Do You Believe in Miracles?
During the week of June 12th, I started feeling
that pesky spleen pain again. My
oncologist and internal medicine doctors jointly had me checked into St.
David’s North Austin Medical Center to get another CT scan prior to my chemo
which was to be on June 19th.
As they had seen on all previous scans there was a fluid pocket/hematoma
sitting just off my spleen. Almost all
thought it was just some leakage from the splenic embolization surgery I had on
Valentine’s day earlier this year. They
also thought that the body would absorb the fluid without incident. Most were reluctant to go in and drain it
because of the risk of infection, especially considering the reduced immune
system I currently had due to the side effects of chemotherapy.
So we chalked it up to, “it’ll eventually get absorbed, off
to Houston/MD Anderson we go.” On June 19th, Nita and I patiently
sat in our little room and had bag after bag of desensitized FulFox pumped into
me. Finally, around 12 hours later, Nita
and I headed back to Austin.
On June 20, I started developing an ear infection. They put me on a cycle of amoxicillin. There was considerable jaw and ear pain. On the 21st, Nita took out the
pump and flushed my port as she had been trained to do (dates important just to
see how quickly this thing moved). I was
so tired and felt kind of crappy so I didn’t take a shower, even though I was
riding the high of my best friend Omar’s PGA pro championship win. He would now play in this year’s PGA as well
as earn 6 tour exemptions over the next calendar year. He called me and left me a message saying
that the win “was for me!” He had never
done that before.
The next day, I was lying in bed with little Josephine
watching a movie, waiting for my next pain med time. All of a sudden, at 9:30 am I felt a huge
surge of pain in my abdomen. I still had 30 minutes to go before I could take
my hydrocodone, so I figured I’d just gut-up and wait. Nita got the kids fed and off to the morning
activities. I stumbled to the man cave
and waited for my drugs to kick in. By
10:30, still nothing other than excruciating pain, the hydrocodone failed to
put a dent in it. Around 11:30 Nita started getting lunch ready for the kids,
prepping them for afternoon camps. I sat
uncomfortably in the man cave and shivered with chills and about four quilts
draped over me.
She came to ask how I was doing and I told her that it was
time to go to the emergency room. She
piled us all in the car and dropped me off.
I went into the ER and knew something was terribly wrong. I’d texted some of my doctor friends and they
came to check on me (each pushing on my belly). Another CT scan was performed.
Finally, a bad ass doctor came around 5 PM or so and said we were going into
surgery. Nita came in to pre-op and gave
me a kiss and said she’d see me after surgery.
They told me this was not a quick or minimally invasive
laparoscopic job, they’d have to open me up.
When they got in, they discovered that the “fluid pocket” was actually a
cyst that was the size of a personal watermelon wrapped around my spleen. As soon as the doctor cut into the cyst a
volcanic explosion of puss and fluid came gushing out, roughly three liters,
even though it had already ruptured (at 9:30 that morning with my insides
filling up with that puss). It went everywhere and the surgeons had to jump out
of the way. They had to use blankets to
mop up the floor. I found out later it
was the wildest thing anyone of them had experienced. My doctor had never seen such a thing in his
entire career of surgery.
 |
| Still intubated |
They did a quick patch job on me and took me to the ICU to
discuss options. I had already crossed
the sepsis threshold and was on the clock.
However, due to the total timeline, for all intents and purposes, I should
have died that night. Nita and a couple
of the “sister wives” (SW) from the tribe came into the ICU to see me. Bear in mind that my surgical incision was
still open and they would be going back into surgery within the next several
hours. Nita was understandably in
shambles. Had she just spoken to her
husband for the last time? Was this it?
Was it time to call a Priest, or my cousin in the funeral business? In
fact, she had these conversations with the surgeon. My understanding is that she was almost in a
fog as she explained what the doctors told her to my Pete and my mother.
About 24 hours later they went back in. They decided to leave what was left of my
spleen because it was so close to the pancreas.
The pancreas is so toxic, they didn’t want to introduce any new potential
infections into my body. Plus, my pulse
and blood pressure were so erratic that they didn’t want to keep me open very
long. As it was described to Nita, “my
heart was exploding out of my chest.”
When they resumed the surgery (in layman’s terms and
literally) they took my internal organs out of my body, cleaned/hosed them off
and stuffed them back into my abdomen.
So now if anyone asks if I’ve ever had an out of body experience…okay,
you’re right, that was beneath me.
I was very lucky not to have gone into shock, again the
surgeons, my wife, and the SWs all thought I was going to/should have died on
Thursday night. So after stuffing my
organs back in, they took some cultures to see if there was an infection. My white blood cell count had been crazy high
for the last 8 weeks, but they assumed it was the chemo, the pneumonia, ear
infection, or some combination of the three.
More on that later. Needless to
say, I survived and checked off what I consider at least one miracle.
On Friday the 23rd, I woke up with an intubation
tube down my throat, a Foley catheter, a JP (drainage) tube by my spleen, and a
picc line (a catheter like a temporary port inserted in my biceps). I had survived the second surgery.
My hands were strapped to the bed and they couldn’t sedate
me any further. Apparently, I had
exceeded the amount they could give me at that time. So I was wide awake and I
needed to communicate. My sign language
was much to be desired. I finally gave
enough of a hint to have one arm un-restrained and was given some paper and a
pen. I could now communicate!
Within a few hours they had taken me off of the breathing
tubes. A few hours after that I was
sitting up in a chair. I am fairly
certain that this second surgery and fairly rapid recovery qualifies as another
or at least a piggy back of the previous miracle. Believe or don’t, cool, whatever. I’m telling you, I should be under ground,
and yet here I am.
 |
| sitting up in ICU |
Back to the story. On
Sunday, I was moved from ICU to 3 North, my favorite pod with the best nurses
on the planet. With my experience in
business and now hospitalization, I am of the opinion that, like sales, nursing
is a calling. It is equal parts
knowledge, art, and passion. You can
show up and go through the motions, or you can strive to be the best. I feel the pod in 3 North is filled with
those that have all three.
The Serbian woman who saved my bacon by getting me walking
after my cancer surgery in 2015 was there and she was ready for another battle,
she may be one of the better examples of art, passion, and skill. She takes no shortcuts. The doctors and nurses told me (which I
already knew from a previous abdominal surgery) that in order to wake up my
insides, I needed to walk, chew gum, sit up, and move. This would first stimulate a fart (which
would take me off of my ice chip diet), then poop, (which would move me to an
all liquid instead of clear liquid diet, and eventually low residue diet).
Several days later I found out why walking helps. One of the doctors explained that your
intestines hang in your abdomen like theater curtains. When you walk, they move, shake, and are
agitated. This stimulates movement and
helps usher waste down the correct path.
So the more you walk, the better it is for your intestines to wake up.
 |
| Going for a walk with Connor, notice the big bag of gravy (TPN) |
Meanwhile have I mentioned that my system coming back on line
was quite painful? Because it hurt. A
LOT! But, who am I to complain, I’m alive
y’all. But being still hurt, lying down
hurt, sitting up hurt, walking the hall certainly hurt, in fact, everything
hurt. At least I had a constant drip of
dilaudid with a quick boost button (that would eventually go away).
The other issue with opiate pain killers is that even though
they provide pain relief, it comes with a cost; constipation. If you remember way back to the first surgery
in 2015 it was done by a colorectal surgeon.
He used the Da Vinci device and then did a colonoscopy going over my
colon inch by inch to clean out any impacted poop I may have had. He also had a lot more time to do his work as
I was not showing signs of cardiac distress and there was no leakage which
might lead to septic shock.
I’m not going to make y’all relive every moment play by
play, but cutting to the chase I needed to shower too. I hadn’t taken a shower since Monday the 19th. My favorite patient care technician, Violeta,
put protective film over my JP line, my incision, and my picc line. She started the water and sat me down on the stool. Now my incision was a straight cut from my
diaphragm to just below the belly button, about a foot long. Twenty three staples. That portion included just about all if not
all of my abdominal muscles. Put another
way, any direction I would turn, move, wash, etc. involved my core. So I was putting immense strain on a muscle
group with a big ole slice all the way through.
Once I got out of the shower, was dried off, had my
dressings replaced, and a new gown put on, I was wiped out. Completely.
I was in pain and had zero energy left.
The good news is that I had already farted a few times and was able to
sip some Gatorade, broth, and even some hot tea. Mom and Nita came to visit and shared what
the questions of the hood were. It even
hurt to facebook on my phone, so that was done at a minimum. Imagine having all the time in the world to
do something and zero energy or stamina to do and continue it? My only activity was lying in bed, moving to
my recliner chair, and walking the hall…with all my fluids and connections in
tow.
 |
| 23 staples |
Finally, on June 29th, I pooped. It was not pleasant. In fact, it felt like I
was passing baseballs. Once I started though, I refused to let go until the job
was done. I kept feeling like it was
halfway in and halfway out, but we were going to do this! I used the stability
poles on either side of the toilet like ski poles maneuvering my body back and
forth trying to get whatever was stuck in my sphincter unstuck. Now, I will never be so stupid as to even
think that I have any idea what it is like to give birth to a child. None!
But now, I sort of feel like I have slid a little further down the
empathy continuum.
I could not over-push because my abs hurt and I was told not
to put too much pressure on my stitches and tender insides, so I had to do what
I could to get it out. I finally
finished the job and was as equally exhausted as the shower a few days
earlier. But at least now my diet would
change. However, the little appetite I
had, did not translate into the ability to consume food. I had a big TPN bag (IV nutrition to ensure
my body was getting the correct amounts of nutrition during the healing process)
which looked like a 2-pound bag of cream gravy that was providing my
nutrition. So my stomach was not
incented to start stuffing itself out of necessity. The body has several protective systems in
place to guard itself after trauma. One
of those is moving bowels after major abdominal trauma, they are the last
system to “wake up.” It gave the opportunity to move slowly as my system woke
up, but didn’t provide relief.
On Saturday July 1, I had not repeated my past lavatorial
victory. But I was on an opioid pain
med, which we know causes constipation.
I was told by one of the four to five doctors who visited daily that
there was a drug called Relistor which would block the constipation effect
while leaving the pain killing function.
Great! What could go wrong? I
asked my nurse to sign me up.
So here is the thing, it involved a shot directly into the
abdomen. In the grand scheme of things…I
am already getting my fingers lanced to check my blood sugar checked four times
a day, plus all the other pokes, prods, blood draws, and general pain. And it is hard to quantify the pain of stomach
distension due to trapped gas and waste.
Okay, I’m in. It wasn’t that
bad. In fact, about 2 minutes after the
shot I started farting. Then the crooked
dog head move. I needed to get to the
toilet and immediately. They had apparently
given me the Dumb and Dumber turbo
lax shot. I would know for the next time
that after the shot, I should go ahead and mosey on over to the commode.
I gripped the bars on each side of the toilet and I felt
like I was hanging on for dear life. My
bowels emptied and I eventually felt better. This time it was the opposite of
the first movement. It came out quickly,
loose, and in large volumes. All the food
on the new low residue diet I was eating and keeping down needed some place to
go. I had to give myself at least two
separate courtesy flushes this time.
The next day Nita came without the kids and she helped me
into the shower. Bless her heart and
soul she washed me all over so I wouldn’t have to expend more energy than
holding onto the rails. I was able to
shave when I was done and change into actual clothing instead of a gown. Now the goals were to repeat the
process. By that I mean eat and poop. It wasn’t coming that easily even though I
was on the low residue diet. However, I
was walking the halls without nurses now, and we had started working to modify
my pain medications so I could have a sustainable pain management strategy with
as little of a constipative (not a word, but it should be) effect as possible when
I got home. The doctors all thought my
progress was amazing and that I was on track to be home by Friday July 7.
The date was significant because it would be the end of my
antibiotic cycle. I still needed to take
my antibiotics via IV and my picc line was getting squirrelly at times. For those of you asking about the port…don’t
ask. Did I mention that during the
surgery they did cultures and discovered I had a staph infection on my spleen
as well? My immunologist said it was a
one in a million shot and that I should consider a lottery ticket. I told him I already bought one and cashed it
in last Thursday and Friday. I used it
to stay above ground and as far as I know, they don’t sell winners back to
back.
To be honest, I used to play the lottery quite a bit. Not large amounts, but I had selected some
numbers that were relevant to the family and I’d donate five to ten bucks a
month. This week, when I had built up
enough stamina to open up the computer and check on a few things, I was looking
at my bookmarks and saw the “Texas Lottery” link. But this time, I had no interest in it
whatsoever. Not even a curiosity to see
what the jackpot might be.
July 4, would be my fourth holiday spent in the
hospital. But I am alive. I have never been so happy to be alive! Ever.
I thought I got it. I thought I
was living for the simple moments, but I discovered that there is another level. My buddies and some family would come to
visit me and even though it would zap my energy, I loved every moment with
them. It is hard to explain, but I had
come to accept that I survived a major traumatic event. The love and support of my community was
almost palpable and I pledged to never take any portion of it for granted
again. God truly saved me and I have no doubt, as previously mentioned, that
there were angels and miracles involved.
 |
| Certificate of flag flying in the F-16 |
The morning of July 3rd, I woke up with stomach distention
and without a bowel movement. I didn’t
feel comfortable eating breakfast and filling my stomach with no predictable
output from my intestines. It was pretty
painful even considering all the other issues that had been going on over the
last week and a half. I opted for
another shot of Relistor and let the games begin. This was a triple flusher, but I had
anticipated the results and wasn’t surprised by any of it. I had so many nurses wiping my butt, I felt like
I was 2 at times. Also, I had to use a barrier
cream on my butt. Being on my back and
in the chair so long made me develop a kind of bed sore, but not an open oozing
one. With the cream it was manageable and
protective.
After my turbo lax shot, July 3rd would be a good
day with food intake, pain management, walking, and visitors. My cousin David was a munitions Master
Sargent in San Antonio and had retired in mid-June. As it turns out he asked for a favor as a
gift to me. He had an F-16 Fighting
Falcon from the 182nd fly over both the Texas Capital and Texas
A&M University with a flag for me.
He came and presented me with the flag and certificate and I’ll be
honest, I was moved to tears.
On July 4th, I felt actual hunger pangs. I started
to eat better and they would slow down the big gravy TPN nutritional bag. However, there was still no bowel output
which at this point were only stimulated by shots. My night nurse gave me a glass of prune juice
and finally, around midnight, I started to fart. The relief was amazing. Even though I still
had plenty of gas and a somewhat distended stomach, it was a start. And the feeling was almost
indescribable. I wish I could do some
sort of comparative video collage of having a splinter removed, hole in one,
watching first child born, getting married, hitting the game winning walk off
home run and any number of other things that make you smile years after they
occur. For a fart…technically
several. But it was like that.
Before you judge on this one, consider that I’m bloated and
I am in the hospital for a rupture.
Trust me, you don’t want to go through that ever. So when something happens to alleviate those
feelings, you are pretty stoked about the event…even a fart. Finally on July 6 I would have three
movements which were not induced by a shot or a pill. I could finally eat and feel confident that
it would pass naturally.
As an aside, I had a lot of time to watch cable and check
out a few movies. I don’t want to
artificially extend this blog another two pages to fit in correlations of Tombstone, Field of Dreams, The Punisher and Full Metal Jacket to name a few of the
movies I watched. But it would be easy
to link my life, family, and experiences to some point in all of these movies,
which I guess is what makes them meaningful.
By the way, if you are looking for a good binge watch: Shooter on
Netflix/AMC is pretty awesome. It uses
the Marky Mark movie and takes it to another level turning a two-hour movie
into a 10-hour series – so far. But it
shows his love for country and family as well as his unmatched talent as a
sniper. You have to have a little
suspension of disbelief, but it is worth the watch.
I would also like to thank and say how proud of my wife I
am. Nita has kept the house running as
though things are normal while dealing with work, technology issues, a zillion
questions, a husband who almost died, and summer camps. She has shown everyone what a Rockstar she is
and I am lucky to be her husband.
I have some amazing news.
In the “what else could possibly happen” category and If you still
aren’t convinced that this has been anything short of a miracle, try this on
for size.
Here is the deal, I have mentioned that statistically I
thought this was going to be my last trip around the sun with all of you. There just wasn't a path (outside of a
miracle) to staying alive many months longer.
But with all that has gone on these past two weeks I felt that it
wouldn't be crazy if something ELSE miraculous
happened. I don’t mean it in an expectation
or entitlement sort of way, just that if I was going to be called home, it
probably should have happened on the 22nd. I told Nita that I have felt the embrace of God
and wouldn’t be shocked if one of the doctors came up to me and said, "We
can't explain it, but..."
Well, for shits and giggles I
asked one of the doctors to run a CEA score.
On the morning of July 5th, my doctor came in and said that
he ran it and it came back as a 10.0! Down from 45.4 on June 5th. The doctors and nurses with oncology
experience at St. David’s were all shocked and staring at me like they were
witnessing something beyond medicine.
They were outwardly elated but I noticed the casual exchange of glances
that were in the realm of shock. There
were even hugs and tears.
Before we get too crazy, this is
just the blood marker score and not a CT scan measuring actual tumor growth or
decline. But it is a time for rejoicing nonetheless. I cannot tell y'all how
amazed, humbled, blessed, and honored I am to be on this path. All of the other stuff has been worth
it. I love you, and hope to see y'all
soon. I should be discharged on Friday July 7th and am looking
forward to getting back home. I am still
obviously working a few things out with my bowels, foot and ankle swelling,
stomach distention, as well as a few other things...but I am alive.
All those thoughts and prayers
were answered this week. I refuse to
discount the events I’ve been a part of, nor would I consider it “normal” or “lucky.” I love and appreciate everything you have
done for me and am looking forward to seeing you folks around, whether it be an
Aggie football game, community pool, shuttling the kids around, or just walking
the dog in the neighborhood. The book should
be out by the end of July (the first year) and I’m looking forward to that one. There will be some signings for those that
are interested. But this year certainly seems
to warrant another one. Let’s see how it
all goes.
But for now, I have never been
so happy to be alive. God bless you all
and may you never lose faith in the face of adversity. Find courage and strength where you can and
never ever give up. TeamMarco
