Keep Calm and Carry On

Keep Calm and Carry On was a slogan produced by the British government in 1939 during World War II. It was intended to raise the morale of the British public but was never used. A poster sporting the slogan was recently rediscovered in 2000. There are only two known surviving examples of the original poster.

Last Sunday I drove Steve to the hospital where he had his drain re-stitched into the deep tissue of his stomach. I attempted to mentally prepare both Steve and I for this ordeal with the possibility of the procedure being quick and unproblematic but my efforts were fruitless.

Because the drain is threaded inside Steve’s small intestines his doctors needed to ensure its proper placement and that meant forcing the inch of tube that had wondered out to be pushed back in. Pain is an understatement. Also in order to guarantee successful anchoring without future prospects of the tube coming unstitched, the drain needed to be stitched to a deeper portion of tissue rather than surface skin. The down side, is that they are only able to appropriately numb the top layer of skin, nothing deeper. I held the tube vertical so the doctor could accurately aim his needle and thread and at one point the surgeon’s needle went so deep under the surface of Steve’s stomach that he was unable to pull it through to the other side. After three hours of torment we went home.

Once Steve’s body recovered from the shock of the procedure he continued to gain strength throughout the week. Due to our impromptu hospital visit his CT was moved to May 13th. The tube is located with the hopes of it creating scar tissue so when removed there will be a self-made canal inside his small intestines connecting the remaining pancreas to his intestines. Those are the hopes. The doctors told us searching online for any symptoms Steve might be experiencing is pointless because this surgery has never been attempted before. I guess at this point all we can do is keep calm and carry on.

Success redefined

I found myself walking on the beach being mesmerized by the moonlight. Mesmerized might be an understatement I was downright hypnotized. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the light, wandering towards it until the waves were tickling my toes (yup I was wearing flip flops, spring has finally sprung). I wondered how the ocean can be loud and peaceful all at once. It sounded liked people talking at the same time through a hurricane but somehow it felt like home.

I realized if I don’t succeed then I need to redefine success. I often give myself 2 options, either Steve gets better or he gets worse. That only leaves me with a 50% success rate but if I redefine accomplishment to say I will remain positive and take everything in stride no matter what then I’ll forever be successful.

We left the house today and took a trip to the mall. Steve was in incredible pain but pushed through in order to feel like a functioning part of society. The perusing was great, the stitches holding his tube ripping out, not so great. He has an appointment for a CAT scan this week so we’ll see what the Dr. has to say about this hindrance. All in all I feel very positive about the past week. Steve has been eating very well, sleeping through the night and has more color in his face. That glass is remaining half full, and that’s all I have to say about that.

Tick Tick Boom

Remember the days when love meant holding hands and not emptying your husband’s pancreatic enzymes? Yeah me neither.


I work in a setting where not only is silence golden it’s copper, silver and whatever precious metal you can get your hands on. Being that I’m a preschool teacher my day is filled with busy, bustling, non-stop kid craziness. Poopy pants, tantrums, bad-aids and runny noses just come with the territory. My commute is an hour. It usually allows for ample time to unwind and recollect so when I get home I’m ready to enjoy my evening. Tonight my husband called and desperately asked me to stop for some supplies that might aid in his recovery or at least encourage survival. After my entirely engrossing day I came home, put down my shopping bags, brought out the trash, took the dog out and sauntered over to my debilitated husband who was lying in the same position as when I left him earlier that morning. The realization of my reality hit me like a foot to the face. Through grey lips he uttered, “I had a tough day.” My previous complaints ceased.

As I was paying for my purchases in the self-checkout section a cashier came to my assistance. “Wow you have more than I thought,” she said as she began bagging my belongings. “Yeah I know. My husband was recently released from the hospital so I’m trying to stock up while I can.” “I understand,” she said as if knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “My husband and I were married for a year when he fell 30 feet and became paralyzed from the waist down. I had a two month old at the time. It’s been tough but you do what you have to. We recently celebrated our 20 year anniversary.” Open mouthed and teary eyed I’d I meekly mumbled, “thank you” before walking away.

The past week hasn’t been easy. Steve’s lost weight since he’s been home. His drain is producing more than expected, fevers frequently rear their ugly faces and more than once we’ve been awoken in the middle of the night by a pool of blood congregating between us.

I’ve done this before and just like before it’s hard, exhausting, disheartening and draining. I don’t want to think that we’re in the same position as we were in a year and a half ago but it’s easy to see a mirror image. I just hope that once we’re finally able see the light at the end of the tunnel it isn’t a stick of dynamite.

Today

He’s moody, I’m moody.


My left headlight is out, my car won’t shift unless I stick a pen cap in the shift lock release button, Steve is running a low grade temp and Jack had diarrhea. All in all a stellar way to start my day. Quick thinking solution required: beat my headlight with my snow scraper (seeing that we live in New England and it’s obviously snowing on the first of April), clean up Jack’s mess while rubbing his back (no one needs discouragement when in such a state of discomfort), parallel myself to MacGyver while rigging my vehicle into motion and take a deep breath realizing that no amount of worrying will make Steve better. It’s difficult for me to not compare this hospitalization with the last. It’s nearly impossible to think this time will be different but I need to try.


Steve tells me that he feels completely different this time around. He is stronger, more resilient and less ill. This time will be different. But there is still a part of me that thinks (that might be an understatement) and worries. Deliberates about what could happen due to the fact that whatever could have went wrong the last time did. But what I need to focus on right now is that Steve is out of the surgery, it was successful, he is progressing thus far and that’s it. Shut up brain, shut up.