This past year has been such an emotional roller coaster of fear, hope, despair, prayer, love, and a miracle.
Tuesday, my husband hurt enough he wanted me to get him into the doctor. Took him for an appointment with the PA, who sent him to have a CAT scan. Everything we were told made us know nothing was going to be good, and it wasn't. When we walked in the door, the phone started ringing. The doctor called us himself and told me to get Robert to the ER right then. He had a hernia with a section of the bowel protruding.
Robert's health is not good. He has three or four blockages in his heart and a very weak heart. He wouldn't survive surgery to correct the problems, due to his congestive heart failure. We knew that any surgery would be very risky.
Sure enough, the ER doctor told us a surgeon would be called in, but the outcome could be very fatal -- with or without surgery.
To cut a long, fearful story short, they scheduled him for surgery Thursday morning. He suffered greatly from Tuesday to Thursday. Our sons flew or drove to get here. Two of our granddaughters and a great-grandson stayed close, visiting for long hours.
Thursday before the operation, the surgeon and the anesthesiologist spoke with Robert and family members. They stressed the fact that Robert had only a slim chance of survival. However, not having surgery was as dangerous if not more so.
We discussed the pros and cons, but Robert had to make the final choice. He told us he wanted to still live, but not in that much pain and not able to do anything. He said, if he died, he was ready. He would either see us after surgery or whenever we left this life.
Due to some wise decisions on the part of the two doctors, he didn't have to have general anesthesia, causing less stress on his back. The surgeon came to the waiting room, grinning ear to ear. "It worked."
Robert spent almost two days in ICU because of arrhythmia, but they moved him back to a regular room last night.
He's weak, tires easily, but he's doing remarkably well considering.
We saw a miracle this week.
Our youngest told his dad, "That's seven. You only have two left."