Midday Report from Pittsburgh

It was a surreal morning as we repeated the steps taken 13 days ago for Michael's operation.  Not much was different except we navigated to the hospital without a GPS and then, once we arrived, had to jump through fewer hoops.  Everything started 30 minutes earlier, but each step happened on a similar, eerily familiar schedule.  And while the roles were the same, some of the cast of characters was different.

Perhaps most important to note is that he had a new anesthesiologist.  Not that is was ever determined anesthesiology was the problem last time, but I know Michael was relieved that it wasn't the same person.  Gotta blame something.  I won't post the blow-by-blow timetable like before, but rest assured I prepared one if anyone asks.  Michael forbid another video message, but I did snap this picture as he was lying worried in pre-op.

I can't speak for how he really felt, only that he repeated how scared he was, but I can say that it was a different experience for me.  I felt more tired, with less andrenalin flowing, this time around.  Only when we reached a point further than the first attempt did I really begin to feel anxious.  As Mari Ann and I now sit in the waiting room a little longer than five hours after I last saw Michael, I can't focus on any one thing.  I need to be multi-tasking: playing Candy Crush Saga on my phone while watching a TV show on my iPad, for example.

When I stop to picture Michael in the operating room, head stabilized by screws that will later produce scabby bumps, and imagine the team of doctors performing their intricate duties, a wave of overwhelming... sadness... washes over me.  I'm not worried, necessarily, but I hate that he has to go through this.  I wish I could be there with him to take care of him.  I don't want him to be lonely or hurt or scared.  I think you may never love someone as much as you do when they're experiencing something like this.

8:00 am

9:30-ish am

About 9:30, we panicked when the liaison called, "Lendabarker", but it was only to tell us that the surgery started at 9:12.  At 11:45, we got a report that everything was going fine.  As relieved as we both were, I think we gulped when her following sentence was, "it's going to be a few more hours".  We'll get another report at 2:10 (if the surgery is not complete by then).

This might be a good time to say how much we appreciate all the kind words, thoughts, wishes and prayers.  If you're on Facebook or Twitter, you've been bombarded with a lot more than only this blog.  But we're not fishing for comments or responses.  That's what makes it so heartwarming when we get them anyway.  I'm not always good about doing it for other people, so I do not in the very least take it for granted.

I don't expect to write again until tonight, but remember: no news is good news...