I know Sachin’s been slaying cancer since June but this week felt especially surreal for me. While I’ve been to every single appointment, chemo round, and scan, this surgery created a level of reality that I couldn’t mentally wrap my head around.

While he had smaller procedures (getting his port), or chemo (which is medical with terrible side effects), this time he was getting fully cut open. The surgeons were taking part of his liver, his gallbladder, and a part of his colon. They literally were taking away the cancer, but I felt it as they were effectively pulling link sausages out of my husband a la a Halloween bit I saw on Gilmore Girls.

It freaked me out. It’s because I knew the person I love the most was going to suffer and I couldn’t do anything to fix that. It’s a feeling of helplessness that I’ve never had before. Even when Zian was diagnosed with autism, I figured out the therapists or schools or additional support he needed and became his fiercest advocate. How can I do that here? I can’t. It’s scary.

Even the liver surgeon said the same — he said I had the hardest job the day of Sachin’s surgery was mine because I would be sitting around and waiting for updates. He was right.

Every 90 minutes during the 7ish hour surgery, I would get a call from a nurse or a surgeon telling me how Sachin is doing. And I’m about 98% sure my heart would stop beating every time my phone rang. Then I would breathe a sigh of relief and text about 8 different group texts with the positive news. (I actually left the waiting room after a friend came with a sandwich because seeing droves of sick children was making my stomach churn with sadness while my husband was getting cut apart.)

Sachin’s surgery ended around 10pm and I basically charmed the nurse to let me see him after hours which was kind of her. He was slow but alive and in pain. However, the surgery went better than the surgeons expected — close to perfect.

In speaking with the liver surgeon, they were able to keep more of the liver than expected which is fantastic. That said, I was pretty shocked how much of the colon they took. When the colorectal surgeon came in I asked how much of his colon they took holding up my pointer finger and thumb about the length of an iPhone, thinking he would say 8 centimeters. And the surgeon held up his hands like a man talking about a grand fish he caught saying, “oh about a foot and a half!” Woof.

Now Sachin’s in recovery mode and is at the hospital for a few days. Hopefully, he won’t get tired of my company because that’s all I have to offer but I know we both feel better when together. So that helps me as much as it helps him. And I’m glad for it.