The Approach of Surgery

So I haven't written as much here as I had intended to have by now. In reality, there is a lot to process and some of it is harder to face up to than I thought it would. That said things are happening I want to deal with and since they are relevant to purpose this seems an appropriate place for them…

I was looking for something yesterday, a search which led me into the hub’s part of the wardrobe. Whilst there, I came across a box I had long forgotten about.

During the months he spent unconscious in the hospital, we made a postbox into which the girls put slips of paper, notes, pictures, tickets – anything they would like to have told their dad about were he able to hear. On his return, there had been an emotional day of reading through the notes, discussing the memories and telling him all the things we had not been able to. Being aged 6 and 8, most of the pieces of paper had simply: “OOOXXXXOOOO” and each child had insisted on giving every individual hug and kiss. That was a hard day for us all.

Least of all, because I had written the somewhat cryptic “Don’t forget the wanking monkey story” and couldn’t remember it until weeks later!

And funny though it was, it really did not live up to the weeks of waiting…


Anyway, coming across the box right now felt somehow contrived… one of those universal-interference moments… because we have finally got the date for his surgery.

The surgery that could kill him – or could make whatever time he has left less uncomfortable than it has been.

And to be honest, I am really not sure on which I am hanging my hopes.


In essence, it seems simple: Hernia repair – which is an easy enough operation. Trouble is that this hernia is popping out between two ribs, so his ribcage is being spread by the increasing mass pushing out through the gap, his intestine and whatever else seeps through a hernia is pushing his lungs to one side making breathing really difficult and there is a mass about the size of a volleyball on the side of his chest.
Of course, it could be that the repair goes swimmingly and all is well.

Or releasing the intestine could release a tonne of toxins into his system causing all sorts of problems; or the stresses to his body of being put through the rigours of surgery could prove too much; or his already struggling heart could give up under the pressure.

There are many things that could go wrong.

The surgery could go well, but not take – he’s had it done once already and within two weeks was back bigger than before.

Truth is, though, I really don’t know whether surgical success would be the best thing. It really is going to do little to improve his life. The surgery won’t make it that he can get out of bed nor will it make his pain any easier to deal with. This operation will not make any of his medication obsolete or give him hopes for a future…

And so it is that I have to face up to the worst factor. In ten years of watching him deteriorate, ten years of trying to be the upbeat motivator, ten years of gradually losing hope myself I have always taken solace in the fact that when the end comes I would be able to remain stoic and just deal with things in my usual way.

But now there is a date. It could be the date of the end. Or the beginning of a new phase.

But after ten years of preparing myself for it, I am now not so sure I am ready.


I have made the plans; I know where I will be this time next year regardless how this surgery pans out, but in spite of all I have done to prepare myself the thought of actually having to go through it scares me senseless.

I have a little over a month to make sure I am ready.

Feels like I am on a countdown…


And I am aware of the selfishness, making this all about me… but the reality is that there is no value in my husband’s life as it currently is. He lies in bed all day, occasionally awake but mostly sleeping, unable to concentrate on the simplest of tasks, not understanding much of what is said to him, trying to contribute to the lives of his children in spite of having nothing to contribute- and I really don’t want their memories of their father to be of a man any less capable than they now see; this is bad enough for them.