Just like that, everything changes

And just like that, everything feels so different.
OK, "just like that" might be a stretch. "Just like that" wound up being roughly eight hours of surgery, not counting roughly another hour it took to sew MG up after the last screw was put in place.
"She challenged me,'' said an admittedly exhausted-looking Dr. Lowe, her orthopedic surgeon and my new hero.
Yes, for all the grief I've given the medical staff up here this week (and Dr. Lowe admitted he was shown my blog), it's all worth it for a doctor who seems to be a perfectionist, who gets genuinely excited when he gets it right.
Where do I begin?

Hallelujah, Thine the Glory! It's from a favorite song of mine, particularly as sung by Ashley Cleveland (see below)
But it's true. And I don't shy from the name of Jesus Christ, because Jesus said if we proclaim his name before men, He will proclaim our names before the Father in Heaven. That has always seemed like a good trade-off to me!

Yes, it was interminable. I reported this morning at 6:45 a.m. expecting MG to go to surgery first thing. Instead I was told surgery was scheduled for 12:30. Because there is a shift change from 6-8 every day, the night nurse told me I needed to leave until 8, but could come back then.
I went outside to the waiting room and thought about going to get some breakfast or something, but instead sat down to try to get a head start on some work. I texted the kids and posted on facebook that surgery was 12:30, and was angry with myself for not calling the night nurse the night before to ask when surgery was.
And then, shortly after 8 a.m., the day nurse came out, introduced herself to me, and said, "They are getting ready to take your wife back to surgery if you want to go see her."
Apparently, there was a cancellation in one of the operating rooms, and Dr. Lowe snagged it. (Another reason why he's my new hero).
Seeing MG this morning was a really cool moment for me. I leaned in and her eyes were open, and I said, "MaryGrace, do you know who I am?" And she nodded her head. She squeezed my hand as she did so. For all the semi-communication we've been doing the past week, this was the first time I really felt like I knew she knew I was there!

As they wheeled MG away, the nurse said they'd call me every couple of hours to report on the progress. This was just after 8 a.m.
At shortly after 9 a.m. the nurse called to say surgery began about 9:05. At 10:20, she called to say they were finished with the first part, putting the screws into the back of the pelvis where it was broken clean through.
At about 11:45, she called and said it would be a couple more hours, so I should go to lunch. I did, and about 2:20 she called again and said, "Everything is going well, but it's going to take some more time."
"About how long?" I asked. " A couple hours?'
"At least,'' said the OR nurse. "This is everything Dr. Lowe thought it was going to be, and then some."
About 4:40, I got another call.
"The doctors are still working,'' the nurse said. "But they're satisfied with the way it's going. We've got another hour."
About 5:30, more or less, she called again.
"They just put in the final screw,'' she said. "They've still got to close up, so it will be awhile, but the doctors are very pleased."
By my count, that's 8 1/2 hours of surgery - a very long day for all of us indeed.

Dr. Lowe came and got me and tried to draw out what he did. Then he took me back to a computer and showed me the actual practically step-by-step pictures of the procedure. It was very cool. Very.
Short version: Lowe said they basically had everything done, that it was 'good enough,' but he doesn't like 'good enough' and believed he could do better. So they backed the screws and plates out and, at least on this one part, started over.
End result: at least from what I could see, the pieces matched up almost perfectly. The socket was lined up picture-perfect. There is a roughly-seven inch screw, plus a bunch of smaller screws, and some metal plates in there, and a few bone fragments that couldn't be attached but that the doctors don't believe will cause any problems. It was a mess when they started, but by the end - if you could look past the hardware, everything seemed to be lined up as good as the other hip socket.
Lowe admitted they got excited when they redid the socket and managed to get it like he wanted. He got excited just showing me on this computer. Then he apologized for being passionate about his work.
No more passionate than I am about his work, I assure you.

As I understand it, structurally MG is good to go. She can sit up - a huge blessing because I was afraid she wouldn't be able to put any weight at all on her pelvis, even the weight of her upper body sitting up. But Lowe assured me she could sit up in any chair. She just can't walk ... yet.
That means by the time she gets home, she can have the mobility of a wheel chair. Again, that's a huge blessing, because it means MG can have a life outside her bedroom: sit on the deck, join the family for dinner, maybe even have those rousing Spades tournaments with her partner Roecker against SB and me!

Another side note: Lowe said as they were going to surgery, they showed him my blog. At least the one where I talked about doctors. He thanked me. As a teacher, he wants his students to understand what it means to be a professional. He told me he's the son of a surgeon, and his father was an "old-fashioned doctor" and he believed in practicing medicine the same way.
I was a bit chagrined, but told him I wasn't sorry. He said he was glad I wrote what I wrote because it helps him show his students that it's not just his opinion; here was the view of an actual patients family.

Now, let me stop for a minute.
When I walked out of the meeting with Lowe, I realized just how it felt to be happy, to be hopeful, to be relieved.
Once again I sit here by MG's bedside. Her eyes are open, but she doesn't see anything (such is the power of the drugs she's on). She tries to move her hands, but still they are loosely strapped by her side (to keep her from grabbing any of the various tubes still going into or coming out of her body). If you did not know what she'd been through this day, if you'd only seen her Monday night and now were looking at her again a day later, you'd be hard pressed to see any significant difference (except her left leg is no longer in traction). I talk to her, but she doesn't really respond. I stroke her arm and hold her hand, but there is no reaction.

From the outside, nothing appears to have changed.
But the truth is, nothing could be more different.
On the inside, MG has been made whole.
As an old friend used to say, "I  think that will preach!"
Can I get an amen?
Needless to say, I felt "revived!"