Introduction - How life goes down the crapper

 I’ve been giving some thought on whether to start a blog in this very sensitive and personal subject. My past attempt at blogging was for fun - climbing Half Dome in Yosemite. I enjoyed documenting all the preparation, training and the climb itself, and even had a few unknown followers beyond my friends and co-workers. This on the other hand, is not fun at all - in fact the subject is absolutely awful. But let’s give it a go since it gives me the opportunity to unload what’s on my mind each day, and possibly share some useful information on glioblastoma, care giving, and grieving. Much of what I will be posting will be about events that occurred in the past year - I have maintained a lengthy journal of my wife’s journey as well as my own experiences both during her decline, and with grieving after her death. It’s a sad story. 

So let’s start at the very beginning, May 20th of 2023.

It is amazing how quickly your life can turn to shit so easily. One day my wife and I were enjoying a beautiful spring, planing for an awesome trip to Maui in 10 days, when our world was turned upside down. For a week or so, my wife had been complaining about “missing” or mis-using words, and had even started keeping a log of each incident. I had noticed some peculiar behavior as well, and seriously feared she was showing signs of early dementia. But one Saturday in late May, it became obvious that something was seriously wrong. As we prepared to head off for a tennis clinic that morning, Jan was having difficulties finding clothes to wear. When she was having trouble putting her tennis rackets into her tennis bag, I knew something was definitely wrong. As we walked to the tennis court, I told her that we need to go to a doctor ASAP - I thought she was having.a stroke. She of course refused - at this point, she was starting to slur words. Once the tennis pro started feeding balls for the warmup, Jan got in line. Her first forehand was perfect, but she stood there as the return shot whizzed by her. She hit the next feed, and the same happened with the return. She then ran over to the sideline and started crying. I was already running over at the point, as was the pro who thought she had hurt her wrist. Jan was pretty much incoherent at that point - I got her stuff together and led her over to the club house - she was just repeating, call doctor, call doctor, at that point. I called 911, and had her sit at the entry to the club house to wait for the ambulance. I was certain that was having a stroke.

When the ambulance arrived, the EMT’s did some tests, asked me about what had happened, and loaded Jan into the ambulance. They were pretty sure it was a stroke. I was given two choices for hospitals, neither of which I was familiar with. I asked if they could take her to UC Davis, but they said it was too far away, which surprised me since I knew it was no more than a 20 minute drive in traffic. Ambulances can go a lot faster and run red lights. I chose the closest of the two choices, and watched the ambulance head out, in an absolute state of shock. 

When I arrived at the Mercy Hospital in Folsom, I had to wait a bit before they let me back to the ER to see Jan. She was plugged in to IV’s, and was alert but lightly sedated and very confused. I was immediately told that I had to make a decision on administering a drug to Jan, which will limit the damage from the stroke. I had heard of this drug before (TNK) from an acquaintance who had recently suffered a stroke. Not knowing what to ask and in state of complete panic, I approved the injection. After all, a neurologist was telling me that they had diagnosed Jan with a stroke after doing a CT scan, and that this drug would limit further damage. I was then told they would be taking Jan down for an MRI, so I decided to head home for a change of clothes - we lived close to the hospital.

On my drive back to the hospital, I received a call from the ER doctor which put me into even more of a panic. They determined from the MRI that Jan had a brain tumor, not a stroke and that she had become “unresponsive” after the procedure - I was not sure what that meant, and the doctor did not go into details. They were putting her in an ambulance to transport her to the main Mercy hospital. WTF!!!! I was about a mile away from the Folsom hospital, and had to quickly re-navigate to another part of town, on a busy Saturday afternoon. At this point, I was running on pure adrenaline. 

When I made it to the main hospital in Citrus Heights, I had to wait for over an hour while they admitted Jan, and had her settled into the Intensive Care ward. I was not given any information during that time on her condition. Zilch. When I was finally let in, the nurse thoughtfully stood by me in case I passed out. Jan was fully sedated and on a ventilator. Now I knew what they meant when the doctor said she had become unresponsive. I found out much later, when I got hold of the chart, that Jan had reacted to the TKN and coded….as in stopped breathing, and had to be resusitated. A neurologist appeared, and walked me through her status, which was not that bad given that they had almost killed her. They were keeping her sedated until the morning, and then would try to get her breathing on her own. As for the tumor, told me it was likely a stage 3 or stage 4, and that they hoped it was a 3. I found out more about that later when I Google’d brain cancer. Jan was completely out, but I sat with her until they kicked me out. At one point, a nurse tried reducing the Fentanyl drip flow - as soon as she did that, Jan opened her eyes. The look on her face is burned into my memory, probably forever. It was a look of complete confusion and horror. I screamed at the nurse to put her out again, which she did immediately, and Jan thankfully closed her eyes. 

I left later that evening, but first called my brother and Jan’s sister to fill them in. That was when I discovered that there is not bottom to the source of tears in your body. I have yet to ever run dry.

So this was day one of an eleven month nightmare. The next few weeks will be the focus of my next posts. There are a few bright spots, but in general, it really does just get worse. As a friend of mine, who lost her spouse to cancer, says frequently, Fuck Cancer.