We Believe in Miracles: The Journey Part III

Before I left the ICU the next morning, we had what would be a final visit from the neurosurgeon.  Again, he told me he was still "waiting in the wings".  Nice guy, but he was becoming like the grim reaper.  Nothing personal, doc, but I'm glad we didn't have to see you again.  Fortunately, I cleared the spinal tap with no meningitis.
After I left the ICU, the  next couple of days until I was discharged on Friday were somewhat frustrating.  We just had to wait.  Infectious disease wanted to wait for some labs to see what kind of bacteria we were dealing with, the ENT team was waiting on infectious disease, and the Opthamologist was just thrilled when he came to see me the day after surgery and saw how much better my eye looked.

Cory affectionately tagged this, "Janna's kool-aid lip".  Not the most flattering picture, but also not too bad considering I'd had two surgeries on my face in 3 days...and hadn't showered for, uh, several days.  I missed my kids and worried about how they were holding up, although I'm grateful I didn't have to worry whether or not they were being taken care of.   Grandma was being mom while Cory spent long days with me and went home to sleep.  I worried I would wear out my mom. She had planned to come help for a week with a new baby -- not be completely in charge of my family.  Her week-long visit kept getting extended as the story continued to unfold.  I am incredibly grateful for her willingness and ability to be here to help us.  I horribly missed my newborn daughter and worried she wouldn't know who I was.  Cory brought in pictures and videos of her on his phone. I was grateful she'd switched from breast to formula with such ease -- truly a tender mercy -- but wanted to be able to hold and nurse her again.  I thought I could work on getting my supply back when I returned home.

Thursday the Infectious Disease doctor told me I'd be going home with a picc line and a 6-week course of IV antibiotics. Something in my orbit lit up on the MRI, and they were erring on the side of caution as they feared a bone infection (of course, we learned later that these things showing up on the MRI -- at the base of the skull and orbit --weren't bacterial but, rather, part of the cancer). The antibiotics were such that I wouldn't be able to nurse while on them.  This may not seem like a big deal, but it was to me.  I mourned the loss of my breastfeeding relationship with Clara for a long time.  For some reason I couldn't contact Cory, so I called my dad and cried as I told him what I'd just heard.  I felt scared; scared of what was ahead and whether or not I'd ever feel normal again.  My dad reminded me to look where I'd come, not how far there was to go.

Finally, on Friday, February 8 (a week after going to the hospital), I was ready to be discharged.  I had my new accessory in my arm (the picc line), my pirate patch on my eye, my own clothes, the "kook-aid catcher" gone from under my nose, and everything in place for a home nurse to come show us how to administer the antibiotics and care for the picc line. Unfortunately, I walked in the door at home with another pounding headache.  I held Clara, said hi to my kids, forced down a bite of two of dinner, and went to my bed. I was surprised by how weak my legs felt climbing the stairs to our bedroom.  These were the same legs that carried my pregnant self up and down those stairs several times a day with ease just weeks before.  I couldn't believe how weak I felt.  And, for whatever reason -- anxiety, physical exhaustion, who knows -- I felt miserable.  Cory called a friend to administer another priesthood blessing.  They blessed me to sleep that night, which I did.  The anxiety-ridden hospital nights carried over into nights at home that night and for a while, but I was still grateful to be in my home, in my bed, with my family.