Chapter 2

  One of the things I have learned after having cancer last year was that from the easiest things in life to some of the most difficult challenges all start by just showing up.  Just show up.  Want a new job, just show up for that interview.  Want to learn a new skill, just show up the class you signed up for.  Want to start going to church again... just show up.  And so, want to fight cancer?  Make sure you show up to surgery.  Jen and I woke up that morning, got the kids ready for school, made lunches, and told them that we were going to get whatever is inside of me out.  Jen dropped me off that morning while it was still dark.  I have a selfie of myself with my covid mask on, alone in the waiting room that I sent to Jen while I was waiting to be called back.  Just being dumb, but also a little nervous.  So many things of last year have blurred together and its hard to separate this pre-op with the 6 others that were going to follow.  The drugs they give you before you get formally knocked out are pretty legit.  You relax in a way that everything just is floating by.  It is at this point that I begin to lose solid memories of what happened.

As a mom, I've tried really hard to give our kids normalcy. After adopting Zach, structure, routines, and intentionality became major foundational blocks for our whole family. We had the framework, but a child with special needs requires a great system. I wanted that morning to be normal so the kids wouldn't freak out. We have always been straightforward with them and told them that Tim had a blockage and we were going to get it out. And when they had the same questions we did, I told them we didn't know, but would have answers soon. It's difficult with older children and you owe them honesty. We found being direct helped them come to us with questions, not go to the internet. I think I waited in Wellstar that day for 6-8 hours. After the surgeon gave me the diagnosis, he told me he would call when Tim got settled into his post-op room. I was way overdue with some phone calls. I walked outside to finally take a deep breath and I went and sat in my car. The first call was to his parents, second was to mine, and then I sent out a few texts until I could get the bandwidth to have another conversation. Tim's parents were immediately positive that Tim was going to beat this and were they really sure this is what it was. I get that because our defense is, this must be wrong, surely its not Stage IV. My parents were very quiet. With virtually no information about treatment or a plan, it was difficult to tell them all this very heavy news. Especially when Stage 4C cancer is the last stage you can have. I just wanted to tell them and hang up because I couldn't answer any of their questions. Within minutes, my friend Katie showed up and my sister had somehow also gotten herself on the hospital floor where Tim was going to be taken to. She was already talking to nurses, getting permission for our kids to come up, and rattling off how we were going to get this done. Katie started talking to me about chemo, surgery, doctors, where to go, where not to go, and how she had helped her husband beat his aggressive cancer over and over and that it was time to be the bulldog. It was immediately easier to divert all of my attention to a plan, the fight, next steps. YES, lets fight this and not dwell here. Let's blow up the phones and not think about how in the literal hell did Tim have so much cancer inside his body. He's the healthiest person in our family. Active, slim and muscular, eats healthy, great routines, exercises, and running a company while ongoing construction. How could he be sick? When did this happen? What red flags did we miss? There were no logical answers. This was a complete punch in the gut and while we were all saving Tim.... I remembered Tim didn't even know he had cancer. I decided when he was coherent enough to have a conversation and ask, I would tell him. They told me a team would be in at 6am to meet with him and I didn't want him ambushed. I was finally taken to his room and he immediately asked, "What was it?" I knew he heard me, but had no idea the full weight because he didn't seem to really hear it. He was on so many drugs. He told me he felt great and was going to go back to sleep. And in that moment I knew I wasn't going to sleep for a very long time and the war was on. 

The very next thing I remember is that I'm in a dark room and I see Jen's parents by the door sneaking a look at me.  I'm in and out, but honestly, I remember so little.  Based off what Jen told me, I barely remember her coming in and telling me I have cancer.  It is interesting that I do remember the doctor coming in and talking to us about my new condition.  I remember not having a lot of emotions, I wasn't really even sad or scared.  My mind never even entertained the idea that I could die.  Other than flashes of cognizant memory, I would go back to the haze.  I even forgot I was in the hospital for days.  I couldn't tell you how many people visited, and which family members stopped in.   However,  I do remember our good friend Maggie came by and I thought it would be really funny if someone brought be the loneliest, saddest single balloon that was half deflated and tied it to my bed.  All these other people had huge balloon bouquets and flowers, and then you come to my room and I have this dumb thing tied to my bed.  It was stupid, but really funny at the same time. As we are writing this, I am reading back through Jens comments above and even my pictures in my phone to jog my memory.  The hospital stay was a blurr, but one of the things that jogged my memory is seeing pictures of my incomplete deck on my house when I came back home.  I worked so hard to get it finished before everything, but no such luck.  And so, during my recovery, I was told I was only allowed to lift objects under 10 pounds.  Well, I learned that my impact drill weights less than 10 lb's.  So does a pressure treated 2x4.  I literally weighed a 2x4 on a scale so when Jen would inevitably yell at me for doing more than I should be doing I could say that I'm allowed to because its less than 10lbs.  So there.  Some days, I would literally only put in like 4 screws or cut and install one board.  My kids would set up my miter saw and pick up heavier boards and put them in place.  But we never stopped moving that ball forward.  Not sure if it was symbolic to me or why I kept pushing this project forward.  Perhaps I kind of saw this as regardless what was going on, we were going to keep pushing life forward even if it was one board and one screw at a time.

Right before I took Tim home, I think we stayed around 5 days, I got a phone call from a long time friend named Ashley. It was a rare moment when I could talk so I answered. She was exactly who I needed to talk to in that moment and here's why. I had spent all day at the hospital on the phones. Tim needed a very specialized plan for where his cancer had gone to treat it. It had basically been let loose everywhere in his abdomen and had planted and started growing. He needed aggressive and immediate treatment, but Emory could not see him until 8-12 weeks. Emory had been bought, there was a high G.I. Department turnover, and they understood the severity of my situation, but that was the deal. I was also frustrated because since he had a massive surgery and 30 staples down the front, the earliest I was told that he could be seen was 4 weeks due to recovery. No way I was waiting until 8-12, we were going somewhere at the 4 week mark. So, my phone rings and I talk to Ashley. Her dad is a doctor in Corpus Christi, Texas and her parents are the best people you know. She said, Doc says get on a plane and go to MDAnderson immediately, he has a connection with a board member and she's going to call you. I am speechless. Still trying to process Tim got sick, surgery, cancer, and now Texas. Things were starting to get overwhelming. I tell her he has a minimum of 4 weeks and she said then get out there at 4 weeks and 1 day. I finished packing up our room trying to figure out how we were going to drop everything and go be in Texas logistically. Waves of complete anxiety would come over me and there was no end in sight. We were in a crisis. We had a business that was about to hit its busiest season of the year, 3 teenagers with very busy schedules and not to mention the one with special needs that requires a lot. How in the world were we going to do this. I felt chest pain at times and was doing everything I could and it wasn't enough, I knew I needed medicine. All I have ever taken medication-wise is my daily thyroid medication, no other experience, but my doctor decides to call in Xanax and I'm sure I wasn't listening and so all I heard was "Take as needed." What I needed was this higher dose every day so I completely never asked or thought it would be a problem. I am embarrassed that I had no idea, but also maybe glad I didn't even know you aren't supposed to take it like that. I genuinely felt every day in the beginning like I was drowning and had to make huge medical decisions for my husband while caring for him and running our life. One morning, I pulled in the driveway and never got out of the car. I spoke to a good friend, Dan, who educated me on basically the entire healthcare system and how to play this. People like Dan were so generous with their time to just talk to me, just listen, and provide whatever answers or direction they could.  When you have cancer, you aren't talking about deductibles anymore, this is next level.  I spent 7 days straight on the phone when we got home and through that initial contact from my friend, I got records transferred, insurance to cover it, flights, hotels, appointments booked, and Tim was accepted into MDAnderson at the 4 week and 1 day mark. Wheels up. 

My sense of urgency and Jen's sense of urgency seemed to be at different places.  She absolutely allowed me to focus on recovering and to help keep our company going.  But she saw the whole chess board, thinking many moves out.  Many appointments were made that I knew nothing of.  She went into a go-mode that I have not seen before, and that is saying a lot! I did not however, realize either the impact or that she was taking Xanax every day, but she most certainly was triaging our situation.  I'd come in our bedroom after several hours and saw calendars, notebooks and insurance paperwork everywhere.  At the least, I knew that our locally available medical resources were not going to cut it and we would be going on a trip.  After hearing the news, a long time friend and mentor called and said, "I'm not sure if you need a plane ticket or money or whatever, but I don't have a lot of friends and I'm not planning on losing one to to cancer.  You need to leave Atlanta and head to MD Anderson in Houston and start there."   Thanks Jim.  That was well received.

Our kids took the news as best as they could. We told them it was cancer, but we were going to seek out the best treatment in the country and beat this. For the days that followed the hospital, there were many difficult questions and scenarios we faced trying to communicate with our loved ones and have our affairs in order as we started to digest our future and possible outcomes. Numb is the best word we can use to describe where we were and having to deal with the whirlwind of emotions around us was very hard. The week in the hospital was our 18th wedding anniversary and we were supposed to be trekking Machu Picchu. Oh, how our plans can change on a dime. It was a whiplash of a situation and I remember waking up every day and asking God to miraculously work through me and to do whatever it would take for my husband to live. This was definitely not what our anniversary was supposed to look like.