If Time Could Stand Still

 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2013

If time could stand still

Thursday, December 5
Eric decided he wanted to go with me today. I usually go to Mayo alone; he knows why now. The people who go with you typically sit in the waiting area, and I feel bad when they have to wait. But he insisted. 3 appointments today, Pre-certification for surgery, then to talk about the living will and all that jazz.
Finally, our last appointment was with Dr. Barr's; I asked Eric not to talk much because Dr. Barr's is very busy, and he usually covers everything I need to know without asking any questions. The reason I said this to Eric was that I KNOW him, he will talk to everyone, and he did; the receptionist, he asked her about things she had no idea about, then the nurse, who again referred him to the Dr., he even asked the same questions to the lady helping us with the living will--then when we were walking out he stopped the volunteer to ask her something----I just grabbed his arm and politely said "let's get going, to our next appointment" I could see his dad in him today--he was a funny man and loved to talk to everyone.

When we finally did see Dr. Barr's he turned on the screen so I could, for the 1st time, see inside my right ear; all I really saw was infection--to me, it was no big deal; really, I have been asking Eric to look at it for weeks. Still, he says, "it looks the same as it did last time you asked me."  For the last couple of weeks, it has swollen up and been tender but dealing with my mother's death, I have not really paid much attention other than to put a new cotton ball in when it starts to drip. I have had more migraines than usual, and now I'm wondering about the slurred speech. 

Dr. Barr took out his ear vacuum and started to suck out what he could; I was a little frightened watching the screen and seeing what he was doing; I thought it would hurt, but it didn't. It also didn't suck anything out-- he then stuck some gadget down the ear canal to try and see what he could--now that hurt. He then called for Kathleen, his RN, to come in, and they discussed medical terms that were over my head; then asked me to take a seat next to Eric. He said, "this is terrible, and in case you didn't hear me....(which I didn't, but Eric did), he repeated it, "this is terrible"  He then showed us a large picture of the inner ear, which I have seen many times before. Dr. Barr's explained to Eric he had not seen this type of infection come so far out of the canal; he asked if Eric would stay close by while he was doing surgery so he could get his permission to move forward if needed. That means that if this has gone into the bone, he will have to cut out through the bone, which will leave a significant indentation on the side of my head. The good thing about all this is that I'm deaf in that ear, so it will not affect my hearing; if I had a normal ear, I would not have any hearing after this surgery.

Monday, December 9, 2013
 Tomorrow I will again be rolled into an OR at the Mayo Clinic. I've had anxiety all day today; I told my friend Marian that I feel more nervous about this surgery than I did the night before going in for the bilateral mastectomy. Marian said it's because I know too much now; going in for the mastectomy, I had no idea what I was getting into except that I would go into surgery with breasts and come out without them.

My inner ear is pounding like I can feel my heartbeat through my ear. I've been taking the antibiotics Dr. Barr's gave me, but it doesn't seem like it's getting better. Tonight I put the drops in my ear, and it felt like they were hitting my skull; the pain was something I had not felt since I was a little girl. The veins on my face and neck popped out, and I immediately turned red; my eyes teared up, and my nose started to run. It's this immense pain I cannot describe.

I'm trying my hardest to have a good attitude, be positive and smile my way through this. I got a text from a good friend yesterday; she was diagnosed with breast cancer about a year after me; she had a single mastectomy and was diagnosed at stage 2b. Her text said the tumor is back at stage 4 and has metathesized into several large organs. I threw the phone when I read it, what happened, why is this happening she was at stage 2. My mind went to a deep dark place where I knew I shouldn't be. I sat on my bedroom floor and cried myself to sleep. In my sleep, I saw Eric's mom and dad; they looked so happy; I wanted to stay with them; it felt comfortable and Heavenly there--finally, this is where I'm supposed to be; it almost felt like I was playing hide and seek, and not wanting anyone to find me there--Vi held my hand and said "You know you can't hide here, right?" and just like the snap of a finger they were gone, and I woke up--I slammed my hand on the carpet. I yelled, "No, please don't find me; let me go back just a little bit longer."

I hope I can go back there tomorrow; I want to visit with them more-- If I could just let time stand still, I would go back to the day Recker was born. I would hold him and love on him if I could. I would make the clock stop, but then my heart tells me I can't do that; I have to push through, listen to the clock's ticking, and do what I can to be brave. Tonight I feel like my heart is being torn apart piece by piece; I move 3 steps forward and 4 steps back, never getting ahead--I'm sitting here staring at one of my Mayo Clinic Itinerary, wondering how I got here--I don't want to go, what will happen if I don't go? as these thoughts are going through my head I am ripping up the Itinerary, maybe if I shred it, it won't be real.
A few weeks ago, during our Family Home Evening, I asked everyone if they knew this was their last day to live. What would they do? I'm not sure why I asked them, except that I have been thinking about it since my mother died. Some of their answers were funny; I think letting your mind go there is hard.

If I knew it was my last day on earth, I would watch the sunrise and feel the warmth on my face, I'd leave the dishes, I'd turn off the phone and TV, gather all my family around me, and make sure each one of them knew how much I love them. I'd hold my grandson and breathe in the scent of Ezra's baby smell. I'd look into Recker's eye and talk to him with my heart. We would watch The Sound of Music and eat popcorn as a family---then I'd take a picture with each one of them and tell them why they are so important to me and why I love them so much--I'd say to them I want no empty seats in Heaven--every one of them needs to be there--we are an Eternal Family. We'd go outside and watch the beautiful sunset of the Arizona sky..... and I'd have them sing me to sleep with Primary songs.

Now it's getting late, and I need to rest; tomorrow, I will wake up and HOPE for all prayers to be answered. I want to go to a place where the hurt ends, and the healing begins--I want to be wrapped up in the arms of His mercy--I just need this one more time--please, just one more time.