Our wedding, April 29th, 2005Mr. Mac, or Brent as most people call him, has been my mom's partner in life, love, and crime for the last 20 years. I don't call him Brent and never have because when I met him at 11-years-old he was introduced to me as Mr. McAfee. I'm from Texas. This is what we do. We call people mister and missus. We say yes, sir and no, ma'am. Its respectful. Even if the person in question is your mom's new boyfriend.
Needless to say, he's been a constant fixture in my life, almost two-thirds of it to be exact. And over the years calling him Mr. McAfee became too cumbersome so it was quickly shortened to Mr. Mac. And that's what I've always called him. It's been branded into my brain, and there's no changing that now. This seems to disturb some people, namely my husband, who finds himself calling Brent Mr. Mac by accident because he hears it so often from me. Sorry.
And get over it. :)
This morning my mom and Mr. Mac drove to the hospital at 5 a.m. for a scheduled carotid endarterectomy.
At a doctor's appointment a few months ago, they found Mr. Mac's arteries were majorly blocked - actually something like 90%+ blockage. This is not good. This means that blood flow is greatly diminished and also that at any time the plaque of whatever the hell was blocking his artery could become dislodged and cause a major stroke. This is serious business.
After discussing options, the initial plan was to surgically insert a stent, basically a hollow straw placed in the artery that serves to open up the passages for blood to circulate more freely. He's already had one of these a few years ago from previous problems. My understanding is that this is minimally invasive surgery, although still scary and not without side-effects. However, when they imaged the carotid artery with an angiogram on March 1st, the doc showed my mom pictures of a twisted, mangled mess. "Tortuous" was the actual word the doc used. Apparently this blockage has contorted his arteries to the point that the doctors said there was no way they could possibly insert a stent. His vessels were too convoluted. So instead they're left with the CEA as the best option.
The easiest way to describe this operation, the way my mom described it to me, is that the docs go in, open up the artery, scrape out all the crap, and then sew him back up. Hopefully this will alleviate much of the blockage and remove most of the plaque that poses a danger of stroke.
(Wow. I just noticed how shallow my breathing has gotten. Deep breathes, Larisa...)
So I talked to my mom at noon today. He was out of surgery and doing well. But the doc said it was the hardest CEA he's ever done. And this is one of the best docs in town. There's no way they're discharging him tomorrow as originally planned. The next 12-24 hours are critical. There is still the possibility that he might have a stroke so he's under careful watch during this time.
Right now he's in the critical care unit because there was no room in intensive care. Luckily, this is the same hospital where my mom worked as a nurse for 25+ years. Her old friend Minny from the recovery room still works there and snuck her in to see him a little early. Regular visiting hours are pretty generous so she's been by his side as much as she can be. Leah, his sister, has also been there keeping vigil. I'm so thankful for this - Mom needs the distraction. She's been fighting panic attacks since about 3:30 this morning but has managed to keep sane and talked herself down from a few potential break-downs.
When he's finally discharged and given the green light, Mom has plans to kidnap him, take him up to the cabin in Ruidoso, turn off his phone, and force the bull-headed man to rest, relax, and recuperate.
Typical cabin scene of rest and relaxation, Thanksgiving 2006I'm sending all my good thoughts and, yes, prayers his way. I'd appreciate it if you did too.
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