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October 19, 2002
11 ½ months…
As I’m writing this, my grandfather is in surgery. From what little I’ve been able to get out of my mother, it doesn’t sound particularly good. Grandpa was a Marine and served in Vietnam. He was exposed to Agent Orange and has had a plethora of health problems. I remember him having a triple bypass when I was small. When I was around 9, he had cancer of the voice-box and had to have it removed. He had to speak with a little machine held against his throat for a long time. If I remember correctly, he’s had prostate cancer, too. Seems he has always been in and out of the hospital for this or that. He is in his mid-late sixty’s. Uncle Sam says he can only have his pension or his disability, not both, regardless of the fact that he was a career Marine and is disabled due to their negligence. I think that sucks. But anyway, I digress…
On Wednesday Grandma took him to the hospital because he was having severe abdominal pain. Surgery was performed and a foot long segment of his small intestine was removed. Apparently it was a spot of completely dead tissue!? How does part of your intestine die? I have no idea. The doctors think there is more to remove and so they scheduled him to go back in at 9am this morning. Since the first surgery they haven’t been able to give him enough morphine to even touch the pain. My mom is arriving there at 3pm today from Oregon.
My grandparents live in the small town of Checotah, Oklahoma. They have been there since I was 18 months old. Some summers we would pack up the car and drive from our home in Fresno, California to their house in Checotah. I always loved going. I loved the drive across Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. I loved seeing my long-distance grandparents. Each Christmas, we’d get a big box of presents from them and for my birthday I’d get a crisp $5 bill. I am the oldest of 11 grandchildren and they always made me feel special. As I grew up, we wrote letters back and forth and I feel I am actually much closer to them now, as an adult. We e-mail regularly and I have flown out to visit as well as driven. Grandpa has not yet met Alyssa. The last time I saw him was last June when I was pregnant.
My grandpa is a stubborn man. I can attribute a good portion of my own hard-headedness directly to him. I think his stubborn nature has pulled him through a lot of things in his life. I guess I’m writing this to try to figure out how I feel. Part of me says “Goodness, he’s pulled through much worse. He’ll be just fine. You’ll see.” But then another part says “But what about that sound in Mom’s voice? She doesn’t think he’s going to pull through. She knows something you don’t…” I feel guilty that I am not there. Everyone is back there except my brother and I. He is the Navy, so he has a good excuse. I just have no money for a ticket because our finances are taking a beating right now. Earl would probably let me charge one if I really felt that I had to go, and that may end up happening. I just don’t know how to feel. I don’t want to think of something happening. I don’t want to imagine him gone. I know there is comfort in the fact that he is a believer and I’ll see him again soon. But my feelings are just scrambled right now…
Please pray for my grandpa. His name is Bill Rice. I know that God has a purpose in everything and if he takes him from us, he will provide us strength to get through this time. So please be praying for the whole family. There are 6 children, 11 grandchildren, and 3 great-grandchildren including Alyssa. I am praying that he is able to meet her.
Christy & Alyssa 11/5/01
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