Christmas Eve Dialysis

Day 14 at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center

Only half an hour left of tonight's dialysis. Three and a half hours total for today's session.

This is the 7th session in 9 days since he first began dialysis.

He's sleeping for the most part, which is a big improvement over his early sessions. It helps for him to have the permanent port in his chest, rather than the temporary one in his neck that was sensitive to movement and thus setting off alarms for the dialysis staff every other minute. No wonder dialysis was anxiety filled for him in those first days.

They're letting me sit by his bedside for this session. It's pretty empty and quiet here, so they can fudge the rules for Christmas Eve.

Dr. Ahmed and another doctor from our surgical team tracked me down to report news: no evidence of infection detected in the CT scan taken a few hours ago!

There is still some fluid in the areas that they aspirated and drained a few days ago (by the liver, where the spleen was, and near a lung), but it seems to be less fluid than last week and not indicative of infection.

They are still "aggressively worrying" about what has elevated his white blood cell count so drastically. Hopefully the 4 a.m. blood draw will shed some light before they visit on their 6:30 rounds -- apparently, baby red blood cells can look like white cells. Perhaps it's just been a miscount.  They suspect (and I agree, with expert insight on this one) that he has a urinary tract infection (UTI).  They won't know for a few days, after cultures have had chance to reveal if there's bacteria to grow . . . that is, if there was enough urine for a proper urinalysis! Until they know if and what bacteria they're dealing with, he'll get a broad spectrum antibiotic.

It's a relief to rule out a massive abdominal infection.  It's disconcerting, though, that permanent dialysis may have been the cost (see my earlier post today for info on that). Of course, permanent dialysis may have already been in the cards. "Only time will tell," our surgeon Dr. Levine says.  "Hopefully function will come back in a couple of months . . . it will never be 100%, but they could eventually come back 90%."

There's a beautiful scripture in the Book of Mormon that I recently texted to a friend in need. It says that there is no witness until after the trial of our faith.

Now, I could make a decent argument that our faith had been tried plenty before any of this cancer nonsense cropped up, but nevermind the past. What matters is what we're doing with the present.

With each new challenge or complication that pops up  -- many of which there hasn't been time to share -- I go back to the time Cam and I shared in the LDS temple three weeks ago. I know that in response to our prayers about our decision to move forward with the HIPEC on December 10, we had a clear answer from our Heavenly Father. And He spoke in a way I could understand: the motor of anxiety that had been running full speed in my chest and frequently making it hard to breathe in previous weeks -- it went away as we sat and prayed in the temple. Without a semi-effective anti-anxiety pill. Just gone. Completely. It was the first time in at least three weeks that I had felt peace -- but not just peace.  I felt such awesome, sublime, serene peace, that I was sad that the temple had to eventually close for the night and we had to leave.

It was so clear to me that everything would be okay. That was the feeling, and those were the words that repeatedly came into my mind.

So there you go. I'd prefer to be at the home of one of our dear mamas in Utah for Christmas, surrounded by our siblings and nieces and nephews.  But I have what I want most. Cam is still with me, and everything will be okay.  That's not just what I want most. That's everything.

Merry Christmas, dear family and friends! We love you as much as children love Christmas morning!