Post Surgery
I’m resting at a hotel in Bartlesville, a day after having radioactive spheres injected into my liver.
The surgery was done by Dr. Coldwell, a Dallas surgeon who comes to Bartlesville one week out of every month, primarily to do this particular surgery on people like me. He’s an extremely nice man, and it’s clear the hospital staff loves him. He is one of the country’s leading experts on this particular procedure, which is quick, but rather tricky.
I arrived in my old hometown on Monday night. Can’t claim to have been in a good mood, however. I was pretty down, really, for me, and I spent the time alone, reflecting on everything that’s messed up in my life.
After this pity party, I tried to get some decent sleep, for I was due to arrive early at Jane Phillips Memorial Hospital on Tuesday at 6:30 a.m. This is the same hospital where two of my sisters were born, by the way, and it’s about a mile from the house where I grew up.
On Tuesday I would have a “pre-procedure” with the actual procedure to follow the next day. For the pre-procedure, Dr. Coldwell would inject a dye into my liver to make sure the radioactive spheres would not travel to my stomach, which would cause an ulcer, or my lungs, which could kill me.
As I left my hotel room, a thunderstorm was brewing up. The sky was green, churning and swirling, and I expected the tornado sirens to go off at any moment. This was fairly ironic, for my fascination with all things weather began in 1980, when I watched from my bedroom window as a tornado dropped down upon Bartlesville and then lifted right over Jane Phillips Memorial.
I made it to the hospital, of course, and ran inside just as the rain began pelting down. Before too long I was chatting with Linda, a kind nurse who also had colon cancer that spread to her liver. She’s had a liver resection and seems to have beaten it, for now, but we spoke a lot about the ongoing emotional battles people like us face.
They soon wheeled me into the surgery room and gave me a drug “margarita” through my port. The drugs would prevent me feeling pain, but would not knock me out entirely. Two nurses, age 29 and 45, were helping with the procedure. One brought out a trusty electric razor and began shaving my groin, while the other assisted by adjusting my gown from time to time while speaking to me about her back surgery. Yikes!
I got fairly loopy at some point, apparently, and began reciting poetry. I’m a total wimp when it comes to medication, so I slept through most of the procedure.
Everything went well, I’m told, and I was dismissed from the hospital at about noon. My parents picked me up and we went out to eat at Outlaw’s Chophouse, a nice restaurant owned by my old high school buddy, Rhonda Bailey Parnell and her husband Dave Parnell. Then I went back to the hotel and crashed.
My family arrived late in the afternoon. We went to Dink’s Barbeque, our favorite Bartlesville restaurant, then caught a movie.
On Wednesday, it was the same procedure all over again, except this time they injected the radioactive spheres, rather than the dye, and the nurses shaved the left side of my groin rather than the right. I didn’t recite any poetry this time, to my knowledge. Instead we chatted about movies and restaurants.
I left the hospital in the middle afternoon and went back to the hotel. My family headed back to Norman, for they had appointments. I crashed hard and woke up hours later, feeling fairly miserable. My chest was sore and bloated, so I sat in bed trying to drink something and feel better. But this didn’t help much.
A group of my old Bartlesville friends were gathering that night. Jim Bishop, who was the best man in my wedding, and his wife Melissa were staying at the home of our good friends, the Harrisons. Dana Brock Cross and Jennifer Williams McKissick were there too, and the Tucker’s daughter Kim would arrive after an OK Mozart event she was attending. They wanted me to come over if I was up to it, but I was feeling pretty lousy.
So I had a choice to make. I could sit in my room and feel lousy or I could go join my friends, feeling lousy but making a memory. For me, a decision like that is a no brainer, for friendship is about 80% of what matters in this world. I joined my friends, and I’m really glad I did.
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Comments
Glad to hear the procedure went well…hope you get to feeling better soon….take care johnna rosenthal
Congratulations on your dose of “little magic beads.” They have given me years of fun with daughters, even allowing me to be present for their graduations, more anniversaries with my husband, and a reason to celebrate every day! May they bring you the same time and hope.
Dr. Coldwell is awesome!
Hope you are feeling better now, but give yourself time to rest and rejuvenate!
Suzanne
Your friends are so damn lucky to have you in their life, Jim. Good thoughts heading your way. Always.
Thanks for the update. I hope you’re feeling better since then. Hang in there!