Thursday, March 10, 2016

Time, stark, bright, white, fast

March 11: I left home more than a day ago, with Melanoma Man heading for the local ER. The family friend, C, who happens to be a physician stopped by for a visit and realized what I too knew, that MM was deteriorating. C was clear, concise, direct. She asked if she should leave, if she had said too much. I said No, he needs to hear it and not from me. We had some phone calls with Moffitt on Monday and Tuesday. There was talk of the right frontal lobe tumor being responsible for his new symptoms, facial paralysis, difficulty swallowing and difficulty with the fingers in his left hand, MM having faith in his Moffitt team didn't want to involve any other medical players in his care. He didn't want anyone else's advice, only Moffitt's and even that might not have been enough. He asked me to call his internist which I did, knowing I would get no useful response. They have no urgent appointments available with any provider. They can take a message. I say no thank you, knowing how long it will take for the message to get to someone with the skills and education to understand it. I am not too disappointed because I know this is not the help he needs. MM did hear us, the friend and I. He gave his explanation of why he didn't need to go to the hospital. After a few hours of mulling it over he said he was ready to go. C called her friend A at the hospital. A met us in the emergency room, ordered the head CT, had the radiologist and neurosurgeon on standby to review. They reviewed the CT and ordered an MRI. The frontal lobe tumor had doubled in size since 2/24/16 and the amount of swelling was just wow, so much more than the MRI I looked at with Dr. Etame just 6 days ago. All this with no headache. MM looked frail and seemed sad all week. It is hard to tell what portion of this is due to being worn out by fighting and what portion of his mood is injury to his frontal lobe.

March 11, at 8 pm, 27 hours after we arrived at the hospital MM was wheeled into the operating room in our home town, far from Moffitt, but in good hands. The surgeon is the father of one of imac's classmates. In years past we stood on the soccer field sidelines watching iMac and his son play soccer. I am relieved by the quiet of the surgical waiting room. Everyone has gone home. At 9:45 pm Dr. H came in. The tumor was out. 

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