I pop a couple a Motrin whenever I begin to ache, take a power nap and continue to do as Pat tells me. Since I too admit that I am crazy, I am relying upon her good judgment to keep me from hurting myself. Other than having my cruise control stuck at 55, I am pleased to say that my biggest issue is leg cramps. It looks like I'll continue to lay low until mid next week and then hopefully (if Pat agrees) begin spending a few hours a day in the office. I anticipate returning to a reasonably normal schedule after Labor Day. But not to worry, if you need to chat, give me a call. I would love to speak even at home unless I am taking one of those siestas that seem to jump on me several times per day.
So again, thanks for your support and concern. It continues to be a challenge to comprehend the support group that is there for me to call upon. In the last few days I learned that a lady whom our family has known very closely was diagnosed with breast cancer in January of this year. Inquiring with other mutual friends, no one seems to know about the diagnosis, the prognosis or the treatment. Apparently she did not want to burden anyone with her problems or possibly she only wanted the confirmed faithful to be praying for her. I pity this lady as she does not understand that she deprived me and my family the opportunity to life our faith own her behalf. I believe we are all better off with the well wishes, cerebral prayer and deep spiritual prayer from anyone who will offer. I am regaining my game and I am confidently expecting a total healing based upon the support you have been giving me.
Major teary-eyed thanks to Pat and the kids who literally moved in with me and refused to allow me to get depressed. They are continuing to be my heart and soul. Pat is an example that true love knows no limits. I believe that as a result of this experience, I believe I am a healthier man and a better husband, father, friend, counselor and child of God. I now know not to postpone the important things in life because we may not get another opportunity. I humbly understand there are those that are reading our daily walks and we are making impressions, positive and negative,with everything we do as opposed to very little of what we say. Always priding myself as a giver, you have helped me also become a receiver of love and I now better understand that the best givers are those that also have had the experience of receiving. I would appreciate the opportunity to give by ministering to anyone you encounter who is going to deal with the same challenge. Unfortunately the numbers are growing. Succession planning is about giving clients the comfort of knowing they have a facilitator that has been where they are going. I believe addressing prostate cancer can be impacted with the same form of ministry. I would be honored to share my experience with anyone you refer.
Cherish each moment. Appreciate your family. Keep the Faith as this is your greatest power. And by all means, live til you die.
I'll keep you updated.
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