The Physics of Love - A Post-Op Update from Liz's Little Sister

It's less than a minute before 9pm as I begin to write this, and the slightly unfinished look of the clock at 8:59pm seems to suit the occasion. My sister is resting beside me -- well, resting in her own way, which means she is simultaneously catching up on emails, trying to take care of everyone around her, planning activities for the next 24 hours, and providing her *ahem* "recommendations" on how Joe and I might complete our assigned tasks. Which, of course, prove to be the better option (sometimes). I guess no matter how old I get, I'll never catch up to my older sister. I don't know what Joe's excuse is, though. ;)

My sister has asked me to convert my comment to her previous entry into a full-fledged post in order to provide an update to anyone who might have any concerns, and share some of the images from today's smorgasbörd of events. The day started off not-so-bright and early, with my alarm waking me up at 4:15am and theirs going off not long after. Of course, we ended up running late despite our early start and meticulous planning. Fortunately -- or not, depending on your perspective and insurance premiums -- my sister drove. Ergo, after a few sharp turns and a U-turn that, but for my seat belt, would have given me more altitude than the zip line I used to cross a South American river, we ended up at Kaiser right on time to wait in line for another quarter hour.

"I'm going to miss you..." My sister started missing Evan yesterday morning, and spent some time cuddling with him after he woke up. It's like he knew she needed his affection, so he held her close with little touches and kisses. I took a lot of pictures of him throughout the day today to show my sister after she woke up. I knew she'd be missing him.

Only one additional person was allowed back in pre-op, so after they took Joe and my sister away I got settled in Kaiser's second floor waiting lounge. I found myself mildly unnerved by the slightly Clockwork Orange-like ambiance set by the tunes of what I can only call "hospital-Zen," toned against a digital backdrop of flowers and surrounded by Kaiser's special brand of square, retro-70s furniture. It was like they were trying so hard to be soothing you wondered what they were hiding. Sharon stopped by after a little while, and shortly thereafter we were able to join my sister for her consult with Dr. Shibuya and Ramin, Sharon's hubby and Joe's long-time friend. He was looking very professional in his scrubs, armed and ready with a special nerve-detecting tube (think of the kids' game "Operation" but for nerves, with service fee that would have made Parker Brothers cry), and was able to show Joe her full CT and PET scans. Joe inspected the scans and deemed them good; the symmetry of the mass near her left thyroid boded well. A mass filled with fluid with a regular shape is more likely to be benign than a hard, irregular one. But then again, you never know until you know.

Pre-op optimism.

Joe inspects the CT scans as the nurse prepares my sister for her plethora of medical tubes.

After a few short chats and some very funny comments from a rather loopy sister hopped up on Ramin's "truth serum," they wheeled her into surgery. Just in time, too, as she was starting to spill the beans on some of Joe's more embarrassing moments. She did manage to work in yet another reminder to Joe to re-marry, though, filling the room with laughter. I laughed too, but couldn't help but remember that just the year before, my sister filled pre-op with laughter by forbidding Joe from re-marrying at all. The symmetry and difference between the two situations stuck with me, and when I mentioned it to my sister a few hours later, she kind of paused, mulling it over.

"I guess it's just more real now. I didn't think I could die before, but now it feels like it could really happen. I needed to tell Joe what I really felt, inside my heart."

I guess there's some truth to Ramin's truth serum.

After they wheeled my sister away, Joe and I returned to the waiting room for the long, hard wait. I once read of a general who described war as long periods of boredom broken by brief moments of terror. Life in a hospital waiting room isn't always that dramatic -- cue soothing music and digitized flowers -- but there are some aspects that carry over. Fortunately, just a couple hours later Ramin sent Joe a glowing update, and Dr. Shibuya came out to confirm that the surgery had gone very, very smoothly. He was able to remove the cyst whole, and initial inspection indicated that it was benign. Furthermore, they were able to save the right half of her thyroid, which meant no hormone replacement therapy would be needed. That poof sound, by the way, is the bursting of my sister's dream of never having to worry about weight again due to the powers of modern-day medication. C'est la vie...and thank goodness!

Evan is overjoyed to see Joe, his "Abba" (the Korean word for dad), after a night with his Grandparents. He'll stay with them until Wednesday to give my sister a chance to recover. Thank you, Umma and Abba!

Yes. That is yet another toy Cars car. Maybe we should just buy some Disney stock and get it over with; at this point, we're probably accounting for at least half of their sales. It's the only sustainable solution.

My parents joined us with Evan a couple hours later, who had a grand ol' time walking up and down the hospital stairs, playing peek-a-boo around corners with his aunt, and climbing on top of a tired grandfather who gamely attempted to hold him in place as he bounced on the grand-père's stomach with a milk bottle. He's been a little unpredictable with his exuberance lately, so we were all a little nervous that Evan might rush, crowd, or otherwise jostle my sister when we were finally let in to see her in the recovery room. She was tied down in a rather delicate web of tubes, monitors, and drains from the incision in her throat. But his cautious, sensitive self once again surfaced when the situation demanded it. He was so overjoyed to see her that all he could do was smile, laugh, and giggle at her, and -- notwithstanding the stomach-bouncing-milk incident -- was content to just watch his beloved momma while holding her hand. At his and my sister's subsequent request, though, we gingerly placed him on the bed beside her, where he continued to smile and hug her side with gentle love.

A less than successful attempt at a sleep versus play compromise.

It almost hurt to watch them together; my sister was clearly in pain before and after Evan came in, but for those few moments, it was like a cloud lifted and a ray of sun shone  through, warming away some of the burdens that life seems bent on placing upon her shoulders. Sometimes love feels so good in the wake of so much pain it's hard to separate the two, and you're left with a strange mix of joy and sadness. It's a wondrous, beautiful thing. A reminder of how lucky we are to be alive, and to share these moments with the ones we love.

Alright, it's getting a bit late and I'd like to let my sister get some rest, so I'll just close with some final pictures from today and a big, heartfelt thank you to everyone, especially our dear family and all the friends who have been so supportive. You've basically become like our extended family. I also wanted to say thank you to my own support network, who have been so caring and selfless, even when I haven't been able to spend as much time showing you how much I appreciate your presence in my life. I've come to realize in times like these, there is no such thing as a foundation stone. The rock that stands strong, bearing the burden of all other things on its own, is nothing but a myth. Like Newton's theory of the unmoved mover, we are all products of the energy others have given to us, beginning and ending with a force beyond our humble comprehension. We are each just one part of life's lattice of loving relationships, each piece individual and vital to the support structure around it. So thank you, dear ones, and good night.

More hugs from the little tyke in the waiting room.

Squirming, squirming, squirming.

"Umma!" Evan was overcome with happiness and laughed non-stop almost the entire time he was allowed in to see my sister, proving, once more, how rewarding it is to share your life with a child.

So much joy...

And giggles...

And love.