Surprising Follow Up

8 days after I got out of the hospital, I had to go back for a follow up. Sleeping had been incredibly difficult for the last week with me not able to do more than an hour to two at a time. Part of the problem was likely the steroids and medication but I imagine another part was the fact that for the first time I could remember I was having to sleep on my back where I usually slept on the side where my swollen head was (was this the cause of brain cancer?). I had to take a nap everyday and that Friday was the first time I had used an alarm clock in weeks (I don’t usually use an alarm clock in regular life) and was getting up at 6:30 for an 8:00 Am appointment. The night before, I had not been able to fall asleep until almost two am due to the anxiety of the next day.

There I had sat wondering whether it was going to be the 2, 3 or 5 week scenario. They had also told me they would be doing some test work on what they removed. In the best case scenario they hoped for, the cells would come back as 3 to 5% actively cancerous they had stated before. But in the follow, they told me in my case, it was 0%. These Duke doctors, which had been the most optimistic out of all that I had talked to, had hoped they were buying me 10 years. The simple truth was that this surgery was simply supposed to be just an extension of my death sentence but now they stated that they thought it was unlikely that I was going to die of this. I was not going to have to come back for 5 months because that’s about how long before the “hole” in my brain would refill. I’d have to do MRI’s as a monitoring tool forever to check if it came back and do anti-seizure medication twice a day but a minor daily change and a tri-annual check was, in the scheme of things, fairly minor. It would be pointed out that the monitoring starting point after the surgery was where they hoped most patients with my diagnosis were a few years after not immediately. My mother immediately broke into tears and loudly praised God for his miracles. Alex who was taking notes for my wife as to what I needed to be doing and the diagnosis stopped writing because he didn’t expect news anywhere near this good. I called my wife and she very casually stated that was what she expected, I was so low on energy that I didn’t quite catch why this would be so as no doctor had stated they thought this was possible much less likely and she herself had said to a friend that even if this went well, it was going to be tough to live with the concept of an expiration date in mind.

Unfortunately, the medical appointments weren’t over. My eye was looking really red and instead of getting to go home after these appointments at noon as I’d hoped, they set up an appointment for the afternoon to check some things about my vision. After a variety of tests, they determined that my eye was just scratched. One of the tests left me so near/far sighted (not sure which is the correct term) that I could only see things clearly that were like 40 yards away.

Since this was my first time back at Duke since the surgery, we went shopping. I had hoped to be able to find a shot glass, t-shirt or something that said March Madness Duke ’11 but the tournament was still two weeks away even if I was already ending my personal March Madness. Plus, I needed an active way of cheering for them during the tournament. I still bought a few things in addition to some of the ones my mother and brother had gotten me to remind me of this point, some touchstones to never take these opportunities for granted, to help me recall that I’d gotten an incredible opportunity.

Walks, Talks and Quirks

My wife being gone was hard and I tried to call her every chance I got. Luckily there was some secondary support, the people I was being hosted with were awfully kind and typically were the ones taking my blood pressure and pulse and making sure I ate. Also several friends from the area or not too far came by and shared their kindness.

The best man from my wedding, Gil, drove 7 hours in spent a couple of hours with me and drove home as it was the only day he could spare. A friend who lived 3 hours away, Linda spent a couple of day. I got to spend time with friends who lived right there in the city. My little brother and mother were there on a daily basis. My friend Alex would spend the second half of the week with me. With almost all of them, I’d want to have our conversations on the road while we were walking rather than just sitting around somewhere. My energy levels were still off because I was still sleeping only in very short intervals but I still wanted to be doing something physical despite the fact I couldn’t run, lift weights or play any sports so I just went walking. By day 4 or 5, I was going on 2 or 3 two to three mile walks. The conversations varied depending on who I was walking with. I’d be thankful for the company and would say that but apparently was also very repetitive. I would have the same conversation two or three times within the same walk and people would just kindly put up with it. Likewise, I would blank out on 10-12 basic words a day, each day a few more but it was a weird phenomenon where I could clearly see the item in my mind but I couldn’t come up with the word for it in any language. Words like insulation where I could see an attic full of white stuff and could state that and say the stuff that is in there that keeps your house warm or cool. Eventually rather than having people tell me the word I’d ask them for hints though for some reason I’d still miss it most of the time. The doctors had warned me about this, that some gaps would be there between the neurons and that the smart thing would be to explain it to people and have them tell you what it was rather than hiding it.

Also took a clear appreciation to people with unique names like Gil because anyone who had a common name like Joe or Jerry whenever I would think of their name, everyone who I knew by that name would come to mind immediately. It was strange because I was putting no conscious effort into it but when their name floated, a dozen or so would come into the screen of my mind. Joe Paniagua, Joe Chavez, Joe Stanley when I was talking to Joe Jones. Staying with a Jim made that particular quality interesting. However, luckily, I didn’t know any other Kianas.

I also started calling various people within a day or two of getting ‘home.’ For whenever first time I would make phone, I had actually written a list of people who had put in time and effort into being very kind and helpful through this whole process. But soon I started calling a much longer list of people and while I haven’t checked my cell phone bill to see how much I did it, clearly my memory was still off because a couple of people have called and said I called them a day or two apart and essentially had the same conversation.

During the walk and talks was when my mind felt clearest. I would talk about some highly emotional things like hoping I was going to get my job back. I talked to my little brother David about the fact that while the surgery had gone well to remember that this was just buying me time and that I was likely still going to be dead within 10 years. I had tried to have this conversation with my mother but it had gone too awkward and David stated he would have it and make sure she was aware.

My wife called rarely and briefly but still every day and said that she was sorry for not being in more contact. She stated getting back to work was stressful and distracting. I even mentioned to my host that while I wasn’t glad she was stressed, I was glad that the source of stress wasn’t me. I told her I’d help with anything now of when I got back and that I couldn’t wait until the walks and talks were with her.

Not Armstrong

The day I got out of the hospital was much tougher than I realized. They took me down in a wheelchair and slight bumps were much harder than I would have imagined. My hosts were kind enough to drive me home and each road imperfection felt gigantic. It felt so rough that I would literally refuse riding in a car for several days. While I didn’t complain a single time, the thought that maybe I should have stayed at that hotel that was within a couple of hundred yards of the hospital entrance because that half hour ride was rough.

We got to the house and I got put into the bed. Getting out early had both advantages and disadvantages. My wife had said she was not happy about leaving so early, not thinking I was going to get cleared or that things would be looking this well that fast but she also liked the idea of getting back home to Kiana that early so had gone along for that. I was excited about that idea that Kiana was going to start getting some of her routine back and was aware enough to realize that a 4 year old needed her mother more badly because this 30 year old, a little weakened could have a variety of company. Still, before we left the hospital on Saturday the 5th, the hospital follow up had been scheduled for Friday the 11th. My flight was scheduled for the afternoon of the 12th and shortly after my wife left, I started trying to reschedule my flight for the 11th so that I could get home to my family as soon as possible. Dre seemed to tell me to slow down and just see how the week went but I emailed my friend Alex who would be coming later and returning home with me and asked him to check on it. Only a few hours after my wife left and I was already to get back to her and my daughter. Even if the flight changed I knew that this would be the longest I would have been away from her and while I’d call her everyday that was nowhere near adequate. People were visiting, being kind but I had prepared this playlist to get me through the week, a list on my ipad that I’d play in the background while doing some of the rehab games or while having down time. I kept listening to “Home,” a song sung by Celtic Thunder with the following lyrics echoing in my heart:

“Maybe surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
Just wanna go home
I miss you, you know

And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
'I'm fine baby, how are you?'
Well I would send them but I know that it's just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Another airplane
Another sunny place
I'm lucky I know
But I wanna go home”

Calling my wife and Kiana everyday was the highlight of each day. In what turned out to be an inadequate way, I was trying to relieve what I perceived as the cause of my wife’s stress. I contacted a few friends and encouraged them to visit my wife or to take her out so that part of the week that I was gone could have some great fun. While my motive was in the right place, apparently some of these actions were a little too pushy for her as she called me and told me to slow down because she was trying to spend some time with Kiana. Begrudgingly, I accepted it.

My hosts were incredibly gracious about their meals and kindness. Friends were coming to visit and each day I was walking a little bit more. Something I said to them that week that while I sat here and waited for the results and the follow up, the main thing I started to realize was that I was due for some changes. Throughout the process, I had kept saying that I was just trying to get back to my life but those first few days after the surgery, what I kept saying to myself, to my wife, to the various visitors and hosts was that no matter how well this went, that I needed to be a better father and husband after this. I don’t think I was a bad one but some of my perspectives from growing up as a Hispanic male and having grown up a good part of my childhood without a father made me realize I had much more room for improvement than I’d ever seen. It’s funny that having cancer removed from my brain opened up my mind to a much better perspective. Other friends had tried to focus on some other views; One friend had dared to suggest that I was like Lance Armstrong due to the Boston bit despite cancer; I disregarded that and said that while Mr. Armstrong has done many amazing things that I wouldn’t want his story because in the end he and his family split up. Now while I have no details and have no idea what his cause was, I’d much rather fail at everything else and keep the family. Jim and Jan, the people keeping me, stated that it was clear from the way my wife talked about me that I had nothing to worry about.

Not My Proudest Moment

I had run miles the day before admitting myself to the hospital the day before the surgery, walked a couple the morning of. The morning after the surgery I got up to try to do some walking and followed through by walking 8 times around the elevator lobby and was pretty exhausted. I couldn’t help both be both amused and frustrated by the fact that a guy who had qualified for the Boston marathon less than two weeks before could now hardly walk.

My little brother David had arrived the night before; to this day, I honestly can’t remember whether the idea of him being there is something I recall because I was told he was there or if it’s an actual memory. The next morning I recall him being there; he stated it was tough to walk in and see me post surgery as the first time he’d seen me in quite a while. I got out of the ICU in about 16 hours because my system was stable and one of the nurses said that was the quickest she’d ever seen someone get out of ICU after brain surgery. While that was flattering, I don’t know that it’s my proudest first place.

My mom and brothers were there the next morning and it would be quite late before my wife arrived. No one could get a hold of her and so they were worried and I was also lonely for her. It turned out that she had slept in that morning from me keeping her up the night before but since I had no recollection of that it hadn’t occurred to me.

The doctors had initially told me that I’d be released on Sunday afternoon or Monday if all went well. They now said with how I was progressing I might get out Saturday morning instead. Then I would have a follow up appointment on Friday where they’d let me know how the prognosis was looking and that I would have to return in 2, 3 or 5 weeks for follow up which would likely be radiation, chemotherapy and/or medial experimentation. The majority of patients ended up in one of those and I should be prepared. I asked if I could do the follow up with someone in Texas and they said that was up to me but pointed out that their place, they believed, was the best. Honestly, when they told me about the 3 possible time options, I had hoped that when they gave me the final info that it would be 3 weeks. This was despite the fact they made it clear that the sooner I came back was because the prognosis was worse and it could be said that I should have wanted the 5 week mark but every one of the doctor’s appointments I’d had with options thus far had come back as worst case scenario so for once I thought I’d be thrilled to have the middle of the pack option.

I called a few people that day and said hello and told them things had gone well but it was a bare minimum. I had made a short list of people before the surgery to call them because they had been so incredibly helpful. They almost all reacted very kindly but also were shocked at how I came across stating it seemed too well. The conversations were all short because my energy level was still low and my pain level rather high but they all stated I came across as happy and enthusiastic, that they loved that about me. I had received over 200 hundred emails, texts and phone calls from almost that many people both before and after the surgery. I was rather humbled by this; while I’ve always carried myself fairly confidently and it would be unfair to say that I often wasn’t arrogant, I suddenly started to understand humility. I realized that not even if I had volunteered every hour of my life to this point or volunteered every single one from that point on could I earn this much support. I had joked to Todd a few weeks before that “Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me more arrogant.” With essentially rolled eyes, he said “Only you would say that” but I’d failed to follow that through. I’d gotten this far almost entirely on the backs, hearts and skills of others. My head was swollen but unlike usual this time it was only from the surgery.

Missing Moments

Things occurred during and after the surgery that I have no recall of but have been told stories about. Apparently shortly after I woke up the doctor went through and asked me a series of questions about where I was and I responded Florida. I responded that I had just come from Aruba (not Barbados), Aruba was actually where we went from our honeymoon. The year was 1980 something. It would be later explained to me that it was important that, despite getting the information incorrect, the fact that I was answering the questions with the right type of word was the more important factor (ie what year is it, purple would have been a bigger problem, 1980 something was not). My wife later told me that the questions I got correct were about her and Kiana which shows which parts of my mind weren’t flexible to being wrong. She made it her first facebook status that I’d gotten the important questions right.

That evening I was awake for four hours where I would demand things like bananas when I really meant pain killers or water. I would also suddenly start shaking myself in the bed trying to do something that wasn’t clear. Apparently the movement was so much that there was a point that the nurses thought that I might have to be restrained because one of these moments was trying to take the bandages off my head. This echoed the sentiment and actions from the original biopsy where (again I have no memory of this) despite the fact that I was wearing a catheter I was trying to forcibly get up to go pee. The nurse there told me it was unnecessary and that I needed to stay in bed. With smart aleckiness, I told her I would just wait till she left and then I’d go pee in the corner. Maybe I don’t have any superpowers but one of my regular abilities is a resistance to staying down.

I woke up at nine o’clock consciously and first thing I remember is that my wife was there with me. It turned out that it had been a mistake that I had placed an unnecessary burden on her by asking her to wait to let me post my own first facebook status several hours after the surgery. People had been bugging her for a few hours trying to figure out how I was doing. Had I thought of that possibility I would have never done it. About half an hour into being ‘awake,’ I placed my own status and said, without awareness of the mistakes I had made for the last few hours: “For those of you who had hoped I’d come out without language, sorry it’s still there’” and I also thanked people. The joke that had been a few times about putting in a mute button or a volume button had failed. I called Kiana and spoke with her for a few minutes and spoke with my wife for a little while longer and then faded out again a while before ten. However, I was still awake for a while and since I was in the ICU, no one was allowed to spend the night. My wife was trying to head out to head the half hour home but apparently every time she did I insisted that she stay, that I needed her. My subconscious state, unlike I rarely do during my fully conscious state, kept stating that my life was better with her present and that in a damaged state she was something that made my life stable. I finally fell actually asleep shortly before midnight and she headed to where we were staying.

A pattern began that night that would last for about 10 days, I had a variety of horrible nightmares and the only good dreams I had and I’d have them each night as well were about Kiana and her mom. It would be over a week before I’d even sleep straight for more than an hour and a half to two hours so I’d have more recall of dreams than I’d ever had. During the following week, this dream pattern continued. Since I would only briefly remember them, initially I was tempted to start writing them down but remembering nightmares was silly. I wrote down some of the good ones and they were essentially about doing some quality time with my wife and daughter, some were with each of them alone and some were with all three of us. Family was what had helped me stay alive and what got me through each night and what made me want to make dreams come true.

The Why and Wherefore I'm Alive

Surgery day finally came around and I was blown away by all the kindness and support. I had tons of texts, several friends changed their facebook pictures to one with me in them, several more of their status were asking for prayers, positive vibes. One friend stated that whatever people’s hobbies were (ie praying to this or that deity, sacrificing animals, sending out positive vibes etc) to please do so on my behalf. No one had stayed with me the night before so I went out first thing in the morning and walked about two miles through the hospital lobby to kill some time and get some exercise.

They came in and checked things throughout the morning and finally told me that it had been moved up to noon. I made my own facebook status about that when I found out and again was blown away by how many people commented with some way of wishing me well in just a short time. One friend commented that many people caring said something about me though I responded with the truth, that it said something about them. Still, the reason I was fighting all this was to stay with my wife and my daughter. I even kicked my mother out for the last little while just to stay with my wife and call Kiana as the last few things I did before the surgery, updating my own status to a quote from song that I had listened to often over the last several weeks regarding my wife “She may be the reason I survive, the why and wherefore I’m alive for where she goes I’ve got to be, the reason for my life is She.”

Our last conversation before the surgery was differed a lot from the one before the biopsy. I told her to please make sure she made the dreambook page if something went wrong. She stated she would and she would try to fulfill many of the other dreams with Kiana. Unlike the last time, there wasn’t a single tear down her cheek. We talked about her updating my status as a way of communicating with people but I was hoping, daring to dream that I could do it myself so we made a deal that at 10
o’clock she would do it but if I came to before then I would. She didn’t want to be over specific or try to be clever and stated she with one of the following:
1) Surgery went well/had minor complication/had major complications. Will update in a day or two
2) Iram passed away please contact Todd Geldon if you want to be updated regarding funeral details.

I had sat with Todd and my wife separately about what to do if I passed away. I had been researched that the death rate of this surgery was about 5%. While some friends had mentioned that this seemed low, I couldn’t think of any other days where I had a 1 in 20 chance of dying through truth be told it was my understanding that Dr. Friedman’s batting average was much much lower. In regards to the funeral, the simple fact was that I wasn’t interested, in face had joked (but with some seriousness) that they should just cremate me and flush me down the toilet. They’d both blown me off about that and said that funerals were for other people but had agreed to keep it lighthearted and to do it somewhere like a house or a restaurant with no body because the body without my spirit, mind and heart wouldn’t be me so that was something I wanted avoided. My wife and I also had an odd and uncomfortable conversation that morning where she stated that if I passed away that she didn’t ever want to get married again, she wanted to just be single and in due time maybe be with someone but that she didn’t want anything as intense as what we had. She didn’t want to go to a life that was as pushy or ambitious as I took it. This was disappointing to me and I told her that she was amazing and incredible and to not become ordinary, that she and the world would be both getting robbed.

They came in asked me to donate the excess tissue they would remove for research (excess being what they took out beyond what was necessary for tests). I joked with several people that day and since about how they should be jealous that I got asked to donate my brain to science despite that it was clearly for the wrong reasons. Shortly after that, they came to get me. I hug and kissed my mother and held my wife’s hands for a while and hugged and kissed her. She was the reason I was getting this surgery, I’d taken her opinion over all else’s because I trusted her more than anyone and because if anything went wrong, the liability fell heaviest on her. She, the meaning of my life, was the last non medical person I saw and the first one I hoped to see coming out.

I went into the prep room where the nurses and doctors again laughed at my attitude and a few cracked I made about how they should make sure that they inserted super powers and smart alecky remarks in reaction to this or that question. They told me that they were going to put me to sleep and started to inject the anesthesiology; I consciously chose to think about Kiana and her mom and went unconscious very much at peace.

Into His Hands

Somehow arriving from the Caribbean to brain surgery was less than exciting but still I was glad to be finally there. A friend of mine’s parents, Jim and Jan, were going to let my wife and I stay at their house and were kind enough to pick us up from the airport despite our late arrival. Surprisingly enough, I actually slept fairly well with almost no random thoughts that night but woke up early to get a few things done.

I got up and ran over four miles, wondering how long it would be before I’d get to run again. I wrote down a few thoughts to myself and some notes to remember. I wrote a note to my wife as well but in the end threw it away because it felt inadequate, saying little more than I love you and the only reason I want to come back is because of you and Kiana. It came across as cheesy and predictable. I had already given her a card that said “Grow old along with me, the best in life is yet to be.” For a guy who had always talked too much, been a preacher, spoken publicly in various places, words for the love of my life always seemed so less than adequate.

We drove to the hospital, one of the least/most exciting half hour drives of my life and checked in at one placed to have this blood test, that MRI, get admitted, have an IV put in (over my hospital stay I would keep track of the number of times they took some prick from me or a needle and it was over a dozen; always having been a pansy about this stuff, people were amused I was calmer about MRI’s and brain surgery than I was about needles). I had steroids being put in, this presurgery medication. There were some amusing moments like when they asked me before the MRI if I had any metal in my head. I have some titanium screws from the biopsy but somehow what came out of my mouth was:

Me: Adamantium
Nurse: Huh?
Me: Adamantium, no wait that’s from X-men, I have titanium

I couldn’t stop laughing about this for a while as the joke that I had received the most often was the fact that I was going to walk away from the surgery with superpowers and I was trying to already put them in.

Finally after some more conversation/tests, Dr. Allan Friedman, the main reason I had come to Duke came in and talked to me. I had chosen to delay putting on hospital gear as long as possible and was still wearing a shirt a friend had given me that read “It’s not rocket surgery”. Dr. Friedman never noticed it; (his assistant would later explain that he’s incredibly focused on your face when he meets you, wondering if something is being triggered and never even looks at people’s outfits). Friedman mention¬¬ed surgery would be about two o’clock the next day, asked about how my marathon went, blatantly but honestly pointed out that they weren’t going to cure me, just hoped to buy me time. Their hope was to remove 60 to 80% of the tumor and that they would be going underneath my brain. As he looked carefully at my biopsy scar, he was clearly both surprised and disappointed at how big it was and stated openly that they would have to incorporate it into the surgery and that came across as a complication. This was Wednesday, surgery would be on Thursday and they expected me to be in the ICU until Saturday and released from the hospital Sunday or Monday. He asked if I had any questions and I went through my list of a variety of things about the future of returning to work and life wherein he explained that most people have six weeks after before they are back to normal in energy levels, and wherever speech and memory would settle which could both possibly be less. Thoroughly impressive was the fact that he never seemed in a hurry and answered each question as if it was something significant. I suddenly realized ¬why this was the man into whose hands I would commend my spirit.

My older brother Alonso, mother and stepfather showed up late at night because their flight had been delayed and brought some food. My wife had already left to go back so we just had some growing up family time. We were up until almost midnight and talked. There was some good/awkward conversation and some great affection but there’s no way around that there’s nothing clearly to say that’s adequate for the night before brain cancer surgery.

Shortly after they left I spent a few minutes wondering how different the guy going to sleep the next night would be but after I fell asleep I again had no problems sleeping. One has to wonder whether the people who thought I was in denial or the people who thought I had accepted it with grace were the ones who were correct.

Happy Hours

Two days after the Marathon (which had left me thrilled and giddy), we had a Happy Hour to celebrate it and for my friends to see me before Duke. I had made an open invitation through facebook to Black Sheep Lodge, a restaurant I loved. I was, to say the least, blown away by the number of people who had shown up. A few dozen people were there hugging me and being kind, wishing me well, one brought a painting with three hearts representing me, my wife and Kiana. The compassion which people had poured out had become the touchstone of my life of the last few months. Nurses, friends, coworkers, practically strangers had continued to comment on my “fabulous attitude” and they never quite grasped that this was being handed to me; the lack of discouragement , frustration or even fear had been because life had given me so many people that had touched me and each one reminded that even with all this life was very, very good. I sat with two friends, Will and Todd, going over financial details and possibilities and begging them, trusting them that if something went wrong they would step in and make sure that my wife’s life would not be too complicated. If I needed help I would take it but above all else, they had to make sure Kiana and her mom were taken care of, that my goddess and my princess were treated the way they deserved.
I tried to spend some quality time with Kiana the last night I was there but something went wrong after a little while of playing with and I crashed hard after just an hour or two. This would sit heavy on my mind for quite a while. We dropped her off the next day and my wife and I headed to Barbados, with me feeling off. The first day in Barbados I was feeling so bad, had a fever and my throat hurt incredibly to swallow. Usually I would disregard these things for a while thinking I had a cold or something but with surgery the next week, the first thing I did in Barbados was go to the doctor. This was the icing of my medical bills and problem cake (not as good as cookies and cream ice cream cake) because my insurance didn’t apply there and I got a huge bill for less than 5 minutes with the doctor to tell me I had strep throat and a prescription, both of which were fully priced. I found it a little amusing that the first thing I did on my vacation was start out on a medical adventure and medical bill.
This was a very different trip than any vacation we’d ever taken. There was a lot of happy moments, some with just each other, others with a friend who was also there, others with strangers we met. There was a lot of walking on the beach, more quiet time than any vacation we’d had. I was greedier than usually about the vacation and some of the expectations I’d had for it. This was both ironic and stupid since I’d picked Barbados because my wife grew up in Hawaii and loves the beach but at some level I just was afraid this was my last normal week and I was unfortunately too self-centered about it. This was not completely so and my wife and I still had the majority of time as happy hours but that 20/20 retrospect made me wish that I’d turn that switch off and spent “my last few days” completely focused only on her happiness.
We did some old things like snorkeling; we’re both scuba divers but I’d been told not to do that since it affects brain pressure. We tried some new foods and did fun fast things like jet skiing. My wife said that my approach during that appeared reckless, as if I was watching out not at all for my safety, an approach that made her nervous. Still one of the things we did there was fulfill one of the things from our dreambook, windsurfing. my wife, like in life, showed quick ability to stay balanced on something unstable, to keep it moving forward, to do it with a smile when there was difficulty and to delight in a challenge and overcome it. I, as usual, struggled to learn something new but by the end had accepted the change and actually stayed up beaming at a novel event. If something went wrong March 3rd, at least the last thing I had done elsewhere was fulfill a dream with the love of my life.
The last couple of days were quiet, calm, at some level awkward because there was some level of fear that my wife would not be married to the same person she had said “I do” to. I bought some cards to send to work to send them after the surgery, planning, hoping, daring to dream that I would be able to send them and have them be sharp and show that they should let me back. I bought a few things for the people of the Ship of Fools who had organized the fundraising for this trip and then I got on a plane to go to one of the most significant chapters of my life and yet one I had no control over: brain surgery. While glad that the last few days before there were good ones with my wife, it was still tough to turn off the idea that the day I was flying to Duke was the day I should have been flying to Brazil. This was definitely a step down from Carnaval but more meaningful, right?