Good News, Bad News, No News

[Originally written on January 22, 2015]

Okay, you’ve heard all the “Good News, Bad News” jokes before. Many times. Ad nauseum. Like the poor patient in the hospital whose doctor came in to see him before surgery. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said. “The bad news is that we’re going to have to amputate both your legs. And, well, the good news is that the guy across the hall wants to buy your slippers.”

You see, so much of it is about perspective. And recognizing the silver cloud behind every lining. My Crazy Aunt was right! (Remember her from the last time I wrote?) So, as much as is possible in this puny mind of mine, I’m going to look for that silver cloud. Or lining. Or whatever it is.

Well, with that said, after having attended my appointment with the plastic surgeon (the carver of good legs, the stitcher of abdomens to lower legs, the angel in blue scrubs who appeared at just the right time to ensure retention of the natural beauty of my lower leg on the day of surgery—now over two weeks ago) … Where was I? Oh yes… After that appointment with Dr. Nguyen yesterday morning I can now confirm that I have some good news, some bad news, and also some no news. (If one has “no news” then what is one left with? CBC’s The National on a slow day?)

The good news is that I get to keep my slippers. And my legs. Both of them. At least what’s left of them. One is still intact and the other is not. But I will be grateful for what I have.

This reminds me of my father’s friend, who one day was verbally accosted by a lame beggar in India. With a sad, pitiful look on his face he complained that he needed money because he had one short leg. My father’s friend (a man who was somewhat vertically challenged himself) rebuked the beggar. He told him that he should be happy with what he had, “Because if you would take notice, I myself have two short legs!” Okay. I’m happy for what I have—something a little short of two whole legs.

Seriously though (this is the hard part—keeping serious) the good news is that Dr. Nguyen was very happy with the progress of the healing of my leg. In fact, said she, it’s much better than she had expected.  Yikes! You should see it. (I could send you pictures if you’re interested. It looks like a… Well no, I’ll leave it there.) It doesn’t look very pretty. But it’s healing nicely. I like that news. The skin graft is “taking” well, with only a tiny little section that has not yet taken. But, she assured me, it will do so soon. That’s the good news.

The bad news came to me in this manner. I mentioned to Dr. Nguyen (just mentioned, mind you, not in a complaining fashion or pitiful tone of voice) that my leg always hurts within a minute or so whenever I let it hang down, like most legs were created to be—you know, vertical. “That’s good!” she said with a grin. Good? But it hurts! “Yes, that’s good, because that will remind you that your leg is supposed to be elevated.” Oh. But pain hurts. Strange sense of humor, but she knows best.

So keep the leg elevated. (By the way, I think that means “horizontal” as compared to actual “elevation.” After all, both my legs lived for many years in India at an elevation of over 8,000 feet, but seldom was one higher than the other for any extended period of time, so I guess that isn’t the intent here.)

That was the first half of the bad news. The second half, which has much longer lasting implications, came when I asked her how long this would have to go on. How long would it take to heal properly so that I could revert to walking without my leg being elevated? “Oh, that will take months. Many months!” Yowsers!

Now my most serious concern with that predicament is that it brings it pretty close to interfering with the golf season. That, my friends, is serious! I just can’t wait to get out there wearing shorts in the sun, before my abdomen-to-leg patch gets tanned, to show off the shark bite on my leg to some poor unsuspecting golf partner! That will be awkward. For them. What would you do to stop yourself from staring? What fun!

And the no news? Well this part is short and simple. We had expected that Dr. Nguyen would have received a copy of the pathologist’s report on the lymph nodes biopsy and the remaining part of the leg tumor that she removed. Unfortunately she did not, presumably because she was brought into the whole process part way through it (although just at the right time from my perspective).

So, we have no further word as to whether or not the cancer has spread into other parts of my body. That information will be forthcoming at my appointment with the surgeon, Dr. Granger, on Monday January 26^th. At that time he will also discuss with us the necessity and timing of a PET scan and CAT scan. Any additional treatments such as radiation and chemo will be up to Dr. Bahl, the radiation oncologist. We’re scheduled to see him on February 12^th.

There you go, contrary to silly sayings, no news is not necessarily good news. It’s just no news. We’ll just hurry up and wait for it.

Another little tidbit or two, if you’re up to reading a little more… Have you heard of the cookie cutter shark? I had not, but a week and a half ago, before she removed the original dressing (which, incidentally, she had sewed onto my leg while I was lying helpless on the operating table, in order to keep it—the dressing and skin graft that is—firmly in place, because I would not want that section of my abdomen slipping further down, like to my ankle), Dr. Nguyen enlightened me on the unique habits of the cookie cutter shark.

Apparently the cookie cutter shark, which grows no longer than about two feet in length, hangs out in the waters around Hawaii and feeds off whales and pretty much any other fish or animal larger than itself. It has very sharp teeth on both upper and lower jaws which it uses to attach itself onto its prey. It just grabs a mouthful, then spins its body around in order to cut out a nice round piece of flesh. Just like it was done with a cookie cutter.

Okay, keep that image in your mind. Then Dr. Nguyen says, “That’s what your leg looks like. Now let’s remove this dressing so we can see it.” I say all this to try to paint for you the ugly scene that faced me for the first time. It was far worse than I had imagined it would be. A nice round hole in my leg, about three inches in diameter and more than a half inch deep. Just as if it had been removed with a cookie cutter. (Christmas shortbread cookies will never taste the same again for me!) “But” says the pleasant doctor, “it’s beginning to heal nicely.” You could have fooled me! I must admit, however, that ten days later we can actually see some improvement in how it looks. Or perhaps we’re just getting used to it.

I’m thankful for Sharyn’s care of me. Every evening she changes the dressing on my leg, filling what started out as a divot in my leg but is now a regular bunker (that’s golf terminology for those of you who are challenged in some of those finer things in life) with Polysporin in order to keep it moist. (Like watering newly laid sod.) And as an illustration of her attention to detail, yesterday Sharyn actually discovered some new stomach hair growing in the skin that was grafted to my lower leg. Now picture that! Wow!

Enough said. All this is a very interesting journey that I’m on, and fun to write about. I’m very grateful for all that I have, and all that God has seen fit to leave with me. Perhaps it is that a small part of me has gone on to heaven? Maybe that’s just silly. Maybe not. Probably is.

I’m grateful for the support of my family and friends—for your encouragement, your tireless prayers, your smiles. (It’s okay to laugh about all this. I’m just about as crazy as my aunt, so go ahead and laugh. In that way she brought joy into many people’s lives. I’d like to do the same.) God is good. Still. I firmly believe in his ability to heal me and his peace which he gives me in abundance. And for his grace. How could I survive without it? Impossible.