More good news

Today the doctors removed Keith's catheter and central line from his neck -- he's down to only an IV! He also is eating (sort of) now -- broth, jello, juice.

They have moved him to room 3305 and he is now out of the ICU.

His progress has been phenomenal so far -- let's keep our fingers crossed.

A Merry Christmas to all

Today was a very Merry Christmas for the Kohns. Dr. Boyer came in and gave us a thumb's up on Keith's progress. They then removed the nasal tube that was draining his stomach and new esophagus, along with the chest tubes. After only a few minutes Keith felt more like a person again.

At the same time, our daughters called while visiting Keith's mom and told us that she was breathing completely on her own with the trach in place and was doing so well they were going to transfer her today into their intermediate care facility on the ORMC campus to renew the "weaning" process of getting her back in shape for rehabilitation again.

Keith is able to munch on ice chips now and his esophagus seems to be healing well. Tomorrow they plan to have him walking around the ICU to get him moving a bit more.

He is in good spirits, especially since all pathology reports have returned negative for cancer.

Can't beat that for a Merry Christmas -- New Year's is looking up.

Not for the squeamish...

Well, we finally get to put some pictures on the blog. They weren't cooperating the usual way so we sent them directly to my email so we could upload them.

Here is Keith in the prep room before his surgery looking a lot happier than after his surgery.

Above is Keith after they placed the first IV lines and the nurse was getting ready to give him the "happy juice" that makes a person amenable to having their guts played with by strangers.

This final photo Keith took today when they were checking his stitches (staples actually) on his side and abdomen, along with the miscellaneous tubes that are draining all the bad stuff. Leave it to Keith to have the presence of mind to snap pictures during such a time.

Okay -- yuck. I agree. This officially gives him the title of "Borg Keith" with battle scars and everything.



On a positive side Keith is doing great so far. There is pain obviously, but the medications are managing that pretty well. He is sitting up in the recliner during the day and the nurse already had him walk around the ICU twice this afternoon. Coughing seems to hurt the most and the medication makes him a bit loopy (but not that much more than normal...), but the hardest part is feeling lonely. Keith misses being home with the family. Visiting is just not good enough.



We are counting the days and crossing our fingers. Our luck is improving (although not enough to win the Lotto last night). Keep those thoughts and prayers flowing -- they seem to be working. Thanks.

Looking pretty good, considering...

The nurses had Keith sitting up by 5 a.m. this morning. How do I know this? Because by 5:30 he had called me and left a message. If phone usage is any indication of wellness, Keith is doing wonderfully -- by the time I got there this morning he had already called me four times, plus a fifth while I was in the hallway of the hospital heading his way.

Well, I did marry a professional communicator, so I shouldn't be surprised when he insists on communicating even when he should be resting.

He looked remarkably well, in spite of all the tubes and wires, sitting in the recliner watching Bravo on TV. By the way, it is the oldest little TV I have seen in years -- Keith has already learned where to bang on it when the sound doesn't work. It's on a moveable arm attached to the wall.

I brought him his Soduko books, reading glasses, and his palm pilot -- and his all important cell phone. But I think he mostly wanted his phone, if only to play games on it when he feels a bit better.

I brought our "baby" Karen to see her dad. She's the one who says he looks like a baby ostrich right now with his fuzzy head. They had just moved Keith back into his bed, so he was kind of worn out by that, but he rallied for a little while to make jokes with his "favorite" (so she claims) daughter.

Aimee and her boyfriend Luis and older daughter Kim will all join me tonight to visit for a little while and then we will go to ORMC to the ICU there to see Keith's mom (who got an infection and is back on the ventilator again).

This running back and forth between ICUs is getting pretty crazy. Keith is very worried about his mom and she is very worried about him. In the meantime I have trouble keeping track of which doctor or nurse I have spoken to recently and which elevator to take to which floor of each hospital. Christmas has taken a back seat to everything (boy did it cost alot to send the grandkids their gifts via FedEx today!) -- except for those few I haven't bought any presents, been able to put up the tree, or buy food for Christmas eve. I sure hope the stores aren't too crowded tomorrow!

But, all of that is just side stuff. What is really important is the health and well being of Keith and Bea -- and the girls all understand that too. So, this year's celebration will be very small. We will share it at home and at the hospitals and be glad for the good things -- a new son-in-law, a cancer that hasn't spread and was operable, a new job teaching high school again, healthy children and grandchildren, and a grandma Bea who, in spite of her terrible ordeal, is still more concerned about her son and his family than herself.

My greatest gift this year will be the return of my husband for the new year and a quiet uneventful 2008.

Thanks for all your prayers and good wishes. I am relaying all messages to Keith and as soon as he gets into his regular room in a few days I will bring his computer to him so he can communicate more directly with everyone. The support of his Sentinel friends has meant a great deal to him and he is anxious to get back to work.

Have a safe and joyful holiday.

What a day!

In the wee hours of the morning we stumbled out of bed, threw on some clothes and grabbed the umbrella, because, of course it was pouring outside, and headed for Florida Hospital. We joined an amazing number of people waiting for surgery -- fa la la, what a way to spend the holidays.

They took Keith to be prepped pretty quickly, but I had to wait for awhile and fell asleep in the chair. After the second time they called for me (because of my little nap) I found Keith in one of those little cubicles, looking chilly and nervous. He joked that he still had time to change his mind -- I said 'no way.' And we sat together trying to avoid any serious conversation. A very nice man came in and shaved Keith's chest and the inside of his arms (to avoid tape sticking) and they took him off to take a shower and then we waited a bit more.

Finally, we moved upstairs to the operating area and once I found the place (couldn't use the same elevator) I waited for them to get him ready in the final staging area. The cardiac surgery waiting area was staffed with a volunteer, who was absolutely marvelous (a former cardiac patient himself). They offered help, a kind ear and assured me I would be contacted as soon as the surgery was over. Another staffer came out to give me a tour of the area and take me to Keith. At this point they had managed to put in various IVs. We spoke to the several doctors and nurses and everyone explained everything they were doing, or were about to do, clearly and kindly. One of the doctors described Keith's surgeon, Dr. Boyer, as one of the most gifted surgeons he had ever seen. (That's nice to hear!) Keith, still nervous, joked a bit and we gave a kiss goodbye.

I had to go to work for a couple of hours, but while I was there Dr. Boyer called and let me know that the operation went very smoothly and that there had been no complications. He also said he went ahead and took a more thorough sample of Keith's liver while he had the chance, just to be on the safe side. He said his liver had taken a bit of a beating from the radiation treatments, but that it shouldn't be an issue later.

Once I got to the cardiac intensive care unit where they had to put him after the operation (it was a very busy day evidently and beds were filling up) he was in a lot of pain and kind of sleepy, but a bit later he was more alert and was able to talk to me and smile. I told him about Boyer taking more of his liver and he quipped "did he get some onions to go with it?" That's my Keith, even full of tubes, with a breathing mask and in pain, he still manages to see the humor in a situation.

Right now Keith is asleep and I'm waiting to see him when visiting hours begin again for a little while. I feel very relieved and I think it will be very strange around the house tonight when I go home. We've been apart before, of course, but this feels different. Unnatural.

I know Keith will recover quickly. His battle scars with cancer will eventually heal and we will share stories of these days in the years ahead. But, for now, I will spend my evening sending him my love and I know he will feel that love even though this illness separates us physically.

As soon as Keith is out of the ICU and into a regular room I will post his room number and a phone number. Until then please keep Keith in your thoughts and prayers.

Thanks to all. Keep well and have a wonderful evening.

Making a choice

It seems as if the tests are never ending. I am hoping that this will be the last one and the doctors will be able to move on to the surgery on the esophagus. It's like a checklist -- the PET scan checks what looks good and what doesn't and then each part of the body that doesn't look right must again be tested and checked off before the next stage of the game. Frustration doesn't begin to describe how we feel. But, as Keith has been saying a lot lately, "oh well, there's not much we can do about it." Unfortunately, true.

It's been very tense recently. Except for fatigue, Keith seems to feel pretty well most of the time, but there is a cloud of anxiety that has blanketed all of our activities. Often that anxiety manifests itself as irritability and impatience. Fear is in the background (and sometimes in the foreground as well, such as with the liver cancer scare). It is a strange way to live -- on the edge of a cliff, swaying with the wind, always feeling you are about to fall.

Many have written that when a person knows that death is imminent life takes on an almost miraculous feel. There is a sharp awareness of each moment. But, there is another state of being that is less explored. The time spent waiting to get well, or waiting to be told there is no hope, is a state when moments are spent from doctor's appointment to doctor's appointment, from procedure to procedure. Precious moments spent in tiny spaces in hospitals filled with mysterious technology and busy people scurrying around while you lay on a bed with tubes in your arms wondering what is going to happen to you. Meanwhile the day outside is clear and bright and cool. A day better spent on a sailboat if all this doesn't work out the right way.

There were no Hannukah candles lit this year. Only a few Christmas decorations are up. No lights on the trees outside. Keith will likely be in the hospital and things just don't seem put together in the usual way. Gift-giving seems unimportant when the only gift any of us really want is our husband/dad/son healthy and strong.

Time is the gift God gives us. It seems so endless while we are young and so impossibly brief as we age. It is the reality of the present and also the memories of the past. Time is the possibilty of what is to come and those possibilities are infinite. Every choice, no matter how small, affects the next choice, the next moment in time, until the dominoes are falling in ways you could never have imagined. Some of those choices are amazingly wonderful, and others impossibly tragic. I have often marveled at the series of life events that brought Keith and I together. Shifts and changes that seemed to push and shove us into the same time and space so that we could then make choices together. Since then time has been pretty good to us. We have made choices to have "too many" children together and we are both so glad that we did. We changed jobs and sometimes careers that have placed us in locations where we met other people who have made a great difference in our lives. We have spent our time together productively (and sometimes wastefully), but the main thing is: we have spent our time together.

Time feels like an enemy. But that is only because we cannot see beyond the horizon of this life that we presently live. We have to accept the time that is given us and use it as best we can. Just writing these words has helped me to reaffirm my belief that time must be valued and that our place in the universe, as small as it is, may be more important that we realize. Each dominoe must be in place. As each individual choice affects another, so does each life affect another. From the beginning of time until the end of the universe, every moment and every life is connected. Keith's life touches many others. He has affected my life profoundly for the better for 28 years, and that is something remarkable indeed.

So today, while we go through yet another lengthy "procedure" I will keep these thoughts in mind and embrace the time we spend together -- the cool, clear day will be outside, but the warmth of human love will be inside the tiny room filled with machines and busy people.

Waiting game is being tossed out this weekend

It's the waiting game again.

We've decided that the only way to deal with the waiting involved in this process is to ignore it as much as possible and keep busy doing everyday things. So, instead of sitting by the phone waiting for the results of the liver biopsy Keith bought a new car (holy crap! he gave up his Mazda RX8 for a practical Saturn Vue that is easier to get in and out of); we're going to finish moving Keith's mom's stuff out of her apartment in South Florida (rather I will move the stuff and Keith will tell me how to do things, and I will tell him to... well, you get the picture); then we're going to have some FUN by decorating the house for the holidays (again, I set up the tree and everyone else tells me how to do it, and I tell them to ... ); and by going to Busch Gardens for awhile this Sunday when it is supposed to be chilly out (yah!!!).

Waiting is the enemy -- it is the spirit of negativity -- it is the stealer of enjoyment -- it turns everything sour. We refuse to be controlled by this monster any longer. Waiting is a waste of precious time, and if nothing else, we've learned that time really is precious and should never be squandered.

So, off we go to Del Rey Beach to pack up piles of dishes (Keith's mom has a thing about saving dishes for her granddaughters), and the last of her other stuff, -- using the bright and shiny gold Vue with the built-in hitch (perfect for towing a sailboat, Keith has explained in order to get me to be happy with the new car) and a little U-haul trailer.

Then off we go into the garage to try to find all those packed Christmas items and clutter up the house with them.

Then off we go to Busch Gardens to enjoy a beautiful day of cool breezes among the equally cool animals. No roller coasters allowed (damn!) but walking is good for the body and the soul and there is always a nice lunch to be had at the Crown Colony and baby animals in the nursery.

So in spite of this week's scares and delays we intend to enjoy this weekend and accomplish some stuff and be grateful for the time we spend together as a family.

Waiting is wasteful. Living is a better use of our time.