Surgery Tomorrow

And so it is written. The date is firm. The surgical team and operating room is booked. My long suffering liver knows its future.

Tomorrow I go into calanderVancouver General Hospital with a liver that has six cancerous lesions that metastasized from the bowel tumor.  Next week I will come out without it.  At least without the half that has the lesions.

The liver surgeon says I will be four hours or more on the operating table. Like a giant spongy blood filter, the liver is particularly full of blood vessels each of which needs to be clamped, sutured or cauterized. It’s a lengthy process.

It might grow back. Apparently the liver is the only organ that will regenerate. Dr. Chung says it doesn’t always happen but it certainly can. He says it doesn’t really matter either way. We don’t need nearly as much liver as we are provided with. The important thing is that I certainly don’t need the half that is trying to kill me.

I am, shall we say, apprehensive about this surgery. Far more so than my January colon resection. This somehow seems exponentially more serious and dangerous.  Every time they knock me out to cut me open there is a small beat-the-oddschance they will kill me.  That danger I understand. I have beaten the odds so dramatically thus far that I have a nagging feeling the table is about to turn. Intellectually, I know there is no more risk this time than last. The risk remains at two or three percent. Still, I can’t help feeling that the more times they put me under, the more likely it is that I will fall in that small percentage.

The surgeon told me there is a 20% chance of complete success. I was so pleased to hear that I neglected to ask him what “complete success” really means.  I assume it means cured and cancer free.  I really would like to know how that other 80% breaks down. What sort of continuum maps the difference between partial success and utter failure?

My failure to ask the questions when I had the chance probably has a lot to do with my apprehension. e588b7c944204d241a7e9dac9bd5d530When I know the odds thoroughly I can prepare myself mentally and emotionally for every outcome. It’s the not knowing that sprouts worry weeds in my cranium, and that’s a fertile patch of grey matter.

Despite my lack of facts, I think I found a way to beat the system. I’ve tipped the odds in my favor by making appointments for after the surgery. I have doctors and lawyers and volunteers that are expecting me. Fate wouldn’t dare take me out of the world while people have me written in their calendars. Clever huh?

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to cross a few fingers for me tomorrow. Send a little good luck my way.



29 thoughts on “Surgery Tomorrow

  1. Your back!!! I saw your smiley face on one of my posts … grinned and sighed *whew*!!! Hope you are well, really, really well! xx Love and light and extremely best wishes to YOU Mr Williams 🙂


  2. Carol

    I could not wait any longer, How the hell are you doing? Are you at home? We miss so much your writing, words of wisdom and your sense of humor and the hope you give to all of us who are living with this illness.
    The best to you and your wife, enjoy every breath of life.


    1. Still waiting to go home. It’s been a month in hospital for a six day surgical plan. I need to get home early, get rested, find my sense of humour (I may have left it under the bed) and then I will get caught up here. Missing you all,

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Im sure your sense of humour will invariably show itself eventually 😉 for now, rest up … we’re not going anywhere 🙂 Lots of love and light and fluffy healing stuff sent to You from Me xo


  3. Andreas

    When my dad bets on a horse race, the odds are given for each race, not on all the races he has ever bet on. Your surgery tomorrow has nothing to do with other times you’ve been put under the knife. Yes I know that you will still claim that the more times you do anything, the more chances…etc tell that to my dad will you! He’s lost every horse race since 1962! The advantage you have, which you failed to mention, is that each time, your level of success has been getting higher. Each time you’re stronger and come out in better condition. Now look at your odds again. Whiskey this year, you and me. (No cigars Wendy.)

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Anonymous

    George , you know I am thinking of you every day , and tomorrow especially! All fingers are crossed and a little prayer or two can,t hurt. Love you bro ttfn!

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Sheila T

    Visualizing lots of white healing light around you. If you haven’t discovered Dr Bernie Segal and his meditations for surgery prep and beating cancer, download it. Will definitely help you relax and focus on the positives.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Teddy

    I am guessing that because you are a “recovering lawyer” your brain simply does not shut off. Yes, this is a long surgery, but you have the finest doctors and you are a strong man. You will be fine. Mom and I will be waiting with Wendy. She doesn’t get to have a nap like you do. 😴 There is much needed work to be done on the Canadian Bucket List Foundation, so the faster you heal, the more you can do! You’ve got this Geoege. Love you.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I used to get a lot of cysts in my breasts, and each time the mammogram and ultrasound came back clear. I told my husband one time that I thought the day may come where I had used up all of my luck. It never ran out and the last cysts were about six years ago. I know what you’re saying about that. I also understand your concern about going under and surgery. Concentrate on the things you can control and throw away the rest. They take up precious head space. Good luck tomorrow, and we will look forward to your next post.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. It’s why I always carry my “journal of questions”. I did not name it. My surgeon did. Invariably I would forget to ask something important, and it would niggle away at me until I decided, early on, to write out all my questions before I got there. If something came up whilst talking to him, I would not interrupt, I’d scribble down my question. That’s when my journal got named. He tells me he LOVES my questions. I have no idea whether he is being sarcastic.

    I am absolutely praying for you tomorrow. I have this feeling that you are going to come out of this with flying colors. Your mental and emotional attitude towards this whole thing counts for a lot, and while I certainly understand that you’ve probably had your moments where you just wanted to burst into tears or rail at someone, overall, from what I can glean from your posts, you have a good outlook on things. Someone has to be in that 20%. Why not you?

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Anonymous

    I’m glad to know that tomorrow is the day. I will be thinking of you. I will be waiting to hear the good news. C’mon man….I’m counting on you! I want to say something terribly funny to make you laugh, but I find myself not in that space right now. So instead I will very seriously tell you that I very seriously will be thinking of you and your Wendy. I will very seriously be thinking of the surgical and nursing teams who will very seriously be taking care of you in the best way that mere mortals can. Seriously….all the best, friend. Take all the drugs afterwards….pain is not good. You will heal faster without pain. Xo

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Listen cuz I’m not sure if its important that you know all the whatifs and whatif nots,but more important that you have a medical team that are at the top of their profession, we trust them.Just remember that when you get out you wont have the guts you used to have, and you will be better for it. Our thoughts are with yuh bro.

    Liked by 1 person

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