Sandy Beardsley
Living with a Brain Tumor
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10/26/05
Day Seven
Filed under: General
Posted by: Dan @ 8:31 am

6:30am…

Good morning… though I’m a bit ragged and bleary from another night on a hospital waiting room couch, knowing Sandy is sleeping soundly not far away fills me with a lot of joy and gratitude. She has had trouble sleeping because, as she says, "I’m just so happy to be alive, I want to enjoy every minute…" Last night I read her the new comments people have sent her — felt so good to be back in the routine of doing that every night (we had a bit of catching up to do since I couldn’t read them to her in the ICU). She really loves hearing from people and is so grateful - it has given her a lot of energy and laughs and hope.

She is sharing a room with a woman who also had brain surgery to remove a tumor - by the same doctors, just after Sandy’s surgery. I can’t even comprehend how someone can do that kind of surgery, much less do it twice (or more) in a day - truly incredible and gifted people. And Sandy is so blessed to be in their hands - the assured, calm confidence they have gives us a lot of hope.

Maybe I’ve talked too much about angels… I went for a walk yesterday over to the old part of the campus. The sun was low and lighting up everything with that warm wonderful late afternoon light. The old stone walls and arches around the big courtyards glowed in the sun or lay in warm shadows. It’s a really beautiful place and I had it almost to myself, no one around. So I’m strolling slowly along one of the long walkways along a building - stone archways on my right, and stone walls to my left - these walkways appear to go on forever when you look down them… when I started hearing a beautiful sound that slowly got louder. It sounded like a chorus of voices, low and then rising, changing tones like a Gregorian chant… but there’s no one around but an occasional student walking by. The voices seemed to be coming from the walls, echoing softly around the courtyard. I felt like I was in a movie and this was the low soundtrack background music. I walked for about five minutes, hearing this beautiful sound, wondering if it was real or if it was only what I wanted to hear and some angels were out there… when I came around a corner and found the source - a group of about 12 young men, all dressed in black pants and white shirts, standing in a small circle and singing these continuous chanting notes. I stood there awhile enjoying it, happy that I wasn’t hearing things - not that I would have minded hearing such wonderful music… then walked back to see Sandy.

Well, I have to go see if she’s waking up yet…. can’t wait to see that smile of hers. More later…


12:30pm…. at the hotel

Well, when they found me wandering the halls of the hospital carrying a volleyball and talking to it [thanks for that visual Babs.. probably not far off the mark] …Sandy kicked me out of there and back to the hotel to clean up. Unfortunately the surgery hasn’t diminished her capacity to boss me around a little bit. So I walked outside into the first cloudy rainy day we’ve had here, looked up and there’s a rainbow arcing into the hills west of here… but it was completely cloudy, never seen a rainbow without a little sun somewhere.
Don’t mind me if I’m seeing good signs in everything… life just has an intensely focused and illuminated look to it right now…. like everything is lit from within - people, the amazing artwork in the hospital hallways, flowers, old stonework, the red-tailed hawk sitting on a branch just ten feet from me, everything… not taking any of it for granted. Life is truly beautiful in ways I can’t even begin to describe. I feel like a sponge soaking it up - especially when I look at Sandy.
When you live in one and aren’t a patient, hospitals are amazing places [don’t worry, I’m not planning on moving in permanently]. It’s just that you’re surrounded by all these lives, all these stories -good ones and tragic ones - it’s like everyone’s emotions are just laid out there, nothing hidden. Or maybe it’s just me opened to seeing it clearer. But you can see the stories in their faces… the exchange of looks. Sometimes I meet eyes with someone and there’s this knowing that we’re here for someone special to us - this shared pain and fear. And then I’ll get a look from a doctor or nurse walking by and their smiles say… hang in there, it will be ok, we’re here for you….
Even the security guards are understanding. Last night in the middle of the night I was laying on this couch in the waiting room (with blankets and pillow supplied by a nurse) and heard a guard talk into his radio… "…yes, we have a guest here on B3, and he’s OK, all tucked in."
Sandy had her first solid food today and is of course quite happy about that - chicken broth for breakfast wasn’t getting it anymore. One of her doctors removed the bandage and gauze covering the surgery site… and naturally it’s quite a site indeed - about a four to five-inch diameter shaved area on the back right side of her head, with a 5-inch long incision that has been stapled with a lot of staples. But it’s healing well, that’s the main thing, no infection. And they are not going to cover the incision site anymore, just to get air to it so it will heal faster. She will get the staples (sutures they call them) taken out later next week. She’s in some more pain now that anasthesia has worn off, but some other meds are keeping pain under control.
Well, I better shower, grab my volleyball and get back to the hospital…. more later


11:00pm…. back at the hotel

First, we thank you all for the comments and emails. They lift Sandy up tremendously - the highlight of her day. Two weeks ago I didn’t really even know what a blog was. And now it’s this powerful connection with all of you that has been strengthening and heartwarming to say the least… I’ve never felt alone here.
Sandy is stable, I’m desperately in need of sleep and she kicked me back out of the hospital for the night anyway… so here I am. Feels very strange to not be near her. I may not be able to sleep here either, given the day that this has been…
A very hectic busy day for Sandy… bandages taken off (by the way, there’s about 20 staples along the incision - I counted), countless shots, lots of medicine, interviewed by medical students for more than an hour, several visits by doctors and surgical team, the great nurses checking on her, a visit by the wonderful oncologist’s nurse, a student nurse practicing her I.V. line setup on her, headaches, pain and bruising from all the shots and the I.V. port that is still in her neck, eating solid food for the first time, I read her the big bunch of wonderful notes mailed to the hotel from her coworkers at school, and even a long walk down the hallways admiring all the artwork - it was me, Sandy and her roommate (the "brain tumor babes" they call themselves) arm in arm strolling very slowly down the halls. It was good for those girls to get out of the house for awhile, but it must have been quite a site - where’s the camera when you need one. OK, maybe not.
[Some background for the next paragraph… when Sandy was diagnosed 6 years ago and had a needle biopsy of the brain tumor, we were told that brain tumors were graded on a scale of 1 to 4, with Grade 4 being the worst, fast and aggressive kind. Six years ago the biopsy indicated she had a Grade 2 - a huge relief, believe it or not.]
But the moment that will stand out today, even though we have been expecting it - given the appearance of her MRI scans, happened in an almost off-hand way — the scene was the most chaotic moment of her day. I had just been back in the room a few minutes, to find the the student nurse and her great teacher (a brain tumor survivor) setting up another I.V. line in her arm, her regular nurse for the shift (Victor, a great guy) Sandy, and I talking about the yellow "LiveStrong" wristbands we all wore and how long we each had them on… when her surgeon and his team walked into the room. He asked how Sandy was doing and then said that they had gotten the pathology report back.
"It’s a grade 4," he said.
Sandy looked over at me from her bed. Our eyes must have said it all. Even though we knew this moment was going to come sometime in these days at Stanford…. still to actually hear the words that we have dreaded for six years actually cut through the air was…
I’m back, it has been hard to write this. After some hugs and tears tonight, we reassured each other. Sandy and I know that Grade 4 is not a death sentence. Her oncologist said the other day that even if it turned out to be grade 4, he felt that it could be controlled with chemo treatments. As Sandy says, "It worked for Lance, it will work for me." She took another look at the photo of Lance during his chemo days… with that look in his eyes.
I told Sandy a week or so ago that what we’re going through is like walking up to the edge of a huge chasm, knowing that we have no choice but to jump… and the jump was the surgery. Now that she’s through that and healing - the parasails have slowed us and guided us down… but the river at the bottom of this chasm looks like it has a hell of a lot of big rapids in it….
Good night
Dan

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