Happy Endings

hitched 09.06.08

Fast forward six months

I don’t want to leave the story incomplete so here’s the next chapter in the book of Morley and the Mega Tumor:

Six months after the successful surgery at Mayo, it was time for Morley to have another colonoscopy to make sure things were still going well, particularly since there was some question that the spot that grew the tumor might sprout a new one.  I wrote an extensive update in our “daily  blog” (see link below) but the bottom line is this: six months later all is well.  There were indeed more polyps that had cropped up in the area where the tumor used to be, but they were removed for biopsy and were benign.  You can read all about it on our blog–look for entries under the “colonoscopy” category.  (www.susanmohr.blogspot.com)
 

Oh, by the way…a little announcement is in order:

We’ve been together for a long time and shared many, many good times and a few not so good ones (all of which involve the tumor, by the way),  but after sailing through this tumor caper we realized how truly great and solid our relationship is–plus we figure we’ve already got the “bad times” under our belt–so we’re getting married on September 6th, 2008. 

And you thought we’d never do it, did you? 

That’s okay, we’re still a little surprised ourselves.

one last lesson

I’ve been meaning to post this for a few days now but you know how it is when things return to normal after being away for awhile. 

After Morley and I returned from the Mayo Clinic we wanted to thank the people there for helping us, and figured that an email to Dr. Devine would be the least intrusive way to express our gratitude.  Little did we know that we’d get one last lesson in the attitude of service and humility that makes the Mayo Clinic such a special healing place: 

From: Morley Spencer
Sent: Wednesday, November 07, 2007 1:18 PM
To: Devine, Richard M., M.D.
Subject: My Recent Procedure
Dear Dr. Devine:

Last week you and your staff performed a trans-anal procedure to remove my colorectal tumor. I want to say that you and your staff treated me with the utmost dignity and respect, professionalism and kindness. Your procedure saved me from a painful and, as it has turned out, unnecessary major operation to remove this tumor by resection which is what I was clearly facing prior to visiting The Mayo Clinic. Not only that, I had also been promised the ‘near certainty’ of a permanent colostomy by the surgeon here in Atlanta as a result of that surgery.

Visiting The Mayo Clinic has been a truly awe-inspiring and spiritual experience for me and Susan and we will never, for as long as we live, forget the kindness, the hopeful optimism, and the unbelievably high standard of care that we received during our visit. 

From the bottom of our hearts, we want to thank you and The Mayo Clinic for your incredible work. May God bless you all.

-Morley Spencer

From: Devine, Richard M., M.D.
Sent: Wednesday, November 07, 2007 2:35 PM
To: Morley Spencer
Subject: RE: My Recent Procedure

Dear Mr. Spencer,

My days can often be long and frustrating and sometimes demoralizing, it is letters like yours that make it all worthwhile.  Thank you for taking the time to write.

-Rick Devine

He works a miracle for Morley, then thanks us for giving him encouragement!  How can you not be impressed with a doctor who has an attitude like that?  All we could say was “wow”. 

As for Morley’s recovery since we’ve been home, he’s doing great.  His stamina still has a way to go before it is back to its normal level, but he’s pretty much working full days again and has resumed most of his old routine.  And it’s a big understatement when I say we are definitely looking forward to Thanksgiving with family next week and giving every single one of them a huge hug.

By the way, Morley’s experience has had another benefit. A number of people tell us they’ve stopped procrastinating about having their first colonoscopy exam. So far two of our friends have had theirs and each had polyps removed, and even the guy who owns the building where our company is located tells us he has one scheduled for November 29! If you are over 50–or younger than 50 with any symptoms whatsoever that something might be amiss–you really need to have a routine colonoscopy.  Honestly, it isn’t a big deal and you’ll probably sleep through the whole thing, but at least you’ll know all is well and possibly save yourself a nerve-wracking experience like we had.  Just think about it, will ya?

That’s it from us for now.  We hope everyone is well and that each of you has as much to be grateful for on Thanksgiving day as we do.

Love to all,
Susan and Morley

the phone call finally comes

We finally got the pathology results from the Mayo Clinic late this afternoon and the word is benign. Yay! The tumor contained dysplasia which means it was on its way to becoming cancer, and would have definitely been cancer if we’d waited much longer, but there was no cancer yet.  So we are done, done, done. Out of the woods and out of the tumor business.  Wahoo!

Dr. Devine said it is possible that particular section of the colon might try to sprout another tumor in the future so Morley will need a check up in six months, another in a year, and regular check ups after that, but if another one sprouts it will be easy to remove it if its caught early.  Dr. Devine mentioned there is a colorectal doc here in Atlanta who is a graduate of the Mayo and asked if we wanted him to send copies of Morley’s medical records to him so he’ll have them for Morley’s follow up exams.  Let me think about that for a second:  heck, yeahhhh!!! 

I don’t mean to dwell on this, but can you even imagine how we’d feel right now if we’d allowed that first surgeon to do what he wanted–to remove that entire section of colon and give Morley a permanent colostomy–for what turned out to be a benign tumor?  I honestly don’t know if I would have lived long enough to forgive him, truly I don’t. 

Morley is going to make an appointment to see the first surgeon just to talk about what happened in hopes it might make him a little more open minded with the next guy who comes along with Morley’s condition.  Who knows why his mind was so set on there being only one workable solution, but maybe Morley’s experience will help him realize his ”fix it once and for all” approach is not always the best medicine.  

Anyway, that’s all behind us now and we got the best possible news today. We are over the moon with happiness around this house tonight.

Love
Susan and “Good As New” Morley

home, (very, very, very) sweet home

We flew home yesterday, arriving around 4:30 PM, and geez did it ever look great to look out of that plane window and see the horrible traffic and downtown Atlanta covered in smog. Ahhhh, home sweet home.

In keeping with our new resolution for Morley to avoid over exerting himself, I arranged for a wheelchair to help us get from the gate to baggage claim and snarled at him every time he even thought about touching our mountain of luggage.  He was very self conscious about how it must have looked for me to be swinging all those huge suitcases around while he stood by holding my coat, but I assured him I will allow him to make up for it when we take our two week cruise in January.  (“Morley, be a love and peel me a grape.  And could you fetch me another pina colada, dahling?”)

Shelby went BERSERK when we walked in the door–it took about ten minutes for her to stop bouncing three feet in the air while licking whatever part of us she could make contact with–but of course the cats only glanced up at us with a slightly disinterested, “oh, were you gone? By the way our food bowls could use a little topping off” kind of look.  

Heather had a bottle of champagne ready for a celebratory toast, and then she served us a delicious dinner and sent us straight to bed.  I think we fell asleep before our heads hit the pillows.  I don’t even think we said goodnight to each other.

So today (and it is still hard to believe this) instead of checking into the hospital for a surgery we desperately wanted to avoid, we’re going to put a couple of hours in at the office mainly just to say hello to everyone,  and then come home so Morley can resume the resting and recovering position and I can start dealing with that mountain of luggage I mentioned earlier.

The only medical activity on our agenda today is to answer the phone when the Mayo’s pathology department calls with the final biopsy results.  Once we get that call and the news is good (which we just know its going to be), we can really, truly breathe normally again. It’s good to be home and we just can’t wait to resume the life of the living and to see every one of you. 

Speaking of seeing you, save the date:  Christmas Party at Morley’s and Susan’s, Saturday December 1.  Be there or be square:  I suspect Christmas this year will be an especially merry celebration.   

Party details to follow.

All our love,
Susan and Morley

springing forward as time falls back

It’s all good.  No fever this morning and all systems are go so we’re back on track for flying home today.  Our theory that walking around the mall yesterday was just too much too soon turns out to be true, and even SuperMorley has to accept the fact that just because there’s no mega incision it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to take this recovery thing a little slower.

So we are now packing our luggage in a gingerly, easy-does-it kind of way, after which we’ll go downstairs to score some breakfast, then off to the airport to turn in our rental car and catch a plane home. Yay.  We just can’t wait to get home.

Heather we should be walking in the door about 4:30 or so. 

Yay! 
Susan and “will you carry that bag please honey” Morley

100 degrees of Morley

We’re now in Minneapolis and a bit concerned because Morley is now running a fever.  Earlier this afternoon he started feeling a little out of sorts so we checked into a hotel near the airport to stretch out and watch a little tube so he could rest.  When he didn’t feel better after a couple of hours we suspected he might be running a fever so we bought a thermometer and sure enough, he has a fever. 

His discharge papers are very clear that a fever of 100.4 degrees or higher is a sign of something going wrong.  He was just barely below 100–too close for comfort–so I put him to bed and the fever dropped to 99.6.  We’re hoping this is just a sign that we over did things earlier in the day when we killed a couple of hours at the Mall of America.  Maybe it was just too much too soon, and because his pain hasn’t been as bad as it was with the last surgery he is overly optimistic about how quickly he’s recovering.  He thinks he’s good as new…well, other than walking a little slow and taking ten minutes to sit down. 

At any rate, I’ll keep an eye on him tonight and if the fever is close to the 100.4 mark we’ll need to head back to Rochester and postpone our flight home.  Hopefully a night’s rest will put him back on track and we’ll make the flight–neither of us looks forward to spending more time in that very depressing hospital full of very sick people.  

David and Doug:  Assuming we come home on schedule, please toss him out of the office after no more than a half day on Monday and insist he go home.  And if he doesn’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to use my secret weapon–ratting him out to his mum.  Now, if I can just remember her 47 digit English phone number…

Love,
Susan and “Under the Weather” Morley

hello normal, can’t wait to see you again

Yesterday Morley made it through his first post-op day in great shape all things considered (actually his recovery from this successful surgery has been less painful than his recovery from the previous unsuccessful one).  We spent the day lying around, getting caught up on our sleep, staying on top of the meds, and taking short trips outside for fresh air and to give Morley some exercise, albeit in a gingerly, Charlie Chaplin kind of way.  Let’s just say he wasn’t exactly getting jiggy with it.  

In fact, Morley feels well enough that today (Saturday) we’ve decided to check out of our hotel here in Rochester and drive back to Minneapolis to do a little low-impact sightseeing, spend the night, then catch a flight back to Atlanta on Sunday. Yay.  It still blows us away to think on Monday we’ll be having a normal day at the office instead of checking into a hospital.  I just love dodging bullets, don’t you?

So that’s it from Rochester, Minnesota.  This blog has been a lifesaver in helping us feel connected to the people we care about during an intense, roller coaster week far from friends and family, but we just can’t wait to see you in person and give every single one of you a big hug. 

Love and gratitude beyond measure, 
Susan and “Tumor? What Tumor?” Morley

PS:  (added a couple of hours after the posting above)  Just received a call from the pathology lab at the Mayo telling us the pathology results “have not yet been completed”.  Crap.  Don’t you just know we’ll be obsessing about that until we get a follow up call on Monday.  We’re trying really, really hard not to place any significance on the fact that this is the one and only thing that the Mayo has not completed in lightning speed.  Maybe an extra prayer or two would be a good thing until we get the all clear call on Monday.

life is goo

Until this summer our neighbor’s boat on the dock was called “Life is Good”.  Once I took an especially nice photo of our dog and our friend Bud’s dog lying in the cockpit of our boat with Life is Good in the background, except once we looked closely at the photo we saw that one of the dog’s heads was blocking the last letter on the boat’s name, thus a great photo of two dogs with the words ”Life is Goo” between them.  So Morley and I started using the phrase “life is goo” when things are going particularly well.

Life tonight is very, very goo.

After our second or third nap of the day (we’re on a totally different time zone today) we woke up to see darkness outside and figured it was time for either an early breakfast or dinner.  As it turns out it was dinner time so we headed off to a little restaurant not far from our hotel and had a great dinner (“bangers and mash” for Morley–let’s just see if he sticks by that decision tomorrow as a good choice for his first solid food in several days) and while we ate dinner we talked about the events of the last couple of months and especially the past few days. It has been nothing less than life changing for both of us, a medical miracle wrapped up in a spiritual package. 

You just can’t come through the experience we’ve had the last several weeks without coming out the other side more appreciative of the people who make up the fabric of your life.  Impossible.

Anyway, it’s now 9:30 and we are ready for bed but we just wanted to say good night and thank you, thank you, thank you. It is truly impossible to tell you how much your good wishes and comments and prayers have meant to us these last few days.  Truly, you have no idea.

Susan and “Is It Time for Bed Yet” Morley

minnesota morning

We’re in a little bit of a time warp here–night feels like day, and day like night–and we’re operating on a four hour clock because that’s how often the pain meds go down the hatch and Heaven forbid if we miss a pain med–ouchhhhhhh!!!

The reason we were so late getting back to the hotel last night was because they actually admitted Morley to the hospital when he could not shake the effects of yesterday’s anesthesia (read:  he simply could not whizz no matter what we tried).  The surgeon gave him until 8 PM to come around, but when the deadline came with no change they moved us to another floor and admitted Morley on the colorectal ward. The surgeon told Morley that as soon as he was able to “hurry up” (as we refer to it with Shelby) on his own, he could be discharged.

Being a patient on the colorectal ward was a sobering experience.  Unlike the beautiful facility of the Mayo Clinic, the hospital is all business and the people there are the really sick ones.  The mood in the Mayo is hopeful and energetic; the feeling in the hospital is somber and desperate.

Hospital rooms are hard to come by, so we were put in a semi-private room.  The guy in the other bed had just had a permanent colostomy earlier that day or perhaps the day before.  He was a young guy in his early 40s and was in a tremendous amount of pain.  They had drawn the curtain between Morley’s bed and this other guy’s, but of course we could hear everything being said on his half of the room and we listened while the nurse checked on him and asked him how his stoma was doing and offered to help him empty his new bag.  He was still so new to the reality of colostomy that he couldn’t even use the word–he kept calling it “what I had to have done to me”–and he told her how he had tried so hard to beat his health problems for five years before running out of options.  The nurse was so comforting to him and kept assuring him he would be fine and told him he’d be surprised to know how many people had an ostomy.  It was very, very sobering for us to be listening from the other side of the curtain to a conversation that would have been us in just a few days.  We felt very self concious about our incredible good fortune.

I had a similar experience on the surgical floor while Morley was downstairs on the table.  The guy on the other side of the curtain that time was a lawyer in his 30s who flown in from Michigan to have an internal pouch constructed in hopes he could have his own ostomy reversed.  Listening to the ostomy nurse show him his new “appliances” (whatever they were) and teach him and his young wife how to take care of his new pouch was hard to listen to.  That time the nurse asked him if he could do the things she was teaching him how to do, and he had such a sad but resigned voice when he said he didn’t want to even think about it yet but would do it if that’s what it took to get better.

All that sadness really contrasted with the pure joy and relief we were feeling over Morley’s miracle and even this morning as we lie in bed sipping coffee and watching our four hour clock, the memory of those two guys sticks with me.  It’s humbling.

By the way, the young resident on call last night when Morley finally achieved “the golden stream” about 11:30 took his job very seriously. At first he declined to discharge us because he wanted to be 100% sure everything was working perfectly, but being the medical rebels that we are, we said we were leaving anyway since the goal had been achieved.  Eventually the earnest young doctor realized he was facing two people who had just learned a big lesson about taking charge of their own destiny and signed the discharge papers.  We took off for the elevators like two kids cutting class.  I bet we looked cute.

Anyway, time to check the pain med clock.  More later.

Love,
Susan and “Has it Been 4 Hours Yet” Morley

Hello to all from Morley

We have just returned to the hotel, a little after 1:00 am, and I for one am too excited to sleep, not to mention the REALLY sore butt. No matter, we could not possibly have hoped for a better result and my heart is full of wonder and gratitude. I truly feel a miracle has been pulled off before our very eyes and I am in awe. A great and wonderful hand has intervened and has turned our feelings of hopelessness and despair into utter amazement.

Your kind words, your encouragement and your prayers have meant more to me than I can possibly express and I am truly blessed to have such wonderful people in my life. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Things I am looking forward to

While we’re waiting for Morley’s bashful bladder to come out of the closet, I came up with a list of things that I’m looking forward to now that the tumor is toast:

1. Calling the first surgeon’s office to tell him to kiss my butt let him know that we won’t be needing that colostomy surgery after all. 
2. NOT spending the first two hours of my day surfing the web with keywords “colon, colostomy, rectal tumor”
3. Eating more fiber. Seriously.  I think Mr. Morley has a whole new appreciation for Mr. Fiber and will be a little more open minded when it comes to the dinner menus around our house.
4. Regaining the ability to concentrate on a given topic for more than a nanosecond. (Last week I was at the office when I suddenly realized I had forgotten Shelby at home. And then I suddenly remembered that I had not forgotten Shelby at home and headed to my car to retrieve my befuddled dog).
5. Planning our Christmas party as a celebration of Christmas and not a dual celebration of Christmas and surviving a life altering surgery. 
6. Dinner conversations involving topics other than tumors.
7. Getting back to normal, assuming of course that our life is “normal” to begin with.

Susan and “Yellow Eyes” Morley

7:30 PM: waiting…waiting…

We’re still at the hospital.  Before they will discharge Morley and let us go back to our hotel, his bladder has to kick back in gear which it has yet to do. 

We’ve tried everything: he’s had IV fluids and consumed enough apple juice to raise Lake Lanier by an inch, plus he’s downed so many cups of coffee that he’ll be buzzing for a week.  We’ve walked the loop around the nurse’s station a hundred times and even took a couple of short strolls out in the crisp night air (which always does it for me) but nothing.  Nada.  Not even close. So we wait.

In other news, the surgeon stopped by and confirmed that Morley is indeed de-tumored and so far the pathology reports are negative for cancer.  I say “so far” because instead of examining a couple of slices as they typically would do, he has instructed them to continue the pathology tomorrow until they’ve examined the entire tumor to make sure there wasn’t cancer in there somewhere.  And he also confirmed the dang thing was huge–so big that at first he couldn’t see anything but the tumor but he just kept whacking at it and removing bits and pieces until he could see what he was doing.  The most amazing thing was how nonchalant and humble he was when we both thanked him profusely and repeatedly–no thanks necessary, just another day at the Mayo.  This place is unbelievable.

So back to Morley and attempts to awaken his sleeping bladder. I’m off to fetch another jug of apple juice–we’re not giving up until apple juice starts oozing from his ears.  So, I gotta go.

Look at that will ya?  Now I’m doing bladder jokes too.

“gotta go”…heheh…

I kill me sometimes.

Love,
Susan and “She’s gonna blow” Morley

2:45 His Royal HindEnd has arrived

He’s just arrived back in the room and still a bit groggy but smiling and he tells me the tumor no longer walks amongst us.  Oh, and he might have mentioned once or twice or thirty times that his bum is really, really, really sore.

Yay. This tumor thing is, as they say, behind us. 

Oh look at that, I made a tumor joke.

Love,
Susan and My-Ass-Is-Killing-Me Morley

2:15 and no Morley (obviously he is feeling the love down in recovery)

By now I’d hoped to give you an eye witness report on how the patient is doing plus some confirmation that the tumor is now history, but alas no such luck. The nurses keep telling me he’ll be here “soon”, so that’s all I know for now.

The “tick…tick…tick…” from earlier in the day has become tap…tap…tap…(the sound of my little impatient foot tapping).  Don’t make me go down there and get him myself.  I’m just saying.

Susan and Where-the-hell-is Morley