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Fall Prone
In this Life Story, Robert Blaske affectionately refers to his wife Dolores as “DO-lores” because “she always has a long list of things for me to -DO.”
An ulcer—it seemed to start out that way. Just a sip of Maalox and a couple of antacid pills would make everything okay—but it wasn’t. My urine turned the color of iced tea. My doctor took a biopsy. The results would be given in a few days. Those few days seemed like weeks.
I was sitting on the toilet when the phone rang. A few minutes later my wife, DO-lores, walked in all serious-faced and announced, “The doctor said you have cancer.” At that very moment the porcelain throne I was sitting on split right down the middle. I fell in, and everything else flew out! After recovering, DO-lores and I both laughed and cried while holding one another on the edge of our bed. This was not the last of my falls. It was the beginning of our being crushed from all sides.
The real fun began with a nine hour operation. While I was knocked out on the operating table, DO-lores paced the floor. The surgeon performed a pancreaticoduodenectomy, or Whipple, where he removed a tumor the size of a softball, and anything that looked like it might have or could get cancer. I awoke to find my interior and exterior completely redesigned. Later, the surgeon described his work, “... the pancreas is a stub and I re-routed the bile duct ...” I had seven tubes sticking out of my stomach in all directions.
While in the hospital, DO-lores slept at my bedside in the “chair from hell.” DO-lores and I had retired two years earlier from teaching school, and now this. I was going from 34 years of middle school to death by cancer? We didn’t even know the meaning of the word “oncology” and now we were part of it.
I was worried about DO-lores. She didn’t know how I wept for her. How would she make it without me? Not only was she concerned about me, but our daughter was going through a bitter divorce. She had turned to alcohol for solace. As a result, she became an alcoholic and lost custody of our two granddaughters. Besides all that, our car was on the blink! I began to feel like that Bible guy, Job.
DO-lores and I paraded back and forth through the hospital halls to gain back my strength. I looked like a walking skeleton, pushing an IV machine and mooning nurses with my open-back hospital gown. Finally, the doctor pulled each of my tummy tubes with the assurance, “This won’t hurt.” It did. He didn’t realize he was pulling the staples out, too. With only one tube left, I went home to recover.
DO-lores learned how to do ugly “nurse” jobs like cleaning wounds and sanitizing the feeding tube. She even learned how to get a J-Tube unstuck using a meat tenderizer. We had one incident when the J-Tube was plugged and the meat tenderizer didn’t work. We headed for the hospital ER where they were able to pop the plug like a champagne cork. I felt like I had a hangover.
On one occasion during my recovery, neighbor Bob Lilly stood outside our bedroom window and showed me a 20-pound fish he had just caught. As he stepped backward, he disappeared from my view, falling into a hole created by our broken septic tank. Fortunately, he and the fish were okay.
Four months after surgery, I was the “best man” at my son’s wedding. DO-lores hovered over me while I tried to act normal. An infection was getting worse in spite of a recent visit to the ER. I was plagued with diarrhea and vomiting, but determined to make it through the wedding. While the bridal couple said their vows, I was given a chair and tried to smile. To say the least, the “best man” wasn’t at his best.
As soon as the wedding was over, DO-lores and I headed back to the ER. This time the surgeon removed an infected abscess. Once again admitted to the hospital, I experienced another bathroom fall. Fortunately, DO-lores was there to catch me on the way down. The staff put a big sign over my bed: “FALL PRONE!” My brother-in-law thought that was funny. That night a nurse came to take my temperature, only to trip over my IV line.
The next day, a specialist dealing with infections found that I had a variety of bugs causing my problems. Then the nursing staff could not tap into a vein for antibiotics. As a result, I became a candidate for a chest-embedded “infuse-a-port”. The infuse-a-port cut the needle-sticking to a minimum. Once again, I paraded up and down the halls in my flapping gown, pushing an IV tree holding seven plastic bottles.
Next, I got something called “Red Man Syndrome” which was a reaction to one of the antibiotics. As before, DO-lores slept in the “chair from hell,” and I wept at night when she wasn’t looking. One night, the doctor caught us hugging in bed and hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on my door.
My infection had forestalled radiation treatment or the possibility of chemotherapy. The surgeon didn’t think either action was needed. However, before I could leave the hospital, DO-lores had to take a nursing lesson in how to apply wet to dry bandages for deep wounds.
Upon returning home, we found that our air conditioner was broken and a tropical storm had flooded the street deep enough for boat traffic. Because of this, the visiting nurse couldn’t make it to our house for several days. Once again, Job’s troubles came to mind.
My next trip to the oncologist resulted in the discovery of a suspicious spot on my spleen. The doctor couldn’t do a biopsy to see if it was cancer. He said my spleen might have to be removed and to check in at the hospital. I also learned that the court had suggested that our two little granddaughters be given permission to go back to live with their mother. They responded that they’d rather stay with their dad.
Upon returning to the hospital, depression set in. My body was not the one I knew. My mood spiraled downward, caught in a sewer of morbid thoughts. I was angry and snapped at my wife. Then I felt guilty for all she had done, because I had been the taker and she had been the giver. DO-lores held my head and we both cried. A former Army nurse walked into my room and suggested that I “tough it out!” I was angry at that comment until a gray-haired Black cleaning lady who had overheard added sympathetically, “It’ll be all right, Honey.” I fought back the tears, smiled weakly, and thanked her. Sometimes an angel appears when we least expect it.
My doctor assured me that pills would help me cope with this down mood, but those words were meaningless. How could a pill help solve my problems? Would a pill take away the spot on my spleen? Would a pill keep me from sliding closer to the edge of death?
Medical consensus said that I should have my spleen removed. I was afraid because I knew what it was like to go inside an operating room. Why me? I once again felt as if my spirit was being pressed down on all sides by an unbearable weight. People have lived without spleens and led normal lives, haven’t they?
Was there a choice other than surgery? A search on the internet showed that herbs might provide a cure. Another site proclaimed that all I needed to do was to find the medicine the government doesn’t want us to know about. Another site suggested inept doctors and that a search for better treatment in a far away place would be appropriate. Finally, a speaker at my cancer support group showed us a plastic bag containing a weird looking mushroom guaranteed to cure cancer. What in the heck is a “holistic approach”? Don’t eat or drink anything that’s impure?
After reviewing these options, DO-lores and I decided that my spleen must come out. We prayed that it wouldn’t be cancerous.
Unlike my previous hospital visits, I didn’t stay on the Oncology unit. My nurses had never dealt with an “infuse-a-port,” so they called in an expert to service it while they watched. Several nurses crowded around my bedside, ogling each careful step in the cleaning process. However, after all the commotion, they could not make use of the infuse-a-port and had to insert a regular IV. It was a three out of four chance they would hit a vein with the needle. Have you ever felt the “Ouch!” when a vein is blown? Then it was time for surgery.
When I came out of the anesthetic, I heard the words “No cancer!” The spot on the spleen was just a collection of blood vessels. The doctor grinned as he saw the look of relief on our anxious faces. The infuse-a-port was removed and life looked a little brighter. Let me outta’ here!
Back home I felt better, and on Sunday we went to church. Our pastor recognized me publicly. Standing, I thanked the congregation for their prayers and told them, “It’s good to be back among the living.” After this, I sat dumbfounded as the congregation united in reading Psalm 116: “I love the Lord, because he has heard the voice of my supplication. Because he has inclined his ear to me whenever I called upon him. The cords of death entangled me; the grip of the grave took hold of me; I came to grief and sorrow. Then I called upon the name of the Lord…” I couldn’t talk for the lump in my throat. Tears flooded my eyes. It was as if God knew I was here. “For you have rescued my life from death, my eyes from tears, and my feet from stumbling. I will walk in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living.”
I am happy to say that I have been cancer free for fourteen years. I can summarize what I learned from this experience.
- DO-lores and I developed a new appreciation for one another. Love is not just a teen-age romp in the backseat of a car; it’s also self-sacrifice for a life-long soul mate. Recently, I was the primary caregiver for DO-lores as she recovered from two broken ankles. When we give of ourselves we become more like Christ. Every year we have together is a gift, a blessing, from a loving God.
- We humans want to be in control. It’s our body and we think we know what it needs because we’ve been inside it for such a long time. However, we are not doctors. We should try to find the best care for treating our medical problems: board certified doctors, hospitals with cutting-edge technology, and an experienced medical staff who has successfully dealt with hundreds of similar cases.
- People work best when they’re shown appreciation. Why not take time to thank the person who delivered your food tray? Smile at a nurse or take time to listen to what he or she has to say. Most people who work in hospitals are there because they care, but complaining to them about every little thing becomes annoying.
- Not all of life’s problems will be solved to our liking, but the Lord works seemingly bad things toward our good. My granddaughters are married now and have an appreciation for their mother’s former marital and alcohol problems. Our daughter faced these problems and now dedicates herself to helping others through an alcoholic recovery program.
- My Christian faith and experience provided a context for hope. In the face of death all those hymns, Psalms, Bible verses I memorized as a child, bits and pieces of sermons—they all came together with clarity and meaning. When we face trouble, when we’re in the “valley of the shadow of death,” being crushed from all sides, it is comforting to know our Lord will help us. Remember that God’s own Son suffered more than we ever will when he was crucified, taking on our sins and conquering death. He is God and we are fallen humans—in fact, we are all “fall prone.”
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