Tiger Woods really doesn't interest me. I mean, he's cool and all, and despite the fact that he's a hell of a golfer...watching him walk around a course all afternoon with sweat-soaked (and mildly unattractive) pants is not my idea of fun.
Dad, however, has always enjoyed watching golf. I've never really understood why; it's just so boring...but he's always had the Open, the Masters, or whatever other tourney that's being played on the TV on Saturday and Sunday afternoons.
Today, after a few laps around the 7th floor, I watched golf with Dad for awhile. And I've never enjoyed it more. It's important to be able to sit with him and let him know that we are there, feeling the same anxiety about wanting to get the hell out of that place. It's important for him to know we feel every bit of his pain and wish that we could take it all away.
I know if you're readin' this, you're sending the best positive energy directed to the east side of Cleveland. And if I had one request tonight -- it would be to crank up those good vibes just a little stronger -- so Dad can get comfortable, get some rest, and get to gettin' out.
Off to enjoy this comfortable patio and a nice dinner that isn't within walking distance of the hospital. More updates tomorrow...and thanks for checking in on us!
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Seeing Is Believing
Wow.
I started to type some sort of an into to this post, but erasing it all and replacing it with the single word above is probably more appropriate.
Nothing can ever prepare you for seeing someone you love in a hospital. I arrived in Cleveland last night late, about 10:30, and Mom asked me if I wanted to go over and see him. She knew I did. So we went.
I could tell Dad was happy I was there, even though he was in some discomfort. Which leads us to where we are now -- the part where artificial, medical things wind down and the real body takes back over. That transition process is not the most fun. For now, there's a lot of functions kicking back in -- so there is some moderate discomfort from things like gas.
Another of Dr. Fergony's (I hope I'm finally spelling his name right now) residents stopped in today. They said Dad is continuing to look great. The resident pulled some of the stents out that were helping things drain, and hopefully tomorrow we can start to get rid of more of those tubes. Mom asked if Dr. Fergony would be coming by today, and the resident said "he'll only come by if one of his patients is really sick. And I'm sorry, but your husband just doesn't fit into that category." Onward!
I'm heading back over to the Clinic to do 'horseshoes' with Dad (that's the laps) and to give him his iPod back (somehow the 'volume limit' thing got enabled with a password. WTF is that?)
Thanks for checking in. More later!
I started to type some sort of an into to this post, but erasing it all and replacing it with the single word above is probably more appropriate.
Nothing can ever prepare you for seeing someone you love in a hospital. I arrived in Cleveland last night late, about 10:30, and Mom asked me if I wanted to go over and see him. She knew I did. So we went.
I could tell Dad was happy I was there, even though he was in some discomfort. Which leads us to where we are now -- the part where artificial, medical things wind down and the real body takes back over. That transition process is not the most fun. For now, there's a lot of functions kicking back in -- so there is some moderate discomfort from things like gas.
Another of Dr. Fergony's (I hope I'm finally spelling his name right now) residents stopped in today. They said Dad is continuing to look great. The resident pulled some of the stents out that were helping things drain, and hopefully tomorrow we can start to get rid of more of those tubes. Mom asked if Dr. Fergony would be coming by today, and the resident said "he'll only come by if one of his patients is really sick. And I'm sorry, but your husband just doesn't fit into that category." Onward!
I'm heading back over to the Clinic to do 'horseshoes' with Dad (that's the laps) and to give him his iPod back (somehow the 'volume limit' thing got enabled with a password. WTF is that?)
Thanks for checking in. More later!
Friday, August 10, 2007
Let 'Em Eat...?
Howdy folks! Darin here and I just got off the phone with mom who told me that they were going to let Dad have solid food tonight. That's a big step for him as he really hasn't had the pleasure of chewing food since last Friday. So with the duality of blessing/curse in mind, I'm sure that he's stoked about getting to eat solid foods, but less than enthusiastic about eating hospital cuisine. However, much like his desire to be mobile on his feet, when it comes to enjoying food, he's going to have to take baby steps.
I actually talked to him today and he told me that more tubes have been removed, which makes him both happy and hopeful that he'll continue on the road to a fast recovery. His spirit is definitely willing, his flesh is certain to follow suit.
After quickly being brought up to date on his recovery, the second half of our conversation dealt with him trying to figure out why he can't adjust the volume on his Ipod. As he explained the problem, I was at a loss as to how to help him out. Now if you're familiar with Dad's temper when it comes to not being able to master modern technologies, you can probably get a beat on how much I was dreading a Vesuvius-type explosion from the other end of the phone. However, Dad seemed to take the whole thing with a "no biggie" attitude. Perhaps in the face of a radical surgical procedure and the overwhelming support from family, friends and the matter-of-fact Saints who inhabit this world, a temporarily stubborn Ipod just ain't a big deal. However, having said that, It is my hope that in post-recovery future, Dad will once again don his armor and do battle with the evil forces of technology. Perhaps we'll have to get him an Iphone for Christmas. Look for a hilarious Youtube video (and the trademarked line "THIS IS FU**ING PREPOSTEROUS!) sometime in late December.
-DG-
I actually talked to him today and he told me that more tubes have been removed, which makes him both happy and hopeful that he'll continue on the road to a fast recovery. His spirit is definitely willing, his flesh is certain to follow suit.
After quickly being brought up to date on his recovery, the second half of our conversation dealt with him trying to figure out why he can't adjust the volume on his Ipod. As he explained the problem, I was at a loss as to how to help him out. Now if you're familiar with Dad's temper when it comes to not being able to master modern technologies, you can probably get a beat on how much I was dreading a Vesuvius-type explosion from the other end of the phone. However, Dad seemed to take the whole thing with a "no biggie" attitude. Perhaps in the face of a radical surgical procedure and the overwhelming support from family, friends and the matter-of-fact Saints who inhabit this world, a temporarily stubborn Ipod just ain't a big deal. However, having said that, It is my hope that in post-recovery future, Dad will once again don his armor and do battle with the evil forces of technology. Perhaps we'll have to get him an Iphone for Christmas. Look for a hilarious Youtube video (and the trademarked line "THIS IS FU**ING PREPOSTEROUS!) sometime in late December.
-DG-
There's always room for J-E-L-L-O
Ugh, I can't think of anything nastier. In college, my fraternity had an entire party that was founded on it. We filled the basement with it, made a giant slide coated in it, and mixed any booze that would solidify with it.
But it's the first thing Dad gets to eat now. Clear liquids day -- jello, tea, coffee, that kind of stuff. His body is responding well to it, doing everything your body should do after ya eat. And that's one step closer to gettin' out!
We're hoping that today, some of the drainage tubes will be removed as well.
Dad has been doing his 'NASCAR laps' around the floor, walking more and with less discomfort. This morning, he had a paper and kicked out some more jams on the iPod.
Hopefully we'll hear back about the pathology report soon, so we can plan for whether any follow up chemo will be necessary.
Flying up to Cleveland tonight so not sure if there will be another post today...but I will do my best.
Enjoy the weekend!
But it's the first thing Dad gets to eat now. Clear liquids day -- jello, tea, coffee, that kind of stuff. His body is responding well to it, doing everything your body should do after ya eat. And that's one step closer to gettin' out!
We're hoping that today, some of the drainage tubes will be removed as well.
Dad has been doing his 'NASCAR laps' around the floor, walking more and with less discomfort. This morning, he had a paper and kicked out some more jams on the iPod.
Hopefully we'll hear back about the pathology report soon, so we can plan for whether any follow up chemo will be necessary.
Flying up to Cleveland tonight so not sure if there will be another post today...but I will do my best.
Enjoy the weekend!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
How YOU doin'?
So maybe it's appropriate that I happen to be watching not-quite-as-funny-as-it-was-when-it-first-aired 'Friends' episodes, when our longtime friend Toni asks to hear how everyone else in the family is doing (I try to imagine her imitating Joey...it kind of makes me chuckle).
We're doin' OK. For anyone who's been through anything like this, I don't think I have to tell you that it's like putting all of your emotions into a blender and selecting 'frappe'. It becomes a concotion that marries a bunch of flavors, and tastes anywhere from decent to downright disgusting, depending on the time of day you take a sip. For so long (actually, it was measured in weeks, but seems much longer), we waited for the surgery day to arrive. We physically prepared -- packing, arranging who's going to be where and when...and we mentally prepared, trying to come to grips with the fact that everything seemed to be going along so well before some amateur, aspiring magician yanked the tablecloth out from under our neatly-set table. We reminded ourselves that we have to be strong and positive. And then the surgery day came. It went so well. We cried because we were happy and relieved.
And then we realized that for every mountain you climb, you have to shimmy your way back down. Down Cancer Mountain we go, this part of the journey called 'recovery'.
And the truth? TISNF. You've seen that commercial with the mom grilling the girl about texting, and the girl protests in the above text-speak. It's so not fair. And for everyone who says 'life's not fair', I say 'yep, and we're allowed to voice protest to that anytime we feel like it'. So we're getting through by vocalizing to one another that it sucks. And that Mom wants to go home and wants Dad to be able to go home, to actually sleep through the night and eat a real meal without tubes and nurses. And that I want all this medical jargon to be a part of my historical vocabulary. And that crying gets old and generally makes one feel unattractive and puffy.
And we're so fortunate to be vocal to one another about having to delay plans...rather than not have the chance to make plans at all.
Each time we talk, we remind ourselves that we *are* OK. We've got Chuck and we've got each other. The one thing that we always end up talking about -- We have all of you to thank for helping us on both sides of the journey. You know us -- we're a ridiculously strong and stubborn family, another 'frappe' of unique personalities who've managed to add some of the best people in the world into the blender.
If we didn't have that, who could we turn to?
IDK...my BFF Jill?
We're doin' OK. For anyone who's been through anything like this, I don't think I have to tell you that it's like putting all of your emotions into a blender and selecting 'frappe'. It becomes a concotion that marries a bunch of flavors, and tastes anywhere from decent to downright disgusting, depending on the time of day you take a sip. For so long (actually, it was measured in weeks, but seems much longer), we waited for the surgery day to arrive. We physically prepared -- packing, arranging who's going to be where and when...and we mentally prepared, trying to come to grips with the fact that everything seemed to be going along so well before some amateur, aspiring magician yanked the tablecloth out from under our neatly-set table. We reminded ourselves that we have to be strong and positive. And then the surgery day came. It went so well. We cried because we were happy and relieved.
And then we realized that for every mountain you climb, you have to shimmy your way back down. Down Cancer Mountain we go, this part of the journey called 'recovery'.
And the truth? TISNF. You've seen that commercial with the mom grilling the girl about texting, and the girl protests in the above text-speak. It's so not fair. And for everyone who says 'life's not fair', I say 'yep, and we're allowed to voice protest to that anytime we feel like it'. So we're getting through by vocalizing to one another that it sucks. And that Mom wants to go home and wants Dad to be able to go home, to actually sleep through the night and eat a real meal without tubes and nurses. And that I want all this medical jargon to be a part of my historical vocabulary. And that crying gets old and generally makes one feel unattractive and puffy.
And we're so fortunate to be vocal to one another about having to delay plans...rather than not have the chance to make plans at all.
Each time we talk, we remind ourselves that we *are* OK. We've got Chuck and we've got each other. The one thing that we always end up talking about -- We have all of you to thank for helping us on both sides of the journey. You know us -- we're a ridiculously strong and stubborn family, another 'frappe' of unique personalities who've managed to add some of the best people in the world into the blender.
If we didn't have that, who could we turn to?
IDK...my BFF Jill?
The Natives Are Restless
"You know, it's kind of like 'Groundhog Day'".
I can only imagine.
While Dad continues the healing process, it's only taken 3 days of basically being in a bed for him to want to get the heck out. I would guess it would be the equivalent for sitting still, with the exception of someone poking at ya every now and again. Ick. Still, we all know that it's part of the healing process, and soon enough, he'll be out and on his feet. That's going to be an amazing day that we're looking forward to celebrating. For now though, it's still all about getting well.
Still good stuff: Dad's a walking machine. He says there's little in the way of actual 'pain', it's more like soreness that you get from layin' around all day, then trying to exert all your energy into something. More good stuff: 'Was that you, or did a dump truck just rumble on by?'. All the pieces and parts are starting to get moving again, which is good after a surgery where they do replumbing. It's especially good because soon, the foodie will get to eat some real food...because I've yet to see a chic restaurant touting a menu of only 'clear liquids'.
Most of the medical stuff has been pretty standard -- chest xrays, irrigation, vitamins, etc. It's good to hear the energy and the edge in Dad's voice...a clear indication that we're continuing to walk down Recovery Road.
And as a completely related aside: Shreveport, LA, is ungodly hot, humid, and nasty.
Talk with you soon!
I can only imagine.
While Dad continues the healing process, it's only taken 3 days of basically being in a bed for him to want to get the heck out. I would guess it would be the equivalent for sitting still, with the exception of someone poking at ya every now and again. Ick. Still, we all know that it's part of the healing process, and soon enough, he'll be out and on his feet. That's going to be an amazing day that we're looking forward to celebrating. For now though, it's still all about getting well.
Still good stuff: Dad's a walking machine. He says there's little in the way of actual 'pain', it's more like soreness that you get from layin' around all day, then trying to exert all your energy into something. More good stuff: 'Was that you, or did a dump truck just rumble on by?'. All the pieces and parts are starting to get moving again, which is good after a surgery where they do replumbing. It's especially good because soon, the foodie will get to eat some real food...because I've yet to see a chic restaurant touting a menu of only 'clear liquids'.
Most of the medical stuff has been pretty standard -- chest xrays, irrigation, vitamins, etc. It's good to hear the energy and the edge in Dad's voice...a clear indication that we're continuing to walk down Recovery Road.
And as a completely related aside: Shreveport, LA, is ungodly hot, humid, and nasty.
Talk with you soon!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Come On Over
Quick update from the airport:
I talked to a much heartier Dad today. I believe he might have been inviting the nurses back to his hotel when they gave him a little too much morphine earlier on. Now that they have all that squared away, everyone is much more coherent and comfortable.
Dad got another walk around today, although Mom says it was more of a 'trot' and the nurses had to keep telling him to slow down. Good luck with that, nurses. Mom has tried for some 33+ years to no avail ;-)
I will be heading up to Cleveland on Friday to join the party. I am excited to get to see Dad and to give him a hug. Mom too!
I talked to a much heartier Dad today. I believe he might have been inviting the nurses back to his hotel when they gave him a little too much morphine earlier on. Now that they have all that squared away, everyone is much more coherent and comfortable.
Dad got another walk around today, although Mom says it was more of a 'trot' and the nurses had to keep telling him to slow down. Good luck with that, nurses. Mom has tried for some 33+ years to no avail ;-)
I will be heading up to Cleveland on Friday to join the party. I am excited to get to see Dad and to give him a hug. Mom too!
Wednesday AM update
Mom called this morning after seeing the doctor. Good things: vitals look great; no more oxygen (one less tube!), and fluids are clear. Tough things: Dad didn't have a very comfortable night. Dr. Kiefer switched him back to morphine this morning, so the button will be a little more powerful. Hopefully he'll be able to get a little more rest then this morning and in the early afternoon.
Somehow, we've managed to orchestrate this crazy conga of juggling the rest of everyday life. The frame shop is still in good working order and we're pretty caught up. Big shout-out to Jenna Plating, our CPF (Certified Professional Framer) and my 'big sis', who put in a lot of hours and is about to put in a lot more. Without her, it would not be so easy. Love ya J!
Keep thinkin' those good thoughts!
Somehow, we've managed to orchestrate this crazy conga of juggling the rest of everyday life. The frame shop is still in good working order and we're pretty caught up. Big shout-out to Jenna Plating, our CPF (Certified Professional Framer) and my 'big sis', who put in a lot of hours and is about to put in a lot more. Without her, it would not be so easy. Love ya J!
Keep thinkin' those good thoughts!
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Baby steps
Leave it to Mr. I-can't-be-idle to decide that while he's having a blood transfusion (to get his hemoglobin levels better), he wants to get up and try walking. On his own two feet for a little bit right now...not quite a 'walk in the park', but not bad either ;-)
GOODBYE CLEVELAND! (well, for one of us)
Howdys and hello folks out there, it's Darin here, and as Mom and I finished lunch we came back to find a still-sleeping Dad looking somewhat relaxed with his Ipod (you know the one his favorite son bought him last Christmas) playing and his sleeping mask firmly in place. Mom and I aren't sure, but we think that he is now pushing his pain-relief button subconsciously in his sleep; I mean what other explanation could there be for him not acknowledging our presence in the room? I will say that he looks so much better now that he has that tube out of his nose (I was lucky enough to see it being removed and it was pretty awesome, although Dad said that it was a pain equal to, if not greater than his first catheter experience). So that's one tube down, like 18 more to go.
In a few moments I'll be heading up to see Dad one more time before I leave Cleveland for Chicago (but not to worry, I'll be back in a short while to further help out). Before today I had a heavy heart about being with Mom and Dad for such a short time, but now I leave with the confidence that he IS getting the best care he possibly could, both from staff here and my Mom, who has constantly surprised me with her level of awareness as to Dad's progression...she really knows her shit. There's still a lot of road to travel, but Mom clearly knows the route.
I've been writing this from the main waiting area of the surgery center (Internet access is free here), and as I occasionally look up from my work I see a lot of people who are now in the same boat that Mom and I, and Todd (via the phone) were in. We were trying as hard as we could to make ourselves comfortable while we waited for any news as to how Dad was doing. It was a day of heavy sighs, temple rubbing, small talk, passing humor and endless people watching that eventually climaxed in the news that everything had gone smoothly, and Dad was doing okay. The waiting area for me is now just a place for free internet, but for the people who are here now, just waiting for news or the chance to see their loved ones, it still has that forboding air to it. It is my hope that a long day spent waiting and worrying will turn out as well as it has for my dad...if they're here, it likely will.
Now, in the spirit of levity, I'd just like to mention some of the things that have brought smiles to my face while I've been here:
- There's nothing funnier than seeing an elevator door open and a group of Amish people pouring out
- NASCAR fans are very, very easy to identify
- Asian people saying words with a lot of L's in them is comedy gold, i.e. umbrella
- There are people who still have mullets in America
- Even nurses snicker when a patient lets an audible (and in this case loud and wet) fart go
- Thanks to a relaxed hospital dress code, the fantasy of sacking a "sexy nurse" is now completely gone from the male sex-drive (although there are still an ungodly amount of hot chicks prowling the hospital)
- Thanks to Gray's Anatomy, every male doctor, no matter how gawky-looking he is, thinks that he is the real-life equivalent to Dr. McDreamy, and walks the hospital with that kind of cocky swagger. Sorry to rain on your parade Dr Stolvitis.
Well, that's all for now, but in the coming days, look for an update in which I tell everybody about a group of people known as THE STOMA NURSES.
Bye fer now,
-DG-
Request Update
Hello, this is the other Gladfelter brother chiming in for a moment or two with a little clarification as to Chuck's request about donations. In lieu of flowers, money sent to the American Cancer Society is greatly appreciated. However, it must also be said that any donations you'd wish to send to the currently unemployed Darin Gladfelter are really, really appreciated. Okay, I'm kidding (not really). I am however just about to bring dad's camera up to his room so we just may see a picture or two later on today. He's also asked for his Ipod so that he can kick out some jams. I'll post a little more later. Bye fer now.
-DG-
-DG-
Request
Mom told Dad we were keeping a blog of what's going on...and he asked that we put one thing on. Some of you have asked for the Clinic address/room # to send flowers. Since he's all congested anyway and can't smell them -- Dad's asked that you consider making a donation to cancer research instead. Since there are so many groups out there, and I don't know much about 'em all, here's a link to the American Cancer Society. Thanks again for all your good thoughts, prayers, notes, calls, and brownies. I'm huge on the brownies.
Sit. Stay!
While yesterday was full of difficult medical procedures, today is equally as hard...because it involves taking someone full of energy and tryin' to get him to sit still!
Mom called with an update after speaking to Dr. Furgoni. First, Doc says Dad is looking very good for Day #1 post-op. He's hungry, but today he'll only get to munch on ice chips (completely unfair to a self-proclaimed foodie). His fluids are running clear (that's good), and later on today he should get one of the tubes out of his nose (also good). Dad did have a small temperature this morning but Dr. F said it's nothing to worry about.
For me, the best part of the morning was getting to talk to Dad on the phone. It was great to hear his voice and sounds remarkably strong for someone who's been through what he's had to go through the last 24 hours. He asked a lot about the store, which tells me everything is all good ;-) Right now, the thing bothering him the most is how congested he is (especially in his sinuses/ears), something that's natural after major surgery due to all the air that gets in, etc.
Dad won't be able to do his walkin' today -- Dr. F says he's not quite ready for that. So today, much like his beloved Harley (you know, the dog to the left), he'll just have to do a lot of sittin' up to clear out some of the congestion, and rest as much as he can to keep comfortable.
Quote of the day, from Darin: "Funny, Dad, you push the jeopardy [morphine] button, and Mom goes away." Heh. Humor is good medicine.
Mom called with an update after speaking to Dr. Furgoni. First, Doc says Dad is looking very good for Day #1 post-op. He's hungry, but today he'll only get to munch on ice chips (completely unfair to a self-proclaimed foodie). His fluids are running clear (that's good), and later on today he should get one of the tubes out of his nose (also good). Dad did have a small temperature this morning but Dr. F said it's nothing to worry about.
For me, the best part of the morning was getting to talk to Dad on the phone. It was great to hear his voice and sounds remarkably strong for someone who's been through what he's had to go through the last 24 hours. He asked a lot about the store, which tells me everything is all good ;-) Right now, the thing bothering him the most is how congested he is (especially in his sinuses/ears), something that's natural after major surgery due to all the air that gets in, etc.
Dad won't be able to do his walkin' today -- Dr. F says he's not quite ready for that. So today, much like his beloved Harley (you know, the dog to the left), he'll just have to do a lot of sittin' up to clear out some of the congestion, and rest as much as he can to keep comfortable.
Quote of the day, from Darin: "Funny, Dad, you push the jeopardy [morphine] button, and Mom goes away." Heh. Humor is good medicine.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Cleveland Rocks
Thanks to our great friends (and chefs) Shayna and Rebecca, I'm now well fed and feeling a lot better than I have in weeks. Mom & Darin updated me this evening after visiting with Dad. He's been moved to a regular room now so he can git to gittin' better.
Mom & Darin both said that he was a little in-n-out, as the anesthesia was wearing off and the morphine was kicking in. They were able to talk to him a little bit and said his eyes lit up when he heard we had a healthy financial day at the store! For now, he's working on getting good rest under the watchful care of the folks at the Clinic. I can't tell you how lucky we feel that he's there under such great care. This afternoon, Dr. Furgoni's resident (I can't remember her name) came down and briefed Mom & Darin on what he'll be going through the next couple of days. Basically, it's all about keeping him on the upswing and rest. Right now, his kidney function looks good and they're trying to make him as comfortable as possible.
Tomorrow, Dad should be able to get up and walk around a little bit. And knowing him, Wednesday he'll be working on remodeling the Nurse's Station and cooking Paul Prudhomme recipe up for his floor.
I think we're all feeling so many things, but nothing greater than a huge wave of relief, buoyed by the well-wishes and love of our immediate and extended family all over. Thanks again for being there for us. More tomorrow.
Mom & Darin both said that he was a little in-n-out, as the anesthesia was wearing off and the morphine was kicking in. They were able to talk to him a little bit and said his eyes lit up when he heard we had a healthy financial day at the store! For now, he's working on getting good rest under the watchful care of the folks at the Clinic. I can't tell you how lucky we feel that he's there under such great care. This afternoon, Dr. Furgoni's resident (I can't remember her name) came down and briefed Mom & Darin on what he'll be going through the next couple of days. Basically, it's all about keeping him on the upswing and rest. Right now, his kidney function looks good and they're trying to make him as comfortable as possible.
Tomorrow, Dad should be able to get up and walk around a little bit. And knowing him, Wednesday he'll be working on remodeling the Nurse's Station and cooking Paul Prudhomme recipe up for his floor.
I think we're all feeling so many things, but nothing greater than a huge wave of relief, buoyed by the well-wishes and love of our immediate and extended family all over. Thanks again for being there for us. More tomorrow.
The King's English
Mom & Darin just got a peek at Dad in the recovery room. Dad's very woozy, to be expected... but he did manage to get 2 cursewords out of his mouth.
Yep, he'll be fine.
Yep, he'll be fine.
Great News!
Mom just called! Dad is out of surgery and in recovery. The surgeon told Mom that everything went well and that the operation went as planned. The best part is the 'replumbing'. Dr. Furgoni was able to construct something called an Indiana Pouch (see, there really *is* more than corn in Indiana)... meaning that he will not have to have any kind of external bag. For an active guy...this is crucial...and we are very confident this will allow him to continue to do all his framing, playing in the woods, and other Chuck-like activities we all enjoy!
Darin and Mom will get to see him in a few hours. Right now, we are all breathing a big sigh of relief and sheddin' a few happy tears.
Darin and Mom will get to see him in a few hours. Right now, we are all breathing a big sigh of relief and sheddin' a few happy tears.
What up?
Howdy from South Carolina...Todd here. I'm helping run the store while Dad is on his dream vacation in Cleveland! :)
I'm putting this blog up to keep you updated on Dad's progress, since so many of you have called or written to ask how he is doing.
Right now, Dad is in the middle of his surgery. He went to the Cleveland Clinic bright and early this morning with Mom and Darin, and went in for his operation at about 830am. We're told the entire procedure will take between 6 and 7 hours. Mom says he was anxious to get on with it, and if you know Dad...it's about what you'd expect!
For some background...Dad was diagnosed with bladder cancer toward the end of June/beginning of July after they removed part of a baseball-size tumor. Tests showed it was malignant, and the doctors here told him he would have to have a radical cystectomy...meaning the removal of his bladder, prostate, and lymph nodes. Obviously, there is some replumbing that goes on down there after a procedure of that nature, and right now we're not quite sure how that replumbing is going to go -- the doctors can't say what they'll do until the procedure is underway and they can get a better look. Dad was referred to the Cleveland Clinic, well known for its treatment of cancer.
After the procedure, the doctors tell us Dad will have to spend about a week in the hospital recovery. Then, he'll be released, but stay in Cleveland for some follow up. There is a likelihood that he will have to have some follow-up Chemo when he returns to Greenville...but for now, we're told that he probably won't have to have any radiation, which is great news!
The people at the Cleveland Clinic have been really good. Dad especially liked the nurse who, after a procedure to get his kidney function doing a little better earlier last week, told him that gin absolutely counts as one of the clear liquids he needed to drink. The surgeon, Dr. Furgoni, is an excellent doctor with an amazing reputation...and he has been able to keep everbody at ease.
As a family, we can't thank you enough for all your concern, calls, and prayers. We're really lucky to have so many caring and supportive people in our lives.
Please feel free to leave a comment below.
I will post updates here as we get them and as I'm able. Thanks again. With love -- The Gladfelters
I'm putting this blog up to keep you updated on Dad's progress, since so many of you have called or written to ask how he is doing.
Right now, Dad is in the middle of his surgery. He went to the Cleveland Clinic bright and early this morning with Mom and Darin, and went in for his operation at about 830am. We're told the entire procedure will take between 6 and 7 hours. Mom says he was anxious to get on with it, and if you know Dad...it's about what you'd expect!
For some background...Dad was diagnosed with bladder cancer toward the end of June/beginning of July after they removed part of a baseball-size tumor. Tests showed it was malignant, and the doctors here told him he would have to have a radical cystectomy...meaning the removal of his bladder, prostate, and lymph nodes. Obviously, there is some replumbing that goes on down there after a procedure of that nature, and right now we're not quite sure how that replumbing is going to go -- the doctors can't say what they'll do until the procedure is underway and they can get a better look. Dad was referred to the Cleveland Clinic, well known for its treatment of cancer.
After the procedure, the doctors tell us Dad will have to spend about a week in the hospital recovery. Then, he'll be released, but stay in Cleveland for some follow up. There is a likelihood that he will have to have some follow-up Chemo when he returns to Greenville...but for now, we're told that he probably won't have to have any radiation, which is great news!
The people at the Cleveland Clinic have been really good. Dad especially liked the nurse who, after a procedure to get his kidney function doing a little better earlier last week, told him that gin absolutely counts as one of the clear liquids he needed to drink. The surgeon, Dr. Furgoni, is an excellent doctor with an amazing reputation...and he has been able to keep everbody at ease.
As a family, we can't thank you enough for all your concern, calls, and prayers. We're really lucky to have so many caring and supportive people in our lives.
Please feel free to leave a comment below.
I will post updates here as we get them and as I'm able. Thanks again. With love -- The Gladfelters
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