Guest Post: From the Outside Looking In

From my wonderful friend Andria who came down Wednesday from Columbus for the big surgery day:

For once, I didn’t hit snooze on my usual 5am wake alarm. Instead of going to the clinic today to take care of strangers, I am off to Dayton for Anne’s surgery. Today is the big day, and I want to be there. We get there and check in, and they give us a shockingly loud beeper…feels like being at the worst rest 
aurant ever (and one that stops serving coffee midday…really, KMC, really?). 

 

Checking in for surgery

 

Once they take Anne and her mom back, Anne’s sister Sarah and I hang out, wondering when the beeper will go off so we can say good luck to Anne. We secretly plan Sarah’s wedding and a few texts come through (including “the last photo” of Anne’s boobs. Nice, Anne, nice).  Eventually, Mrs. Crecelius comes out and Anne is off! Stupid beeper never went off…

 

Start the barrage of texts and emails from Anne’s well-wishers. So many friends and colleagues and family members, so many messages! I was on phone duty to update everyone, and burst out laughing when this alarm went off on Anne’s phone:

 

As usual, the Crecelii are prepared with snacks and trivia (I know nothing of US geography or sports, but everything about unpronounceable foreign or scientific things). This is much better than staring at the tracking monitor for four hours! Next, we start talking about love languages. I wasn’t surprised to hear from Sarah that mine is “acts of service”.  Anyone who knows me can easily figure out that my stress response is to cook and clean and try to help by physically doing things. But overall, I just want to fix things. I get OCD at home to make things calm and in control, and at work because I don’t want people to be sick or suffer, so I try incessantly to fix it all! I am learning to let go and be less of a perfectionist, and try to realize that I have a piece in the puzzle and that I can only do my part. But in times of stress, I revert to panic mode and cook everything!! I mean, try and fix everything…

 And now we wait. No one likes to wait, because all you can do is imagine what they are doing to Anne.  For those of you that do not know me, I am in the medical field and not squeamish at all. During residency, for rare lunch breaks, I would take my food down and watch my favorite attendings operate from the gallery and happily watch interesting/nasty things while I ate. It is different when someone you know is in there. You don’t want to think of all the things that should happen and can happen and think of a loved one all hooked up and helpless. Time to start planning a new menu or what cleaner scent to buy next…perhaps grapefruit…la ti da…

 Surgeon number one is finished, on to surgery number two. Should I go in the room and hear what she is saying? Should I give them privacy? Anne’s mom generously invites me in, pointing out that Anne will blog about it anyways. I try to keep quiet but have a million questions. I know how this goes from the other end of things, and I try to ask leading questions so she will be more forthcoming with her words. She is a brick wall. Darn, back to panic mode and then waiting again. 

I grab Anne’s prescriptions and take a walk, letting Sarah and her mom have some time alone while I process and desperately try to remember details of my anatomy modules of the lymphatics.  Surgeon number two comes out to say hi and how proud of himself he is for piecing back together my dear friend like Humpty Dumpty. Thanks, dude…we aren’t as excited as you are, but thanks. Do you want a gold star?

Finally! The moment we have been waiting for! Anne is out of recovery and we run to the gift shop like crazy people. Of course we find the MOST obnoxiously cute and gigantic balloon flower. Who doesn’t want a five foot tall Super Mario flower to cheer them up?

 

Like any good mother, Mrs. Crecelius sets up Anne’s slippers and purse, puts her iPad within arm’s reach, and plugs in her phone. Waiting again…this time wondering how long until they kick us out for our ridiculous commentary. Anne comes down the hall like a hero, already asking questions and quizzing the nursing staff. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked for a video of the procedure. Oh wait, she already did before the day even started.

 

She is already planning her next lecture when she sees this hanging on her IV stand:

 

Time to leave Anne to rest, find coffee, and for the lonely drive back to Columbus...

Well, the big day is over, but this new phase of healing from surgery and starting new types of treatment is just beginning.  As I drive home, I feel less panicked. Normally, I would be sneaking into her house to scrub the bathrooms or wash the dishes, but after today, I get it. We each play a part, and we each are here for Anne. I am not her mom or her sisters or Marc, but I am Andria, and I can do something. I don’t have to do everything (as much as I would like to try), nor should I. I don’t want to replace anyone, because each person is here for a reason. Each text she gets, each email, every good luck photo, and each card or package in the mail plays a part. We all are here, always, and we all love her.  I can hang out, lament weird plot twists on tv shows, go on Ben & Jerry runs, pour over details of her MRI’s with her, wash a couple dishes, and drop off a lasagna or two. But mostly I can watch with awe as Anne Renee Crecelius beats cancer like a champ, and try to hang on for the ride.