All My Ancestors

I’m back.

Just because I haven’t been posting doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it.  Should I or shouldn’t I?  Have I lost all 2 of my regular readers?  What else is left to say?

But here I am.

In my time off, I’ve been to Detroit where I spent 16 days in a hotel room.  Even in a luxurious hotel, which it was, that’s too long.  However, it was the place to be given what we were doing there.  (We saw the King of Sweden and the Tampa Rays while we were there.)

In September, my husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  I’ve always considered prostate cancer to be the type to have if you’re going to have to have cancer.  But then when it showed up on my door-step, I felt completely different.  And that feeling was made even stronger when we found out he had very high Gleason scores (that’s the strength of the cancer, for the uninitiated).  Doctors kept telling us that it was unusual for him to have prostate cancer at his age, and it was particularly unusual for it to be that aggressive.  Somehow, not all that comforting.

Prostate cancer is one type of disease that requires lots of research and decision-making on the part of the patient.  (I tend to be a researcher for all types of problems–an occupational hazard for a librarian and incurably curious person, I suppose)  But there really were a lot of decisions to make.  I won’t bore you with all the options–

My husband is king-size.  Some is basic build and some is being overweight.  This complicates the surgical options, which was the option that was recommend given the strength of the tumors.  Robotic surgery seemed the best choice, but not all robots could handle a patient of Hubbo’s size.

We were fortunate to have a well-connected retired head of urology from the state medical school advocating for us.  Hubbo’s urologist had been this man’s student, and the urologist and Hubbo had grown up together, both in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, so there were all sorts of connections going on.  We could not have been more fortunate to have these two men on our side.

The final decision was to go to the Henry Ford Hospital‘s Vattikuti Urology Institute.

It could not have been a better experience.  The personnel were competent and caring.  The entire program, from the phone calls and information we got before we left home, the actual surgery, to their availability after we got home is unparalleled in my experience.  (and, unfortunately, I do have some experience in this arena).  The surgeon came out to talk to me during the surgery when it was delayed a bit, assuring me right up front that nothing was wrong.  After the surgery, the surgeon (!) walked us (#1 son and minister) over to the chapel and then back to the center for a chair massage.  The hotel worked with the hospital to make the entire stay comfortable and comforting.

So, that’s where I’ve been.  Life is sort of starting to return to normal.  Except for the fact that Hubbo is still on medical sabbatical and his response to having a moment of spare time seems to be to start re-decorating the house.  So far we have a loveseat and two chairs (his mother’s) recovered, a recliner purchased, 2 bookcases in place, and another chair at the upholsterer.  Not to mention blinds ordered for the front room and the painter contracted to do some work before Thanksgiving.  whew

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