It is now Friday afternoon (1pm), about 36 hours post-op. Wes is doing well and is able to talk, eat, and use all his extremities. He is experiencing virtually no dizziness, and is in very little pain. His head surgeons, Drs Reid Thompson and David Haynes, are very pleased with his progress.

He is still sporting a fashionable headdress, which is complemented by a lovely abdominal drain at the incision site where fat was harvested to ‘plug the hole’ in his skull where the operation took place.  Wearing scrub pants in addition to his hospital gown has preserved his dignity.

A few fun facts:

• This is one of the longest surgeries that occur regularly at Vanderbilt.

The family and friends that gathered to ‘wait it out’ on Wednesday arrived at 6am for pre-op, and waited until 11pm, when the surgery was completed. I (Brooke) got to see him in the holding room before surgery, where I noted a nice black dot on his right earlobe to indicate the correct side. I was the only one allowed to see him at that point. We had about thirty minutes together as numerous members of the OR team came by to introduce themselves. They were all very kind. Wes was very calm through all this, and neither displayed nor felt any unsteadiness in his faith and trust in God, who we know has orchestrated every detail from the beginning. (He’s not just God on the platform, but also in the OR, folks!)

When they were ready to take him into the OR, I went (a little unsteadily) back down to the waiting room. And so we waited.

• It is painstaking work to drill through bone.

It took from 8am (official start of surgery) to 1:45pm just to drill through the skull (Just the thought of that sends a shiver down the spine). We received a call around 11am in the waiting room that his vital signs were great, he was proceeding just fine. At 1:45pm, another call from the team came, saying that they had finished drilling through the bone and were ready to go into the brain.

This was where reality was a little difficult for me. The thought that my husband’s brain was exposed at that very moment, and that his life was so vulnerable, was surreal and unnerving. Yet I knew that God was in control. I just needed to turn the knob a bit on my emotional pressure valve. A few moments in the chapel helped. :)

• Tumors are sticky creatures.

At about 5:45pm, half the tumor had been removed, and the intensive work of ‘teasing’ the tumor away from the facial nerve began. This is very meticulous work, and proved to be a laborious, time-consuming process for the surgeons.

• There is no such thing as too much communication.

At 8:15, we were informed that the main waiting room would close at 9pm, and we were directed to the second floor waiting room for the rest of the surgery. A message was relayed through the waiting room receptionist that the OR would call in about 15 minutes, and that it would be a while before they were ready to begin closing the incision.

Not having received another call by 9, we moved upstairs and continued to wait. All the other families in the waiting room had come and gone, for the most part, and most other surgeries had begun and ended.

By 10:30pm, I was on pins and needles and needing to hear something from the OR. The upstairs waiting room was unstaffed, and we were answering the phone ourselves. I had heard nothing more at that point since 5:45, so I called the hospital operator and asked for her to contact the OR for an update. Within a few minutes, we were told that one of the surgeons would be out to talk to us, and that the surgery was almost completed.

• Waiting on brain surgery isn’t easy, but it’s worth it.

Dr Haynes came out first and told us the news: all the tumor had been removed (praise God!), and that he was pleasantly surprised at the condition and function of the facial nerve. He said that usually you can expect a delay for that nerve to regain its integrity, since the tumor presses into it as it grows, stretching it out, often causing irreparable damage. He said in this case, though Wes’s tumor had been very large, the response of that nerve was excellent, it was completely intact, and we could expect its immediate function. The brain stem had been preserved, and he had endured the surgery well. All vital signs were great throughout the duration of the surgery.

You can imagine the great load lifted from the shoulders of those who waited with me that night. I told Dr Haynes I wanted to hug him. :)

Dr Thompson came out, shook everyone’s hand warmly, and reiterated the same information, obviously very pleased with the outcome of the surgery.

An hour later, I went with Wes’ mom to the ICU, where he had been taken after surgery. He was pale and feeling a little sick from the anesthesia, but I’ve never seen anything more wonderful in my life. He was really drowsy from all the medicine, but recognized us and was able to say hello and answer basic questions. Dizzy with gratitude, I thanked God many times for preserving the life of my husband.

He spent the night in the ICU, and his mom stayed with him overnight while I went to get some rest at the hotel. The ICU staff checked on him every hour, making sure his pain and vitals were all under control. By morning, he was sitting up in a chair by the bed, had walked a lap around the ICU floor, and though still groggy, was progressing well in his recovery.

The following morning, twelve hours after surgery, he was stable enough to be transported to a regular room. From then until now, he has remained in his room on the sixth floor, taking an occasional walk around the room or down the hallway, eating a little, and sleeping a lot.

The doctors are now saying he should be well enough to go home tomorrow (Saturday), though the final word has not yet been given. I will do my best to keep everyone informed via Facebook/Twitter as to when we actually leave.

To all who have prayed, fasted, called, texted, emailed, facebooked, and twittered, we thank you! God is faithful and has heard your prayers, and we are unspeakably grateful for His mercy.

This is no small thing that we have come through. It has not been easy, and there are surely some curves in the road ahead, but we have felt the hand of God directing our path the whole time. He may not prevent every storm, but He carries us through it every time. To God be all the glory.

*Just an added note: Wes is not able to read your emails, texts, or comments at this time. (He is also too wiped out to be taking phone calls). As is typical of this kind of operation, he has yet to regain the visual strength enough to focus on words. I’m told it will be several weeks before this is possible. So please know we appreciate every comment and note sent to us–he is getting the messages as quickly as I can relay them. If you don’t receive a direct response, please accept our apology and know that we appreciate each and every word!*

It’s an acoustic neuroma. We pretty much knew this going in, but it could also have been a meningioma. Both are treated essentially the same, so it doesn’t really matter beyond being accurate in diagnosis.

I’ll be having surgery. I don’t have a definite date yet (should hear back today at some point) but it will be in late October. All types of radiation were taken off the table for all the reasons I’ve mentioned in previous posts, and the increased risk for regrowth down the road. Radiation would also complicate matters if it came to surgery at some point down the road. Surgery now is the only way to get the tumor out (radiation only stops the growth, and only in some instances causes the tumor to shrink).

Waiting is fine. This type of tumor is so slow growing that it shouldn’t pose any problem or risk to wait for the surgery. Why am I waiting? A couple of reasons, I suppose. First of all, the surgeons both have to coordinate their efforts, and their schedules. Because the surgery is so long (starts at 7 or so in the morning, and runs well into the evening) they both only do one of these, at a maximum, per week. The first opening for one of the docs was in late September. By setting a date a little further out, I’ll have a bit more control over the timing. The other reason is that I’ll have added benefits through my employer after my one year anniversary in October. It’s a pretty significant increase in how my salary continuance and short-term disability will be handled, so it just makes financial sense to wait.

There will be some complications. First of all, my hearing on the right side will be gone – it was simply off the table to even talk about saving it. If we go in, the nerve and other important connections are cut to get to the tumor. I could later consider some type of bone anchored hearing device, but that’s not really restoring hearing. It simply reroutes sound vibrations on the right side of my head to my good ear on the left. Frankly, this won’t be a huge change as I’m at about 64% hearing in that ear anyway. While I can hear sounds, I can’t make out what I’m hearing. If people talk to me on that side of my head they sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. I’m thinking about getting a little sign that says “out of order” to hang over that ear with a little arrow pointing to the other side. Or maybe I’ll hire an ear concierge to direct people to the other ear. (“So sorree, monsieur. Thees ear ees, how you say, out of working?”) I’m considering my options.

There’s also a risk of partial facial paralysis or weakness. It’s a given that I’ll have this short term after the surgery (maybe a couple of weeks). The bigger question is the long term effects. The tumor has pushed this nerve back, and has kind of splayed it out behind it. The surgeons will be trying to peel the tumor off this nerve without damaging it, which is difficult (I’m told) because the nerve is fragile. This particular issue is why the surgery takes so long. The upside is that I’ll have the best Halloween costume ever if my face is droopy after the surgery. See? Perspective is everything.

Recovery time is hard to estimate. It could take anywhere from a few weeks, to a few months if all goes well. It just depends on how my body handles it. I’m looking at about 4-5 days in the Neuro ICU after the surgery, and then some recovery time at home. I may have some rehab to deal with depending on how this affects my balance.

These guys are good. The two doctors that are working on my case are the best of the best. Vanderbilt is one of the top acoustic neuroma centers in the world, and this makes me feel very, very comfortable. Both doctors were super nice, and fielded all our questions with patience, ease, and great information.

And finally…

None of this information factors God into the equation. He has the ability to step in and take care of any or all of this at any given moment. He also has the right to not intervene and instead use this for His own purposes. I’m completely fine either way. I’m going to post about this later, but I want you to understand that God’s goodness doesn’t depend on His willingness to heal me…or you, for that matter. I refuse to measure His greatness, or frankly my faith, by whether or not I have this surgery. It’s irrelevant. God is God. Period. I trust Him wholly and completely, and I want to encourage you to do the same. Don’t impose your will or desires on God and then use them as a litmus test to determine His power, faithfulness, love, or mercy. Instead, make your petitions known and be patient. God is good…all the time.

“The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD. ” – Lamentations 3:25-26

While I didn’t really get any new information, per se, I was encouraged by what I heard. After the exam the doctor exclaimed, “I can’t find a thing wrong with you”. He continued that with the size of tumor and its location, he expected that any number of things could, and by all accounts should, be wrong. At this advanced stage of the type of tumor I have, one would expect profound hearing loss (I’ve only lost about 36% in my right ear), balance issues, and facial paralysis. I have none of that.

This is not luck. I firmly believe that this is the mercy of God, and I’m thankful for it.

The doctor did tell me that radiation isn’t an option here, and that he recommends surgery. This was expected, and today I’m waiting to hear back from the team at Vanderbilt. I’ll have a consult with them pretty shortly and then schedule the operation.

Now, here’s a question for you: are you looking for the small things that God is doing in your life? Or are you letting them be overshadowed by things that seem too massive to ignore? Take some time to move your eyes from the obstacles or failures in front of you, to the victories in your life, regardless of how small they may be. If you watch them carefully enough, you may be able to see the hand of God working out solutions.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin…” Zechariah 4:10 (NLT)

Be encouraged!

EDIT: Just heard back from the team at Vandy. I’ll be going to Nashville for my first consult on Monday, June 1 @ 9:30 am CST.

A short while later my mom called me back to let me know that the doctor was reviewing the MRI and talking with the doctor who had originally sent me in. Later that morning my mother called me back to confirm what I already knew – I have a brain tumor. Now, here I need to pause and share something with you. I can honestly say that I haven’t been fearful or worried through all this. To be honest, I expected it. It’s 2009, and I have Dr. Google on speed dial, so this wasn’t a complete surprise. That said, it wasn’t the research or reading that made me feel relaxed. It’s in knowing that God is at work in my life though this. I understand that there are some who may read this and feel uncomfortable with that concept – that God would work through something like this for His own purposes. I believe, however, that’s the only reason God works through anything. I’ve told Him several times over the years that my life is His for whatever He wants, and I’ve meant it. Still do.

Back to the story. The conversation with my mom basically netted the following information: I have a tumor. The tumor is NOT cancerous. It’s big (approximately golf ball size or just under 3 cm in diameter). The situation is hopeful, but serious. There are two different types of tumor this may be; either an acoustic neuroma or a type of meningioma. It’s pretty unusual that either would show up in someone my age. I want to repeat, however, that both are benign – this is a big plus for me. Both types are usually treatable with radiation or surgery. Radiation is preferable, because it’s much less invasive, and much quicker. Surgery poses some high risks and lengthy recovery, with the added bonus of nearly guaranteed, permanent hearing loss (they have to slice through the hearing nerves to get to the tumor).

The problem for me is that given the size and the location of the tumor, toward the back of the brain and pushing on my brain stem, the surgeon recommends against radiation. I tend to trust this doctor’s opinion in this regard as he is the head of the Knoxville Gamma Knife, a device that can deliver highly concentrated radiation and basically “cut out” the tumor – so he’s a pro when it comes to radiation treatment. He’s concerned about exposing the brain stem while trying remove the tumor, which has all kinds of crazy outcomes including paralysis, neurological/motor impairment, and death. I’d obviously like to avoid all, so I’m with doc on this one.

Given the size of the tumor, I’ll probably be referred to Vanderbilt Hospital where apparently there’s a doctor who specializes in the type and size of tumor I’m up against. I won’t know anything definite until Monday, May 18, after I have my first “real” in-office consultation with the neurosurgeon.

Let me share with you a couple of really awesome “God things”:

1. I was supposed to have another test on June 1 to figure out the source of the problem. Because of this, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the results of my MRI until after that date. Because my mother is who she is, where she is, I was able to have same day results. This is beyond amazing to me. No days or weeks of worry or concern. I was provided with immediate understanding of my situation.
2. Because of the size of the tumor and the fact that it is pushing on the brain stem, the doctor was surprised that I haven’t had other issues. Most people with this type of tumor experience dizzyness, nausea, imbalance…and that’s without it pressing on the brain stem. I could be facing some really, really serious issues that I’m not.

This is God at work, and I’m excited to see how He continues to work it out for His glory. In fact, this is what I’m calling my “prayer priority”. I have three:

1. For God to receive the glory through this. However He sees fit.
2. To avoid surgery, if possible.
3. To retain my hearing if surgery is necessary.

If you would help me and my family pray for these things, in this order, we would greatly appreciate it. I’ll be using this blog to keep you in the loop and up to date with everything that happens. Consider it a conversation. You can comment on any post on this blog, and I’ll do my best to respond when possible. Thanks for taking an interest, and by faith we’re going to see God really do something powerful.

Get a better view by clicking this thumbnail. The white is the tumor, not my brain. ;)