Part 6 Surgery Number 2 and the Long Wait

By 9:30 a.m. May 4, 2004, Melanie was swept away from Chris and me to face the scalpel and so much more that, thankfully, I simply could not imagine. Pulling ourselves together we dutifully reported to the cave waiting room to leave our cell numbers. While Doctor A told us the surgery would likely last six hours, his fabulous nurse/assistant, Rose (more about her later) warned that it would likely take longer stressing his meticulous work. Apparently, he was often slower than he told patient families.

Unlike the last surgery, this time we had a plan of sorts.  In one of our meetings, Dr. A told Melanie that she would have a scar from the middle of her throat and going across the left side of her neck, AND said that if Melanie had to go through such nasty surgery, the least her parents could do was supply some bling to decorate her scar! So by 9:30 we were on our way to find bling and kill has much time as we could manage. The sprawling suburban shopping mall about half mile down the road seemed the ideal place for bling hunting. Debating whether to take the car “just in case”, we decided instead to walk—anything to kill a few extra minutes.

It was blue sky spring day as we made our way to the mammoth mall. To any driver passing by we were just a middle-aged couple holding hands enjoying a morning stroll on a beautiful day. While we had a plan, I was the only flaw in it; I hate to shop. Hate it.  In the very best of circumstances, even when I know exactly what I am looking for, malls overwhelm and over-stimulate me; this was so not the best of circumstances. Looking for bling seemed like such a good idea until we set foot through the revolving doors, and were instantly enveloped by the endless line of stores and people. If it were not for our promise to Melanie of bling and my husband, the inveterate shopper, I would have fled right back to the misery of the cave.

The first store we passed was Crate and Barrel—not a bling shop, for sure, but in the window was draped a golden colored throw; I had to buy it. I could picture Melanie home on the couch wrapped in softness as she healed. Feeling emboldened, we browsed through several jewelry stores until we found one displaying a pendant we thought she would like-- adding matching earrings just because. Mission accomplished. It was 10:45. Five and a half hours until we could even hope to hear anything. Remembering that we needed a part to the vacuum cleaner (ahh… a woman’s mind) we headed to Sears; purchased the part—11:00. Now what? My cell phone rang and our collective hearts skipped a beat until we saw that it was Number One Son checking in from California-it is hard to be the big brother far away.

11:15 wandering aimlessly, saying little, we were nomads looking for a place to rest.  Mall benches held no appeal. In solidarity with Melanie, we had not eaten anything that morning and even with no appetite, food seemed in order for the long afternoon ahead. A sign pointed to the Jungle Café.  We had never been there but it had just opened for the day and looked peaceful enough. (I can hear the chuckles now from those readers familiar with the place.)

Oblivious to our surroundings, we barely noticed navigating the gift shop packed with stuffed monkeys and rubber snakes or dodging lush fake vegetation to reach our table towards the back of the restaurant. Sitting down I took a deep breath trying to let out tension when the giant stuffed elephant behind our table raised his trunk and began to trumpet.  Mist rose around us. Within minutes, seemingly out of nowhere, we were surrounded with screaming monkeys, chirping birds, and pre-school children shrieking in delight as they blew off post nursery school energy.  As our food was brought out, the elephant trumpeted again. For the first time in weeks, Chris and I began a chuckle, which turned into fits of laughter. We both knew Melanie would love the absurdity of the story. Still, we could not get out of there fast enough.

Weighted down with packages, we walked to the hospital making a Starbucks stop on the way. A little caffeine was called for to get Chris through the afternoon.  1:00, back to the dimly lit room with the clock that never seemed to move. Two and a half hours to go. It would be another hour and a half before a resident would call from the operating room. All was going well; still, it would be a while. By hour six, I was on pins and needles—truly understanding the origin of the term. 3:30 came and went. 4:30. The waiting room gradually emptied as doctors came in to meet friends and families and then allowed to see loved ones. By 5:00, we were the only family in the room. As the attendant left for the day, she said that the doctor would find us when he was through. Past conjecture, we sat silently.

Around 5:15 Dr. A appeared; the surgery was almost over. Wanting to give us an update personally, he had left his residents for a few moments to begin closing Melanie up. (A decision he later came to regret.) All had gone well, the thyroid and numerous lymph nodes from the left side of her neck going deeply around the back of her neck were gone. We could see her soon in recovery when she woke. Just sit tight. We sat some more. Waiting…

Next Part 7 Recovery room reunion