> The surgery left my wife, Bess (we’d married the night of May 24, hours after learning that our surgeon had opened a slot on the 25th), in a panic
Wow. So he got married the day before he got his tongue removed.
I think her perspective is definitely interesting too:
> The second, “salvage” surgery lasted twelve hours. Around hour ten, I started to wonder if Jake wasn’t ever getting off the table. When Dr. Hinni finally called me in to tell me they were able to remove all the cancer, I was elated. He got what surgeons call “clean margins.” Then Dr. Hinni explained that, because the cancer had grown in the short time between the April scans and May surgery, he’d had to remove Jake’s entire tongue, not just half—and with it, Jake’s ability to speak, to swallow, to taste—and the relief was replaced by horror. I blacked out for a moment. Jake wouldn’t want this. I walked into the hot night air and hyperventilated in the parking lot. We hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jake might lose his entire tongue. I wondered what I would have done if Dr. Hinni had called me with an update and asked me if they should move forward with the removal? I threw up in the parking lot and felt sick relief that they hadn’t.
Do doctors usually ask family members about that sort of thing? Seems like he should have had a prior directive just in case, but idk.
> I spent the first night in the hospital sitting awake at Jake’s bedside, certain that he’d decide to die after learning the news. He didn’t want to live like this. It seemed entirely possible to me that he would just decide not to.
This is important information, because I think most people wouldn't be considering right away unless there was already some level of suicidal or deppressive attitudes in a person.
> The surgery left my wife, Bess (we’d married the night of May 24, hours after learning that our surgeon had opened a slot on the 25th), in a panic
Wow. So he got married the day before he got his tongue removed.
I think her perspective is definitely interesting too:
> The second, “salvage” surgery lasted twelve hours. Around hour ten, I started to wonder if Jake wasn’t ever getting off the table. When Dr. Hinni finally called me in to tell me they were able to remove all the cancer, I was elated. He got what surgeons call “clean margins.” Then Dr. Hinni explained that, because the cancer had grown in the short time between the April scans and May surgery, he’d had to remove Jake’s entire tongue, not just half—and with it, Jake’s ability to speak, to swallow, to taste—and the relief was replaced by horror. I blacked out for a moment. Jake wouldn’t want this. I walked into the hot night air and hyperventilated in the parking lot. We hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jake might lose his entire tongue. I wondered what I would have done if Dr. Hinni had called me with an update and asked me if they should move forward with the removal? I threw up in the parking lot and felt sick relief that they hadn’t.
Do doctors usually ask family members about that sort of thing? Seems like he should have had a prior directive just in case, but idk.
> I spent the first night in the hospital sitting awake at Jake’s bedside, certain that he’d decide to die after learning the news. He didn’t want to live like this. It seemed entirely possible to me that he would just decide not to.
This is important information, because I think most people wouldn't be considering right away unless there was already some level of suicidal or deppressive attitudes in a person.