update from my poet father.

Blessings, Miracles, and Hazel

Today is the first day after Caryn’s surgery to remove a tumor manifest in her brain by the scourge of ovarian cancer.  The images of so many moments from yesterday are filling my mind. By now, all of you, friends of ours, friends of Caryn’s,  family,  clergy, and medical miracle workers at the University of Michigan, know that it all ended well. 

Ronnie and I did our best, texting, calling, to make sure that all of you who were sending hopes and prayers knew the outcome, as soon as possible.  We wanted to do this as soon as we could, even as we waited to see Caryn in recovery, so that all of you who knew what was to take place yesterday, could begin to breathe again.  For those of you reading this, for whom we somehow in our drained state, missed contacting, please, please forgive us. 

The tumor, to all visible (and MRI) senses is gone.  And perhaps even more important, Caryn retains all physical ability to function. That is no small outcome. As you all know, any tampering with the brain carries a significant risk that precious signals to the neural system may end up temporarily or permanently lost. If that were to happen, bodily functions, that we don’t even think about as we go on our daily lives, could be lost.

So today, one day after, I feel the need to let all of you know the full story of what took place yesterday. For those of you so inclined, our story of yesterday may serve as a reminder that higher powers do exist in the universe. Sometimes these powers are manifest in the skill of caregivers.  Sometimes these powers give us strength in those difficult moments in our lives when we feel things can get no worse. For me, after yesterday, I will no longer have reason to doubt the presence of higher powers.

The procedure yesterday was a long one. Arrival at UM Mott Children’s Hospital was at 6:00 a.m. (Mott has the only surgery at UM equipped with MRI scanning capability, required during brain surgery).  Prepping until about 9:00 a.m.  Then surgery start.  Word would not come of final results until shortly before 4:00 p.m, when Caryn’s surgeon, Dr. Daniel Orringer,  would come out to report outcomes.

But 4:00 p.m. was not the first time Dr. Orringer would come out to talk to us. We were advised of the need to ‘consult’ at about 11:00 a.m.  That was the only word we heard. Consult. Was Caryn o.k.?  What happened that could be so dire that the surgeon needed to leave the surgery to talk to us? Ronnie, Bari, and I were scared.  Tears flowed as we waited in the consult room for what seemed like an eternity for the doctor to appear.

Dr. Orringer was calm, measured, all business. What all of you reading this must first know is that before the actual process begins to remove a tumor in the brain, there is a “mapping” where precisely placed electrical signals are used to finds a path through brain tissue that will be the safest for access.  Caryn is semi-awake through this (and through the entire surgery) so that she can respond to verbal instruction to move this or that part of her body. As she is able to perform these motions, the surgeon finds pathways least likely to affect life function.

Dr. Orringer came out to tell us that the path through the brain directly above the tumor controlled Caryn’s ability to move her left hand and possibly left arm. There was a high probability that she would lose all function at least in her left hand if the tumor was removed. The choice?  Leave the tumor there, allowing it to wreak further debilitating damage in the future.  Dr. Orringer had asked Caryn what she wanted him to do.  She had told him to get it out.  Dr. Orringer wanted to be sure we were ok with that choice too. We were, of course. Caryn herself wanted that.

We returned to the waiting room. Dr.  Orringer returned to surgery.  More tears.  More hugging each other.  More profound sadness. This beautiful, sweet daughter of ours, sister of Bari, mother of Hazel,  had already endured so much in her young life. Two prior ovarian cancer occurrences. This was number three, in a region of her body that could not have tested her more. Not fair. For  Caryn, so skilled in the use of her hands to create all manner of lovely things, how could she now face this new future? For those denying the existence of a higher power, here was certainly evidence.

The attentive lady at the desk saw the looks on our faces.  She asked if she could summon a social  worker to comfort us. No. Thank you. We have each other.

And I forgot to tell you something else. We had Hazel with us. Our dear friend Betsy was staying with Hazel while we were in the consult room.  Caryn and Matt had always raised Hazel with love, sensitivity, and empowerment. The day before Caryn had asked Hazel if she wanted to go to school in the morning, or come to the hospital. Hazel wanted to be with her momma. So despite misgivings by some of us about Hazel’s ability to endure the long, emotional day, she came.

Thank goodness. As the difficult hours wore on, we were able to see Hazel smile, occasionally laugh, and have her to talk to us.  When the day was ending, and we were all able to see Caryn in intensive care, it was Hazel who had the most energy, and wanted to see her momma one last time before we could all go home for needed sleep.  Caryn had been so right.  Someday, when Hazel is able to read this story, she will know how important a part she played in sustaining all of us. 

We continued our waiting.

You may know that the UM has a pager system. The pager allows the staff to let you know where each patient is in the surgery process. Prep. Going in to surgery. Moving to recovery. That kind of stuff. The pagers can also be used by the surgical team to send messages.

At about 3:00 or so, our pager lit up with the following message that will forever remain with us.

It said, “All motor function intact. She is doing well.”

Intense hugging. Tears of joy. Did that really mean what we think it means? Will Caryn be able to have full use of her limbs after all? 

Yes. That was what the message meant. Later in the consult room, when Dr. Orringer came out to fill us in,  he had a bit of a smile on his face.  He explained that sometimes, in strange ways, the miracle that is the human brain, is able to find new pathways to get around damaged tissue. Such was the case for Caryn.  Her difficult decision was validated.  All the detectable pieces of the tumor were gone. Hazel would get her momma back, able to do all the things mommas do.

So this was the part of yesterday’s story that you didn’t know, but I thought you should.

Certainly this positive outcome owes so much to the amazing talent and skill of Dr. Orringer and his staff. 

But as for me, and perhaps you too, I will never, ever doubt the presence of higher, unexplainable powers.

My best to you all.  And thank you again for all your thoughts and prayers. They helped too.

Stu