What comes next?

My last post, I went on to describe that fateful day when we found out something was seriously wrong with my husband, Scott. That was likely one of the worst days of my life. I've lost my mother, lots of grandparents, but nothing compares to when you find out that a loved one is terribly ill. What comes in as a close second? Telling four children that their daddy is very sick...

After I got home from the hospital that first night, my mother-in-law and I stayed up until 3:00am sobbing, talking, planning. My body was exhausted, but I couldn't go to sleep. My mind was racing a mile a minute. My head throbbed from all the crying. I hardly slept that night. I got up early the next morning in preparation to telling the children. 

Remember our youngest got into all that candy? Full reign of the house while Daddy was sick? Yeah, that caught up to her. While my mother-in-law cleaned up the red, sticky vomit from her and her covers, I braced myself to tell the three older ones. I sat them down, side-by-side. I grabbed a dining room chair and sat in front of them. As I grabbed their hands, the tears came flooding down my face. 

"remember how Daddy went to the hospital last night?"

They nod.

"He's still in the hospital. He's very sick. They found something wrong with his brain called a tumor and he is likely going to have surgery to remove it"

All of this, while in tears. Sobbing. The girls react by crying with me. I continue to explain what we think is wrong with him. I go on to say that I'll really need their help, especially the older two, who are 12 and 10. I tell them that we are going to see him in the hospital and that they are missing school for the next few days. My son, who is 8 years old and has ADHD, hardly made eye contact with me during this conversation. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was studying me intently, but as soon as I look at him, he turns away and stares off elsewhere. His eyes glossed over, but no tears came. He eventually took his hands away from mine. I hugged the children and we proceeded to have breakfast. My son was done first. I told them all to get dressed and ready to go to the hospital.  They could each pack their backpacks with their Kindles and books and some small toys to stay busy.

After, I finished eating breakfast, I headed towards my room to start taking a shower and getting ready. I pass by my son's room and I see him sitting up in his loft bed, holding his beloved bear, staring out the window. I ask him why he hadn't gotten dressed. He then says, "I want to talk to Grandpa." My heart sank. I got my dad on the phone and he assured his 'buddy-boy' that everything will be alright. Once he was finished talking with Grandpa, he then got dressed and ready to go.

That day is mostly a blur. I remember taking the kids to the hospital. I remember Scott having to ask for Tristan to come over because he stood back taking in all the sights and sounds. I remember Scott having a full body CT scan and waiting until really late for the MRI. I remember Scott being cocky and confident about beating this thing. But mostly a blur.

Day three was when we found out from the neurosurgeon the results of his MRI. My rescuer, my hero in all this kept the children occupied as Scott, his mother, and I learned of what we were facing. I'll post about her later, as she is so deserving of praise and gratitude.

Glioblastoma, as suspected. Brain cancer. They will operate the next day. They plan to remove as much of the tumor as possible.  After surgery, he will heal up for a bit, then start chemo and radiation. The surgeon said he will more than likely lose peripheral vision to his left side. Less likely, he could have a stroke during surgery which could lead to death, paralysis, and other side effects of strokes. It is a long surgery. He was scheduled for in the afternoon, but then it got moved up twice. Once to 10am and then 8am. He was still determined to beat this thing - never referring to it as cancer. He was eerily calm about his predicament. He was still in shock.

It took every bit of self-control to not look up Glioblastoma. And I resisted for nearly a week. In the dark about how bad it is. How long most people live with it. What it does to a person. What treatment will be like. So many unknowns, but all I wanted to do was focus on the now. Because at the time, that was my last day with my husband before his surgery. Before an unexpected side effect of surgery altered him in a very dramatic way.