Operation!

Today, Candice and I sat with members of our family while our Uncle Dave went through surgery to remove cancer from his prostate. So far, the prognosis is good. The doctor said the cancer did not spread to his lymph nodes, and they’re sure (as far as they can be) that they removed all the cancer in his prostate.

As Uncle Dave’s immediate family went into the Consultation Room to meet with the doctor, Candice and I sat outside in the Surgery Waiting Room and talked.

People may wonder why, out of our HUGE family, we were the only ones who decided to sit through the surgery with our family, instead of just dropping by afterwards when Uncle Dave was conscious and up to receiving visitors. The answer is simple. Candice and I both lost a parent when we were barely out of our teens. We know how short and tenuous life can be.

People who have not experienced loss like we have, have no concept of how precious we consider life. We know what it is like to have someone there one minute and not the next. We understand the total devastation. Neither of us could have forgiven ourselves if something HAD gone wrong at Uncle Dave’s surgery, and he hadn’t woken up. We were both prepared to be THERE for our family.

AND since both our parents died hospitals (mine in route and hers in the aftermath of surgery), we tend to be a little skeptical. As we eavesdropped on what the doctor was telling Aunt Venita and her kids, Candice leaned forward to me and rolled her eyes.

“They told Mom they were 98% sure they got it all, too,” she muttered. My Aunt Kathy, my second mom, died from cancer, and most of her immediate family are disgusted with how poorly her case was handled.

We also like to joke that the Rockford Memorial Hospital’s ER only has an EXIT sign. Those who go in, exit permanently! Not really, but I’ve had two dear people die there, so I’m a little bit sensitive to it.

Death changes you. Especially the death of someone close. In my case, my dad – Candice’s case, her mom – and my friend Angie who lost her best friend. The list goes on and on. You get it. You understand why people say life is short.

Death was the reason I moved “home” after college, and now I treasure being close to my family (if not the surroundings – see previous post!). Part of it is because I am an only child and the one responsible for my mom. I think that’s why my cousin Tammy stuck around, too. We both feel the obligation, the welcome tug, of being close to home.

Mom always says she feels sorry for parents’ whose children move away. She knows how fortunate we are. She especially feels for my Aunt Jan whose grandchildren are growing up far away from their grandparents. Whenever Aunt Jan comes to town, we really try to include her in things, since we know how much she misses her family.

To be honest, I’m so grateful God has given me my family. We are a uniquely strange little bunch. Make that a BIG bunch. And we’re funny. Take my Uncle Dave for example. When we finally did get see him after his surgery, he smiled big. (And showed us his morphine drip. He was so proud that he had a morphine drip.)

We waited for the loving words that always come after life-altering surgery. Sure enough, Uncle Dave looked at us and said, “Where’d you eat and what’d you have? Tell me everything!”

We love you too, Uncle Dave. And we’re glad we were able to be there.