This is the second of monthly blogs about our experiences during retirement. Happy, sad, and challenging. I hope you will enjoy them and add comments as you read along with our adventures in the trimester of our lives.
CHAPTER TWO: SENIOR SAGAS
It was September, 2001, and Guy made an appointment with his long time company doctor. He thought he had a hernia when he noticed his abdomen was extended. He had just completed his annual physical in June and nothing was mentioned.
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The doctor knew something was wrong, and took an X-ray. The following day, he asked me to come with Guy for the results. He said there was a mass surrounding his stomach, and we needed to find a surgeon. He didn't have a recommendation, and sent us on our way. Wow. We were alone, driving home with this news.
Fortunately, Guy knew a doctor from his golfing days, and called him. He recommended a surgeon at Froedtert, who saw us the following day. A week of tests, and it was discovered he had a four and a half pound malignant tumor surrounding his stomach.
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He was in surgery the following week, with internists in attendance. No one had ever heard of such a large tumor with no symptoms. We didn't know if he would make it. Our pregnant daughter found out the sex of her baby so Guy could know before the operation, just in case.
The doctor was able to save most of his stomach. A miracle doctor. Guy was in the hospital a week, under morphine, and then released to our condominium in Mequon. A month later, he began chemotherapy.
It was called "Chop". Four drugs administered every three weeks at Froedtert. Guy was so sick, he was hospitalized after one episode, and I was taught to give him shots in the future.
We were anxious to have the treatment done on schedule that February so we could continue our lives in Scottsdale.
January 18, 2002, Guy collapsed of a stroke in the bathroom. A massive stroke. By that time, we had switched to my regular doctor, who told me Guy had just a few days to live. His brain was still bleeding, and the neurologist at Columbia where he was taken by ambulance, said his cancer had spread to his lungs. He would never walk or talk again, and we had to make plans with our family. My daughter and I picked out cemetary plots at Wisconsin Memorial Park.
I came back to our condominium alone that evening, and my father was waiting for me. He said he would always be there for me, and that everything would be all right.
My father died when I was fourteen.