Poppa (by Eric)

We've been worried about Poppa for a while now. It all started a few years ago when he had some trouble with his heart that was never really explained very well. After that we started noticing a lot of little things that just didn't seem right. Like when his body hair all fell out. The man was like the missing link his entire life, and all of the sudden he had no hair on his chest, back or arms. Then he started losing muscle tone, and developed a bit of a slouch, despite the fact that he was working out religiously 5 days a week. It just seemed like he was aging too fast. The puzzle started coming together when his urologist sent a testosterone level a couple months ago, and found that it was zero.

Zero. That just doesn't happen.

A trip to the endocrinologist, some blood test and an MRI, and we had our answer. Poppa has a pituitary tumor.

Now, in a way, this was good news, and we both knew it. If you're going to have a brain tumor, this is the one you want. It's almost never malignant, and it's curable. But we also knew this; Poppa needs surgery, or else he's going to lose his vision. For a man as fiercely independant and important to this family as Poppa, that was a scary proposition. I knew that the surgery he needed was a routine operation, one that his neurosurgeon wasn't going to lose a lot of sleep over. But, as a surgeon, I also know that sometimes even in the most routine operations, terrible, devastating things can and sometimes do happen. And I've lost a lot of sleep thinking about those things this week.

Poppa had his surgery today, and I've been trying to stay busy and not think about it too much. Tonight the call came from Mom that he's out of surgery, and it went well. He's awake, he's alert, he's perfectly stable, he can see, and his pain is under control. Other than a swollen nose, which for him is only a slight exacerbation of a lifelong affliction, he looks perfectly fine.

And I can breathe again.

Poppa, I'm sorry we can't be there with you. You're in our prayers. And we are all just so incredibly relieved that you're alright. We love you.