easjer
05-03-2006, 11:54 AM
I posted several months ago about my friend Ross. Ross is a professor here, one that I took many classes from. I credit him with so much. He was one of the first people to demand I use my own intelligence. He brought me along, and opened up so much to me and insisted I was smarter than I gave myself credit for. He was an incredible teacher, gifted with finding those who needed help and helping them, not only in the classroom, but in life. He's taught for over 30 years and fought the university stereotype that a professor's job is to research and publish rather than teach. He has a legion of students like me who thank him for (without trying to sound dramatic) turning their lives around, simply because he believed in us and refused to let us give ourselves less credit than he did.
He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in August. That is usually a death sentence, because pancreatic cancer is difficult to detect and spreads so easily to other vital organs. The tumor had not spread, and they immediately began intensive radiation and chemotherapy to shrink the tumor and prevent spreading. The tumor shrunk in a truly miraculous way, that surprised the doctors (Ross and many of us believe it was the multitude of prayers and well wishes). They chose to operate to remove it in December, using a technique that has been highly successful for pancreatic cancers that can have surgery removal.
Unfortunately, when they went in, the tumor had shrunk, but had also spread to his liver. It was such a small tumor that they had not yet detected it in CAT scans. They removed the tumor on his liver, but opted not to remove the tumor from his pancreas at that time (his vital signs being very weak). After recovering from surgery, they initiated a new round of chemo and radiation in addition to a cutting-edge cancer seeking drug that finds malignant cells and destroys them. They do not think it will spread any further, but the doctors did not hold out hope for a recovery from the the initial pancreatic cancer. They said it could be months or it could be years.
The new treatments seemed successful, and the tumor began shrinking again. The doctors renewed a sense of optimism, as did Ross. There was talk of another surgery this summer. And then they did a scheduled second round of treatment and Ross had a very bad allergic reaction to one of the drugs. It caused such a severe inflammation of his lungs that he could not breathe.
He went to the ER and his breathing rate was 180 breaths per minute. His oxygen saturation levels were in the 60's. He was within two hours of dying. They put him in ICU on full oxygen and started a round of steriods to clear the inflammation in his lungs. They predicted it would be a week in ICU. It was seven weeks. He couldn't sleep in a bed without his oxygen levels dropping and did not find much rest propped in a chair. Misdiagnoses and treatments also lengthened his stay.
But he is home now, on less oxygen, though he still has to be monitored. His former students and colleagues have been with him and helping him and his mother (who lives with him), but it's been very scheduled and most of us have stayed away to allow him time to rest and recuperate. Yesterday, he called up here and asked for someone to come sit with him while his 'watcher' and mother ran some errands, and I went.
It was shocking to see him. I have not seen him in two months. All the reports (we've received daily reports from his watchers via email) were that he was gaining strength and doing better and still being Ross. He's sent regular messages since coming home. He was nearly emaciated. His chest was concave, he's so thin. I've never seen him so weak, even after his surgery (which is a difficult one). He was so pleased to see me. His mother and friend left, and we talked.
He was so overcome with emotion that I was worried about his oxygen levels at a couple of points. He was talking about how he could possibly be graced with such good friends and companions who have left their work and their families to sit with him, how he's never done anything to deserve this. Which is so untrue. This is the only way we can ever repay the debt that we owe him. We've each become his children and friends. We could do no less. He talked of getting stronger so he can do more to help people, that he hasn't given enough of himself. He got very emotional as he told me that he hopes that God allows him to live, so that his mother is not left alone. That he had a dream in which God asked if there was anything he wanted before he died, and he asked that he be there when his mother goes and that she goes peacefully and quickly, and he prays every day that the dream comes true.
It was so emotional. But he was still the same old Ross as well. When they came back in about two hours, I left quietly, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the forehead. I've been thinking about it ever since. He talked about how much he likes my husband, and how he wishes he could have done more for him. About me and how pleased he is that I want to teach (that means so much, if he thinks I can do it, I will). That he's missed me, as I have missed him.
I keep thinking about how dear this man is, dearer than my own father to me. About how tremendously he has affected so many people, thousands just like me, and humble he is that he does not know it. I think about his faith and question how lightly I've been taking mine, even knowing what I do, and feel ashamed. I think about how he is ashamed of not giving more of himself and realize how little I give of anything of mine.
I am so grateful for him. And who he is and how he has touched my life. I pray that he will recover and that God will be merciful and take his mother first, so he can die in peace. I hope I can find it in me to be a tenth of the person he is, so that the world would be a better place. I can't stop thinking about him and I am so grateful I had the chance to spend time with him again.
He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in August. That is usually a death sentence, because pancreatic cancer is difficult to detect and spreads so easily to other vital organs. The tumor had not spread, and they immediately began intensive radiation and chemotherapy to shrink the tumor and prevent spreading. The tumor shrunk in a truly miraculous way, that surprised the doctors (Ross and many of us believe it was the multitude of prayers and well wishes). They chose to operate to remove it in December, using a technique that has been highly successful for pancreatic cancers that can have surgery removal.
Unfortunately, when they went in, the tumor had shrunk, but had also spread to his liver. It was such a small tumor that they had not yet detected it in CAT scans. They removed the tumor on his liver, but opted not to remove the tumor from his pancreas at that time (his vital signs being very weak). After recovering from surgery, they initiated a new round of chemo and radiation in addition to a cutting-edge cancer seeking drug that finds malignant cells and destroys them. They do not think it will spread any further, but the doctors did not hold out hope for a recovery from the the initial pancreatic cancer. They said it could be months or it could be years.
The new treatments seemed successful, and the tumor began shrinking again. The doctors renewed a sense of optimism, as did Ross. There was talk of another surgery this summer. And then they did a scheduled second round of treatment and Ross had a very bad allergic reaction to one of the drugs. It caused such a severe inflammation of his lungs that he could not breathe.
He went to the ER and his breathing rate was 180 breaths per minute. His oxygen saturation levels were in the 60's. He was within two hours of dying. They put him in ICU on full oxygen and started a round of steriods to clear the inflammation in his lungs. They predicted it would be a week in ICU. It was seven weeks. He couldn't sleep in a bed without his oxygen levels dropping and did not find much rest propped in a chair. Misdiagnoses and treatments also lengthened his stay.
But he is home now, on less oxygen, though he still has to be monitored. His former students and colleagues have been with him and helping him and his mother (who lives with him), but it's been very scheduled and most of us have stayed away to allow him time to rest and recuperate. Yesterday, he called up here and asked for someone to come sit with him while his 'watcher' and mother ran some errands, and I went.
It was shocking to see him. I have not seen him in two months. All the reports (we've received daily reports from his watchers via email) were that he was gaining strength and doing better and still being Ross. He's sent regular messages since coming home. He was nearly emaciated. His chest was concave, he's so thin. I've never seen him so weak, even after his surgery (which is a difficult one). He was so pleased to see me. His mother and friend left, and we talked.
He was so overcome with emotion that I was worried about his oxygen levels at a couple of points. He was talking about how he could possibly be graced with such good friends and companions who have left their work and their families to sit with him, how he's never done anything to deserve this. Which is so untrue. This is the only way we can ever repay the debt that we owe him. We've each become his children and friends. We could do no less. He talked of getting stronger so he can do more to help people, that he hasn't given enough of himself. He got very emotional as he told me that he hopes that God allows him to live, so that his mother is not left alone. That he had a dream in which God asked if there was anything he wanted before he died, and he asked that he be there when his mother goes and that she goes peacefully and quickly, and he prays every day that the dream comes true.
It was so emotional. But he was still the same old Ross as well. When they came back in about two hours, I left quietly, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the forehead. I've been thinking about it ever since. He talked about how much he likes my husband, and how he wishes he could have done more for him. About me and how pleased he is that I want to teach (that means so much, if he thinks I can do it, I will). That he's missed me, as I have missed him.
I keep thinking about how dear this man is, dearer than my own father to me. About how tremendously he has affected so many people, thousands just like me, and humble he is that he does not know it. I think about his faith and question how lightly I've been taking mine, even knowing what I do, and feel ashamed. I think about how he is ashamed of not giving more of himself and realize how little I give of anything of mine.
I am so grateful for him. And who he is and how he has touched my life. I pray that he will recover and that God will be merciful and take his mother first, so he can die in peace. I hope I can find it in me to be a tenth of the person he is, so that the world would be a better place. I can't stop thinking about him and I am so grateful I had the chance to spend time with him again.