Everyday in our house brings a new reality and a new adventure to living. Food re-introduction is not as easy as we had hoped it would be (see previous post), and we often find ourselves reminding each other it has only been 3 weeks since surgery. That said, there are some new realities that we are noticing every day:
1. Eric is cold. Seriously, if you know Eric, you know he is the most hot-natured human around and I am the cold-natured one. As I write this, he is in flannel pants, a sweatshirt, socks, AND slippers. This never happened in our 14 years of marriage prior to surgery, yet happens more and more as the weight melts off.
2. Eric is a cheap date. Since food re-introduction is slow going, about the only thing Eric eats when we are out and about is a baked potato. Most restaurants will serve that for under $3 (Wendy's for $1!). And upon receiving his baked spud, he then has the nerve to only eat half of it. ;)
3. We weren't prepared for the weight that Eric lost to come directly from his fingers and ankles. Within two weeks of surgery, Eric's wedding band was falling off his hand. At this point, he has simply taken it off so he won't lose it (smart man). We'll have to address the long-term remedy to that situation, but not any time in the immediate future. In the meantime, ladies, when you think you see this good-looking guy without a ring, know he is NOT available.
4. You would think that by not having "real food" for over a month, that certain cravings would set in. Cravings for a steak, or a burger or pizza. Yeah, not so much. The one craving I remember Eric mentioning (which is to say there haven't been many), was for cucumber. Seriously?! Yes, seriously.
5. EVERYTHING is different. And maybe that is the reality that is the most surprising. There aren't just one or two pieces of life that are different -- EVERYTHING is. Some of it is challenging, some of it is energizing. While Eric is still too close to the surgery date and too in the muck of recovery to say he is glad he did it, I have heard him say that he feels more like himself. And THAT, my friends, swells this heart of mine beyond measure.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Facts of Life
You take the good, you take the bad
You take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life ... The Facts of Life....
The theme song of that bad old '80s sitcom that I and others of my generation grew up on rattles in my head sometimes, especially recently. In an effort to be true and real, I can't adequately name life at the moment without acknowledging there's good and bad. Guess those are the facts of life.
Monday began a new stage of food reintroduction. This week is all about toast, cheese, fish, crackers, and natural peanut butter. In two days, all that's stayed down has been a few low-fat Wheat Thins with half a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese and a few bites of peanut butter toast. Everything else has been a fail, as in, if it won't go down it'll only sit in your esophagus so long before it comes back up. (Last week's soft food reintroductions went better, although let's just say that mashed potatoes weren't the friend they used to be during other surgery recoveries.) Of course, this isn't altogether unexpected given the trauma of surgery, and the fact that the main internal surgical line for me is right at the point where the esophagus and stomach meet. Yesterday, anything I ate resulted in hellacious hiccups, which only ceased after food reversed course. Today, I ate nothing the first half of the day due to a funeral I was to officiate -- for me, the nightmare scenario is hiccups while trying to eulogize the communion of the saints' newest member. And after tonight, I don't think I'll be dining on tuna fish anytime soon.
The task for me, I'm discovering, is to not let my mind run too far to either extreme. I'm exactly three weeks post-surgery -- far too early to claim a success, but likewise far too early to run for the hills, either. I'm finding it difficult to be gentle with myself -- I become frustrated by my own fatigue (I went back to work late last week). I try to confine my mood swings to home best I can -- though I'm utterly embarrassed by the numerous times my temporarily misplacing random, hardly-important inanimate objects has left me utterly apoplectic. And I'm cold -- all. the. time. If you know me, you know that's the wildest side-effect of all!
And yet, I'm also full of joy. Last week, thanks to my new pedometer, I jumped headlong into the my employer/health insurance HealthMiles challenge to walk 70,000 steps in seven days. I threw my pedometer in my pocket, loaded my Netflix cue on my iPhone app, plugged in my headphones and jumped on our treadmill. I got to 70,000 steps in six days. I couldn't have done that a month ago. And over the weekend I stepped on the scales and discovered, probably for the first time in my life, that I weigh less than my driver's license says I do! Molly was quick to tell me that I couldn't run out right then and re-do my license, but I assured her I wouldn't be waiting another five years before renewal to update. Yes, I am that vain!
Molly's Aunt Jan dropped me a note yesterday and asked how I was feeling. She caught me between bouts of sickness and I replied about what a sucky day it had been. Her response resonated in me. With her permission, I share a bit:
You take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life ... The Facts of Life....
The theme song of that bad old '80s sitcom that I and others of my generation grew up on rattles in my head sometimes, especially recently. In an effort to be true and real, I can't adequately name life at the moment without acknowledging there's good and bad. Guess those are the facts of life.
Monday began a new stage of food reintroduction. This week is all about toast, cheese, fish, crackers, and natural peanut butter. In two days, all that's stayed down has been a few low-fat Wheat Thins with half a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese and a few bites of peanut butter toast. Everything else has been a fail, as in, if it won't go down it'll only sit in your esophagus so long before it comes back up. (Last week's soft food reintroductions went better, although let's just say that mashed potatoes weren't the friend they used to be during other surgery recoveries.) Of course, this isn't altogether unexpected given the trauma of surgery, and the fact that the main internal surgical line for me is right at the point where the esophagus and stomach meet. Yesterday, anything I ate resulted in hellacious hiccups, which only ceased after food reversed course. Today, I ate nothing the first half of the day due to a funeral I was to officiate -- for me, the nightmare scenario is hiccups while trying to eulogize the communion of the saints' newest member. And after tonight, I don't think I'll be dining on tuna fish anytime soon.
The task for me, I'm discovering, is to not let my mind run too far to either extreme. I'm exactly three weeks post-surgery -- far too early to claim a success, but likewise far too early to run for the hills, either. I'm finding it difficult to be gentle with myself -- I become frustrated by my own fatigue (I went back to work late last week). I try to confine my mood swings to home best I can -- though I'm utterly embarrassed by the numerous times my temporarily misplacing random, hardly-important inanimate objects has left me utterly apoplectic. And I'm cold -- all. the. time. If you know me, you know that's the wildest side-effect of all!
And yet, I'm also full of joy. Last week, thanks to my new pedometer, I jumped headlong into the my employer/health insurance HealthMiles challenge to walk 70,000 steps in seven days. I threw my pedometer in my pocket, loaded my Netflix cue on my iPhone app, plugged in my headphones and jumped on our treadmill. I got to 70,000 steps in six days. I couldn't have done that a month ago. And over the weekend I stepped on the scales and discovered, probably for the first time in my life, that I weigh less than my driver's license says I do! Molly was quick to tell me that I couldn't run out right then and re-do my license, but I assured her I wouldn't be waiting another five years before renewal to update. Yes, I am that vain!
Molly's Aunt Jan dropped me a note yesterday and asked how I was feeling. She caught me between bouts of sickness and I replied about what a sucky day it had been. Her response resonated in me. With her permission, I share a bit:
Truth be told, I don't yet know what picture is at the end of this leg of the hike. I very much feel like I'm meeting my new self each day. Ironically, I feel like more of myself instead of less. The journey's only begun, and surely there will be more bad days as well as good ones. Not to sound too cliche, but I guess those are the facts of lifeI know your girls are your inspiration. You are the little train that could. Isn't life one day at a time anyway? Wrapped in long-term planning? You'll go through periods where you redefine "normal." Each "normal" will be better than the last. It's hard to remember as we look at our feet taking each step that at the end of the hike is the prettiest set of falls. What picture is at the end of this leg of the hike?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Four Weeks
The fast started four weeks ago. On Martin Luther King Day, I ate my last meal, and soon thereafter began the liquid diet. This morning I broke the fast with a scrambled egg, cooked for me by my Valentine. A half-dozen or so bites of egg never tasted so good, and a single grind of pepper never had such a kick. This week I can start eating a few soft-solids: eggs, potato (mashed or baked), oatmeal, yogurt, pudding, and chicken noodle soup. The instruction is to blend before eating -- I'm really hopeful my system will tolerate small, well-chewed bites and that I won't have to break out the food processor, but it's on stand-by if need be. I can also have cottage cheese, but I cannot conceive of starting that trend after nearly 38 years of avoiding the stuff.
Surgery was two weeks ago tomorrow. The so-called post-operative "anesthesia-brain," for me, has been a very real thing. In some ways, it's been the hardest adjustment to make. Holding two congruent thoughts simultaneously has been impossible; at times, formulating a coherent sentence has been like dancing through a minefield. It's also been a real challenge to gain strength given the incredibly limited calorie intake that characterizes the liquid diet -- especially given that I was restricted from milk-based protein the week after surgery and subsisted on sugar-free jello, chicken broth, and Gatorade.
Molly insisted, while totally understandable that I hadn't felt up to writing until now, that I at least needed to jot down some notes in the moment. I'm grateful she had that foresight (and for her excellent blog contributions while I was unable to write), as one of my goals for the blog is to archive the journey in hopes it will help someone else.
And finally, I'll update where things stand at the moment. While I'm down 30 pounds in these past four weeks (and 40 pounds overall since the initial surgery consultation last fall), that's not what delights me most: I haven't had a dose of diabetes medication since the day before surgery, and my glucose scores have remained normal. My prayer is with each passing week and as new, healthy foods are reintroduced, diabetes becomes less an impact on my life. I'm told I already look different. I see the difference in weird ways. I have ankles again. When she hugs me, Molly says my shoulders are smaller and I've had to adjust ballcap sizes down. And my fingers don't look like my own. I found my wedding ring in the big bucket of almonds we keep in the pantry -- I can't eat them yet, but I had gotten a handful out for Josie's snack the other day, and discovered that the ring had slipped off. Nothing fits, and that feels great.
Gotta run. I'm hoping to take my Valentine out for a baked potato.
Surgery was two weeks ago tomorrow. The so-called post-operative "anesthesia-brain," for me, has been a very real thing. In some ways, it's been the hardest adjustment to make. Holding two congruent thoughts simultaneously has been impossible; at times, formulating a coherent sentence has been like dancing through a minefield. It's also been a real challenge to gain strength given the incredibly limited calorie intake that characterizes the liquid diet -- especially given that I was restricted from milk-based protein the week after surgery and subsisted on sugar-free jello, chicken broth, and Gatorade.
Molly insisted, while totally understandable that I hadn't felt up to writing until now, that I at least needed to jot down some notes in the moment. I'm grateful she had that foresight (and for her excellent blog contributions while I was unable to write), as one of my goals for the blog is to archive the journey in hopes it will help someone else.
- Monday, January 31 was the mandatory education day at Missouri Bariatric Services. Class lasted five hours and included a primer on post-operative nutrition, immediate post-surgical after-care, exercise necessities, risks, etc. The day ended with a face-to-face with the surgeon to sign consent forms and ensure that he and I were on the same page with regard to surgery the next morning.
- Tuesday, February 1 was surgery day. If this day sounds familiar to you, it's the day the Midwest Blizzard of the Millennium swept across the country leaving two feet of snow in places that often don't receive that much snow in an entire winter. Our early morning began after a mad-dash trip to a nearby hotel the night before. I was never so glad to see my surgeon walk into the holding room and tell me we were a go. He also told me that I was the only elective surgery who hadn't cancelled that day -- my steadfastness impressed him, although his wife was "pissed off" the hospital hadn't cancelled it as a matter of course, even going so far as to call the Operating Room to verify herself! My first memory in the recovery room post-surgery was intense hiccups, long before I experienced pain or even knew my name. I later learned that my diaphragm had been irritated during surgery and I hiccuped throughout. I hiccuped off and on throughout the day and night.
- Wednesday, February 2 was a little like the old.bad movie "Groundhog Day" -- I kept reliving hiccups over and over again. Blessedly I was sprung from a truly awful roommate situation, which improved my disposition greatly, but did nothing for the hiccups. A round of hiccups Wednesday night lasted well over and hour and I became afraid I would pass out from the accompanying belly pain, and I was given a tablet of Thorazine and an instruction to "just get it down somehow". Somehow I did, and quite literally within seconds the hiccups ended. Knock on wood, but I haven't had them since.
- Thursday, February 3 was moving day. One of the trauma team docs (my surgeon barely made it home after my operation and was snowed in the remainder of my stay) came in early that morning and threatened to keep me if I didn't walk, drink, and pee more. Typically, give me a goal and a roadmap and I'll perform. Molly charted my water intake and I walked the length of University Hospital from one of of 5-West to 5-East and back each hour, and by noon I had the doc paged. We were home by 2:00pm, where fourteen inches of snow had been shoveled off our driveway by still-unknown angels and a path hollowed out to the back door. I never received a sweeter gift in my life and no better medicine than our girls' hugs once inside.
And finally, I'll update where things stand at the moment. While I'm down 30 pounds in these past four weeks (and 40 pounds overall since the initial surgery consultation last fall), that's not what delights me most: I haven't had a dose of diabetes medication since the day before surgery, and my glucose scores have remained normal. My prayer is with each passing week and as new, healthy foods are reintroduced, diabetes becomes less an impact on my life. I'm told I already look different. I see the difference in weird ways. I have ankles again. When she hugs me, Molly says my shoulders are smaller and I've had to adjust ballcap sizes down. And my fingers don't look like my own. I found my wedding ring in the big bucket of almonds we keep in the pantry -- I can't eat them yet, but I had gotten a handful out for Josie's snack the other day, and discovered that the ring had slipped off. Nothing fits, and that feels great.
Gotta run. I'm hoping to take my Valentine out for a baked potato.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
From the Wife: Some of the Nitty-Gritty
Eric has been very forth-right with you about his thought processes and some of the realities that were facing him before the surgery. I know he will continue to do this once he is feeling a bit more up to it. Until then, I shall continue to hijack the blog and share some random details that may otherwise get overlooked.
1. The liquid diet - pre and post op - is difficult for many reasons for the person who has to partake of it (Eric can give you the details). For the spouse, it is also difficult. I found myself very aware of the foods I was fixing -- worried about them being too fragrant or too tempting for Eric. When it came to preparing meals, I found that I was in a state of mourning. At the end of the day, Eric and I typically cook supper together and catch up with one another. This didn't happen often while the liquid diet was in effect. I certainly don't blame Eric for not "helping out" - that isn't at all what I am saying. Rather, I mourned the time that we shared together over meal preparations. It did, however, lead me to realize just how much we count on food to be the center of our family rituals. Oh, and another thing about the liquid diet: it makes you stupid. Ditzy. Flaky. On a good day, a person may consume 600 calories on the pre-surgery diet. SIX HUNDRED CALORIES. It is easy to flake out with so little feeding your brain. Eric tried to burn down the house (left a stove-top burner on) and tried to asphyxiate me and our youngest daughter by warming up our car in the garage without putting the garage door up. Thankfully, both of those times, I was not far behind him and kept any harm from being done. The liquid diet is NOT for the faint of heart.
2. I was not ready for how pale Eric was going to look post-operatively. He slept much of the first 24 hours after surgery (except for a recurring case of the hiccups - perhaps Eric will share that story with you.), which I was prepared for, but the lack of color to his complexion is what brought home the severity of the surgery that just took place. Then again, perhaps it was less about him being pale and more about the hospital gown not being in his color palette...
3. Eric had an On-Q ball for pain management. Essentially, On-Q is a catheterized pain med that is placed and feeds directly into the surgical location. If you or someone you love ever has one of these, be thankful -- it works wonders. While on the pain ball, Eric's pain was never above a 3 on a 1-10 scale. Once it was removed, the pain hovered closer to 5 and 6. If you have to remove it at home, like I did, know it isn't as scary as it sounds. I am a complete medical wuss -- if I can do it, anyone can (truth: I had my mother-in-law on alert - her sole purpose other than emotional support was to pick me up if I passed out).
4. Follow all the rules. Follow the pre-surgery rules. Follow the post-surgery rules. The rules are truly there for your health and recovery -- not to make your life difficult. If the rules say walk, then walk. If they say don't eat, then don't eat.
5. Our children are resilient. I knew this before, but was reminded of the reality this past week. Not only did they live through Daddy not eating for two weeks, they lived through a week of Daddy in the hospital during a blizzard -- a time when I couldn't even come home to them because the roads were impassable. They survived a week of craziness filled with snow days, Nana days, and missing Mom and Dad. Upon our return, they were gentle, caring, and adoring of their Daddy. They have held up through this ordeal better than I could have ever imagined.
There are other details to be shared, of this, I am certain. But for now, may this whet your appetite until Eric is back. I promise... I shall limit my hijacking of the blog. I don't promise never to hijack it, just to limit how often I do. I appreciate Eric's kindness to allow me to share my voice in the midst of this deeply personal experience.
1. The liquid diet - pre and post op - is difficult for many reasons for the person who has to partake of it (Eric can give you the details). For the spouse, it is also difficult. I found myself very aware of the foods I was fixing -- worried about them being too fragrant or too tempting for Eric. When it came to preparing meals, I found that I was in a state of mourning. At the end of the day, Eric and I typically cook supper together and catch up with one another. This didn't happen often while the liquid diet was in effect. I certainly don't blame Eric for not "helping out" - that isn't at all what I am saying. Rather, I mourned the time that we shared together over meal preparations. It did, however, lead me to realize just how much we count on food to be the center of our family rituals. Oh, and another thing about the liquid diet: it makes you stupid. Ditzy. Flaky. On a good day, a person may consume 600 calories on the pre-surgery diet. SIX HUNDRED CALORIES. It is easy to flake out with so little feeding your brain. Eric tried to burn down the house (left a stove-top burner on) and tried to asphyxiate me and our youngest daughter by warming up our car in the garage without putting the garage door up. Thankfully, both of those times, I was not far behind him and kept any harm from being done. The liquid diet is NOT for the faint of heart.
2. I was not ready for how pale Eric was going to look post-operatively. He slept much of the first 24 hours after surgery (except for a recurring case of the hiccups - perhaps Eric will share that story with you.), which I was prepared for, but the lack of color to his complexion is what brought home the severity of the surgery that just took place. Then again, perhaps it was less about him being pale and more about the hospital gown not being in his color palette...
3. Eric had an On-Q ball for pain management. Essentially, On-Q is a catheterized pain med that is placed and feeds directly into the surgical location. If you or someone you love ever has one of these, be thankful -- it works wonders. While on the pain ball, Eric's pain was never above a 3 on a 1-10 scale. Once it was removed, the pain hovered closer to 5 and 6. If you have to remove it at home, like I did, know it isn't as scary as it sounds. I am a complete medical wuss -- if I can do it, anyone can (truth: I had my mother-in-law on alert - her sole purpose other than emotional support was to pick me up if I passed out).
4. Follow all the rules. Follow the pre-surgery rules. Follow the post-surgery rules. The rules are truly there for your health and recovery -- not to make your life difficult. If the rules say walk, then walk. If they say don't eat, then don't eat.
5. Our children are resilient. I knew this before, but was reminded of the reality this past week. Not only did they live through Daddy not eating for two weeks, they lived through a week of Daddy in the hospital during a blizzard -- a time when I couldn't even come home to them because the roads were impassable. They survived a week of craziness filled with snow days, Nana days, and missing Mom and Dad. Upon our return, they were gentle, caring, and adoring of their Daddy. They have held up through this ordeal better than I could have ever imagined.
There are other details to be shared, of this, I am certain. But for now, may this whet your appetite until Eric is back. I promise... I shall limit my hijacking of the blog. I don't promise never to hijack it, just to limit how often I do. I appreciate Eric's kindness to allow me to share my voice in the midst of this deeply personal experience.
Monday, February 7, 2011
A Few Words From the Wife
My husband is my hero.
He is my rock. He is my inspiration.
And today, as he continues to recover from gastric sleeve surgery, he is more my hero than ever before.
It has been an interesting several months from my vantage point, dating back to that routine doctor's appointment when Eric came home talking about a growing interest in bariatric surgery. Up to that point, the topic had not been discussed, except for noting friends or colleagues who had had one of the procedures done. When Eric shared with me his desire to meet with a surgeon and "feel out the possibility" of surgery, I knew we were going to be in for a wild ride. Had I known that from that day to when surgery happened would be less than 6 months, I might have held on a bit tighter! (who knew that liquid diets could make a person so... ditzy!?)
From October through January, I watched Eric mentally prepare for this change in life. I watched him as he researched and read the pre and post-surgical data. I listened to him as he shared conversations with others who had had similar procedures done. I stood back and let him find his own way through much of it, while trying my hardest to offer my unwavering and prayerful support for what was ahead. With each step he took toward the decision to have surgery, and with each step he took in preparing for those two weeks prior to surgery, he became more and more my hero. Today, having seen him come through surgery and begin to heal, he is evermore-so the one I admire.
I am a firm believer that times of crisis, challenge, and trauma will often make you more of who you truly are. People who are negative become more negative. People who are positive find strength in their positive-thinking. People who are full of grace and hope will continue to exude those qualities, even in the most difficult of times. As we prepared to live at the hospital for several days due to surgery recovery AND a blizzard that was to (and did!) shut down the town, Eric remained positive. As he was in pain and in a difficult room-mate situation post-op, he was gracious and respectful of the nurses. And as Eric grew stronger, and the days ran longer for the snow-bound hospital staff that were working extra long shifts, Eric was full of smiles and kind words. Through this difficult, painful, uncertain time, Eric has become, well, more Eric.
Eric being Eric is very important to me. I fell in love with Eric 16 years prior to this surgery. I fell in love and have grown deeper in love with this man every day of those 16 years in his pre-surgery state. I joked with him prior to surgery that everything was about to change - the way we hug, the way we spoon, the way we hold hands - it would all change as his body changes. I have heard some stories of personalities that have changed in negative ways post-surgery, as well. Thankfully, those stories seem to be minimal and also tend to illustrate my previous point -- that during times of great challenge and change, we become more truly who we are. Already, I am noticing Eric's body changing. The scale is showing it, his clothes are showing it, and yes, our hugs are hugging different. But different is good because in all of this, "my" Eric from 16 years ago, is still "my" Eric. In his relatively short time post-op, Eric continues to be more himself -- gracious and loving towards our girls, kind and loving towards me, and witty, smart, and faith-filled about life in general.
My husband is my hero. He is courageous as he faces this new reality of health and wellness. He is admirable as he has, with a sound mind, researched the options and made a decision that is right for him. And he is quite simply, "my" Eric - my husband. My friend. My hero.
He is my rock. He is my inspiration.
And today, as he continues to recover from gastric sleeve surgery, he is more my hero than ever before.
It has been an interesting several months from my vantage point, dating back to that routine doctor's appointment when Eric came home talking about a growing interest in bariatric surgery. Up to that point, the topic had not been discussed, except for noting friends or colleagues who had had one of the procedures done. When Eric shared with me his desire to meet with a surgeon and "feel out the possibility" of surgery, I knew we were going to be in for a wild ride. Had I known that from that day to when surgery happened would be less than 6 months, I might have held on a bit tighter! (who knew that liquid diets could make a person so... ditzy!?)
From October through January, I watched Eric mentally prepare for this change in life. I watched him as he researched and read the pre and post-surgical data. I listened to him as he shared conversations with others who had had similar procedures done. I stood back and let him find his own way through much of it, while trying my hardest to offer my unwavering and prayerful support for what was ahead. With each step he took toward the decision to have surgery, and with each step he took in preparing for those two weeks prior to surgery, he became more and more my hero. Today, having seen him come through surgery and begin to heal, he is evermore-so the one I admire.
I am a firm believer that times of crisis, challenge, and trauma will often make you more of who you truly are. People who are negative become more negative. People who are positive find strength in their positive-thinking. People who are full of grace and hope will continue to exude those qualities, even in the most difficult of times. As we prepared to live at the hospital for several days due to surgery recovery AND a blizzard that was to (and did!) shut down the town, Eric remained positive. As he was in pain and in a difficult room-mate situation post-op, he was gracious and respectful of the nurses. And as Eric grew stronger, and the days ran longer for the snow-bound hospital staff that were working extra long shifts, Eric was full of smiles and kind words. Through this difficult, painful, uncertain time, Eric has become, well, more Eric.
Eric being Eric is very important to me. I fell in love with Eric 16 years prior to this surgery. I fell in love and have grown deeper in love with this man every day of those 16 years in his pre-surgery state. I joked with him prior to surgery that everything was about to change - the way we hug, the way we spoon, the way we hold hands - it would all change as his body changes. I have heard some stories of personalities that have changed in negative ways post-surgery, as well. Thankfully, those stories seem to be minimal and also tend to illustrate my previous point -- that during times of great challenge and change, we become more truly who we are. Already, I am noticing Eric's body changing. The scale is showing it, his clothes are showing it, and yes, our hugs are hugging different. But different is good because in all of this, "my" Eric from 16 years ago, is still "my" Eric. In his relatively short time post-op, Eric continues to be more himself -- gracious and loving towards our girls, kind and loving towards me, and witty, smart, and faith-filled about life in general.
My husband is my hero. He is courageous as he faces this new reality of health and wellness. He is admirable as he has, with a sound mind, researched the options and made a decision that is right for him. And he is quite simply, "my" Eric - my husband. My friend. My hero.
Post Script: I know you are all eager to hear from the man himself as he recovers. He will be in touch shortly -- once he is able to knock the "anesthesia brain" back into line. Do know that surgery went very well and that he is recovering nicely. I promise you that it won't be long before he is back to the blogosphere to report on his experience.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)