I am happy to report that my fever has vanished (thank goodness for broad spectrum antibiotics and a wonderful doctor). I am very happy about that, as my doctor was starting to get real frustrated as we were having trouble figuring out what was causing the fever. All we knew was that with the medicine I was taking, I should have no fever at all. She put me on an antibiotic, and the fever is no longer a part of my life.
What is a part of my life is a total lack of energy. Okay, it is not total, but I am finding little things just totally wipe me out. I have even found myself falling asleep at the computer or writing emails with one eye open I am so tired. I have been sleeping fine at night, but naps are becoming even more a part of my regular routine than ever before! Not that I am complaining, I looooooove naps. I love to think that napping is my hobby and I like practicing my hobby whenever I can, but damn, enough is enough.
Of course I could have one of a million other things going on in my body, but I am hoping this is just a drawn out recovery from Leon's death!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Late Night Musings
It is Saturday morning about 2:00 AM, and I am having one of my little bouts of insomnia tonight/this morning/whatever you want to call it. It is funny, I have been extra tired this week, and now that I really want to sleep, I am wide awake. A whole lot of good cutting down my caffeine intake has done me this summer! Grrrrrrr!
My sleep has been quite an issue this week. For some strange reason, I have been unusually tired, and have been sleeping a great deal. On top of that, I started running a fever yesterday, so to make sure nothing bad is going on, I will see the doctor in a few hours at 10:15 (I hope to sleep by then, too). Who knows if all of this is from the surgery or all the other health issues I deal with every day?!?! If I griped about all of them, as you well know, I would have a million different blogs to update, and that is not what I am here to do.
Caren and I had a good week here on the home front. I have to admit, while during the past year I adjusted to having the house all to myself during the day and was pretty much set in my ways with my schedule, I have loved having Caren home this summer. In fact, I really wish she did not have to go back to work in just a couple of weeks. While I have never been a big supporter of the “Start School After Labor Day” movement, I might just have to become a member. Of course, if they are going to push for a later start time for school, I suggest they go all out and start the “Start School After Halloween” movement.
Caren and I both made the trip to Lebanon, Indiana, to see my mother at the nursing home on Thursday. Alzheimer’s continues to take its toll on Mom. I am certain that Mom did not recognize either one of us, but she did become slightly more aware of things, I think, while we were there. We met with her medical team and other people associated with her care, and we began to discuss different options for hospice care and her end of life wishes, as Mom has begun the downward progression so often associated with Alzheimer’s. I am so thankful that we did sit down with Mom when she first came to live with us and discuss her wishes for medical care and her final days. If you have not done it yet with your own parents, I recommend you do so, as it does not necessarily make this time any easier, it at least gives you the peace of mind to know that you are doing what they wanted. Sadly, this transitional period from Mom’s current state to the great beyond can take many, many months.
Not to shift gears to quickly, but I am kicking around the idea of getting some corporate sponsors and starting a Testicular Cancer Awareness campaign. I thought I might take the Ghost of Leon and my one remaining testicle and hit the road and take an across the country road trip singing the praises of making sure men give themselves monthly self-exams as well as a general testicular cancer awareness campaign. Of course, I would say this is many months off, as I have never taken on anything like this, and really do not have any idea where to begin. If any of you have ever started your own charity before, let me know!
While this type of cancer only affects about 8,000 Americans every year, it is one of the more highly curable forms of cancer out there. Of course, my big goal is to have some car company (maybe Chrysler since I live in Kokomo and there are all the huge Chrysler plants just down the street) donate a vehicle (and gas) for “the cause” and I will call it The Testicle Spectacle.
I figure I will have a few obstacles to overcome if my idea is ever to see the light of day. For instance, if you are getting corporate sponsors for something like this, whom do you get? I mean, who wants to be the company associated with testicular cancer? It is fashionable t0 be a sponsor for breast cancer awareness – and rightly so, as the need to fund breast cancer awareness, treatment, and research is great. Nevertheless, who wants to be associated with testicles? Admittedly, this notion is humorous, but I am very serious here.
Me? I could use my own humor to educate and get people to deal with the issue, and I think you all would agree with that (if anyone still reads this blog). However, would the corporate big wigs of some company want to be associated with testicles? Make all the ball jokes you want – trust me, I have thought of them all during the past month, but I am not so sure corporate America wants to be associated with testicles – unless it is under the auspices of say, The Lance Armstrong Association. In addition, I do not see some big telethon on one of the television networks anytime soon, as well.
All of this is in the planning stages, but my desire is serious. Heck, I haven’t even researched how to become a non-profit organization yet, as I figure there is probably at least one form to fill out or something (more like 500,000 I am sure). And more importantly, I should probably discuss this with my wife, too. I think I should do that now in the “planning” stage instead of one evening over dinner looking at her and saying, “Oh, by the way, I will be leaving for a 50 day road trip tomorrow, do I have enough clean clothes?” I believe that would be what we call, “BAD!”
I will keep you updated on the progress, and as always, I welcome ideas and suggestions. Feel free to contact me at rickett@educationalfutures.org. I figure the more ideas, the better!
My sleep has been quite an issue this week. For some strange reason, I have been unusually tired, and have been sleeping a great deal. On top of that, I started running a fever yesterday, so to make sure nothing bad is going on, I will see the doctor in a few hours at 10:15 (I hope to sleep by then, too). Who knows if all of this is from the surgery or all the other health issues I deal with every day?!?! If I griped about all of them, as you well know, I would have a million different blogs to update, and that is not what I am here to do.
Caren and I had a good week here on the home front. I have to admit, while during the past year I adjusted to having the house all to myself during the day and was pretty much set in my ways with my schedule, I have loved having Caren home this summer. In fact, I really wish she did not have to go back to work in just a couple of weeks. While I have never been a big supporter of the “Start School After Labor Day” movement, I might just have to become a member. Of course, if they are going to push for a later start time for school, I suggest they go all out and start the “Start School After Halloween” movement.
Caren and I both made the trip to Lebanon, Indiana, to see my mother at the nursing home on Thursday. Alzheimer’s continues to take its toll on Mom. I am certain that Mom did not recognize either one of us, but she did become slightly more aware of things, I think, while we were there. We met with her medical team and other people associated with her care, and we began to discuss different options for hospice care and her end of life wishes, as Mom has begun the downward progression so often associated with Alzheimer’s. I am so thankful that we did sit down with Mom when she first came to live with us and discuss her wishes for medical care and her final days. If you have not done it yet with your own parents, I recommend you do so, as it does not necessarily make this time any easier, it at least gives you the peace of mind to know that you are doing what they wanted. Sadly, this transitional period from Mom’s current state to the great beyond can take many, many months.
Not to shift gears to quickly, but I am kicking around the idea of getting some corporate sponsors and starting a Testicular Cancer Awareness campaign. I thought I might take the Ghost of Leon and my one remaining testicle and hit the road and take an across the country road trip singing the praises of making sure men give themselves monthly self-exams as well as a general testicular cancer awareness campaign. Of course, I would say this is many months off, as I have never taken on anything like this, and really do not have any idea where to begin. If any of you have ever started your own charity before, let me know!
While this type of cancer only affects about 8,000 Americans every year, it is one of the more highly curable forms of cancer out there. Of course, my big goal is to have some car company (maybe Chrysler since I live in Kokomo and there are all the huge Chrysler plants just down the street) donate a vehicle (and gas) for “the cause” and I will call it The Testicle Spectacle.
I figure I will have a few obstacles to overcome if my idea is ever to see the light of day. For instance, if you are getting corporate sponsors for something like this, whom do you get? I mean, who wants to be the company associated with testicular cancer? It is fashionable t0 be a sponsor for breast cancer awareness – and rightly so, as the need to fund breast cancer awareness, treatment, and research is great. Nevertheless, who wants to be associated with testicles? Admittedly, this notion is humorous, but I am very serious here.
Me? I could use my own humor to educate and get people to deal with the issue, and I think you all would agree with that (if anyone still reads this blog). However, would the corporate big wigs of some company want to be associated with testicles? Make all the ball jokes you want – trust me, I have thought of them all during the past month, but I am not so sure corporate America wants to be associated with testicles – unless it is under the auspices of say, The Lance Armstrong Association. In addition, I do not see some big telethon on one of the television networks anytime soon, as well.
All of this is in the planning stages, but my desire is serious. Heck, I haven’t even researched how to become a non-profit organization yet, as I figure there is probably at least one form to fill out or something (more like 500,000 I am sure). And more importantly, I should probably discuss this with my wife, too. I think I should do that now in the “planning” stage instead of one evening over dinner looking at her and saying, “Oh, by the way, I will be leaving for a 50 day road trip tomorrow, do I have enough clean clothes?” I believe that would be what we call, “BAD!”
I will keep you updated on the progress, and as always, I welcome ideas and suggestions. Feel free to contact me at rickett@educationalfutures.org. I figure the more ideas, the better!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Road to Recovery is Paved with Good Pills
In case you don't want to read paragraphs and paragraphs of my mumblings, I continue to be on the mend and doing quite well. The incision has healed nicely, so I will still look mighty sharp on the beach in my bright orange Speedo, and the swelling continues to go down - it is slow, but it is going down.
Caren has been wonderful during my recovery. Me, I expected that about three days after surgery I would be up and around and ready to face the world. Caren, however reminded me that recovery from this particular surgery can be anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks and even longer. Not wanting to be in the "average" or "typical" categories, I decided to mark MY recovery in DAYS rather than WEEKS! On Thursday after my surgery, I was up and around and ready to face the world. However, my BODY didn't know this, so that caused some problems. Let me be the first to tell you, if you every have a battle with your body, the body will win. Damn body! Of course, the body's failure to cooperate also proved Caren's point about two to four weeks or longer. I should just accept the notion that the wife is always correct, and usually I do, but I like to test the limits from time to time only to reach the same conclusion - CAREN IS RIGHT!
This week, this weird thing known as "pain" paid me a visit. People who know me, know I have an extremely high level of pain. In fact, I argue a bit with my doctors from time to time when they tell me something should hurt, and I tell them it does not hurt. The pain this week was also much more than I experienced after surgery. As I met with Dr. Moyer (my amazing doctor who keeps track of everything on me and my health) she asked me to describe the pain. I told her that was no problem, as the pain was "comparable to pushing my left hip in to a running chainsaw!" She responded without even blinking an eye and said, "Ahh, yes. Post operative pain is a wonderful thing, isn't it! Very different than the usual pain you are used to feeling."
After some discussion, she took out the wonderful BLUE prescription pad. The blue pad is much better than the white pad, as prescriptions written on the blue pad are extra gooooood, and require you to show your driver's license when you pick up the prescription. Over the years, I have taken almost every pill out there sans Viagra, so I was surprised with the doctor prescribed a new medicine for me, the lovely Percocet. Even better, when I picked up the Percocet at the pharmacy, it came in perhaps the largest medicine bottle I have ever seen in my life.
Caren makes sure I take my Percocet right on schedule, so believe me, you are lucky that I am even conscious to type this in to the computer. Really, I type at the computer now and fall asleep during the whole thing - it is sort of like when you were at church as a kid (maybe even now) and you start to doze of and then you jerk awake all of a sudden? Well, welcome to my world.
As you can see, as long as I am medicated, I am happy. I think Caren likes me more medicated, as I talk a lot less, which allows for her to get more of her work for school completed.
My best to everyone!
Caren has been wonderful during my recovery. Me, I expected that about three days after surgery I would be up and around and ready to face the world. Caren, however reminded me that recovery from this particular surgery can be anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks and even longer. Not wanting to be in the "average" or "typical" categories, I decided to mark MY recovery in DAYS rather than WEEKS! On Thursday after my surgery, I was up and around and ready to face the world. However, my BODY didn't know this, so that caused some problems. Let me be the first to tell you, if you every have a battle with your body, the body will win. Damn body! Of course, the body's failure to cooperate also proved Caren's point about two to four weeks or longer. I should just accept the notion that the wife is always correct, and usually I do, but I like to test the limits from time to time only to reach the same conclusion - CAREN IS RIGHT!
This week, this weird thing known as "pain" paid me a visit. People who know me, know I have an extremely high level of pain. In fact, I argue a bit with my doctors from time to time when they tell me something should hurt, and I tell them it does not hurt. The pain this week was also much more than I experienced after surgery. As I met with Dr. Moyer (my amazing doctor who keeps track of everything on me and my health) she asked me to describe the pain. I told her that was no problem, as the pain was "comparable to pushing my left hip in to a running chainsaw!" She responded without even blinking an eye and said, "Ahh, yes. Post operative pain is a wonderful thing, isn't it! Very different than the usual pain you are used to feeling."
After some discussion, she took out the wonderful BLUE prescription pad. The blue pad is much better than the white pad, as prescriptions written on the blue pad are extra gooooood, and require you to show your driver's license when you pick up the prescription. Over the years, I have taken almost every pill out there sans Viagra, so I was surprised with the doctor prescribed a new medicine for me, the lovely Percocet. Even better, when I picked up the Percocet at the pharmacy, it came in perhaps the largest medicine bottle I have ever seen in my life.
Caren makes sure I take my Percocet right on schedule, so believe me, you are lucky that I am even conscious to type this in to the computer. Really, I type at the computer now and fall asleep during the whole thing - it is sort of like when you were at church as a kid (maybe even now) and you start to doze of and then you jerk awake all of a sudden? Well, welcome to my world.
As you can see, as long as I am medicated, I am happy. I think Caren likes me more medicated, as I talk a lot less, which allows for her to get more of her work for school completed.
My best to everyone!
Friday, July 11, 2008
The Verdict is In
Thursday was quite a day. Caren and I left for the IU Hospital at about 11:00 - stopping for our "drive drinks" of a large Diet Coke for Caren, and a BK Iced Mocha Java for me. We did not realize at the time that we would end up at the hospital for most of the afternoon.
We met with Dr. Beck at 1:00. About 24 hours earlier, Leon's incision started bleeding a little - no other problem at all during the whole time since surgery, but since I was going to the doctor, the Ghost of Leon had to make his presence known. As soon as I dropped my boxers (a nice blue number by the way), Dr. Beck went, "Oh My!" and grabbed a box of gauze bandages. He took off our gauze bandage, squeezed the incision, told us that is was just blood and there was no infection, and we should just let it be. He and Caren bandaged me up with a gauze bandage about an inch thick and that was that, and on to other things. Dr. Beck did grab some big boxes of gauze, handed them to Caren, and said, "Shove these in your bag and sneak them out of here. The nurses hate it when I do this with the supplies, so hide 'em good!" Then it was time to address the real issue of our visit.
Dr. Beck said the pathology report from Leon’s autopsy was as good as one of those things can be. In men my age (41), Leon is usually made up almost exclusively of a very “bad” type of cell and just a little bit of “good cells.” It turns out that Leon was just the opposite – 90% good cells and 10% bad cells. Of course, the word “good” is relative. Good is bad, but just a little, teeny-tiny bit. He said this is a good indication that things are in Stage I. However, he cautioned, we would not know for certain until I had my blood test followed by the CT scan. So some of my blood was taken, then it was off to have the CT scan.
We had to be there at 2:00 to start the drinking of the contrast solution. The contrast solution was not as bad as I expected. It was sort of like fruit punch with a real bad aspartame aftertaste – and I drank a fourth of the GIGANTIC cup every half hour. Then off to have the CT scan. That was fine until they injected me with the radioactive dye and started sliding me through the big tube (I believe that is the medical term for the CT machine, I am not certain). When they began injecting it, a very hot feeling went through my body. After about a minute of that, I thought I was going to be ill, but just as I thought I was going to lose it – the feeling went away, and that was it. Whew! I had a vision of this multi-million dollar machine covered with my Big Gulp sized remnants of bright red Kool-Aid! What sort of freaked me out and fascinated me at the same time was that just as quickly as the hot feeling went through my body, it was gone, and I felt totally fine! Ahhh, the wonders of nuclear medicine! That was it, and Caren and I were free to go.
We managed to time things perfectly to hit downtown Indianapolis traffic right at 5:02 PM, and the rush hour crush was on! We made it through downtown Indy on Meridian Street. For people unfamiliar with Indianapolis, Meridian was probably designed originally for one lane of traffic each way with lots of room to spare. Now it has two lanes of traffic each way and absolutely no room to spare. So you are zipping through traffic going 45 M.P.H. packed like sardines. When had no problems (primarily because I was driving and my afternoon medication was kicking in), and when we reached the northern most point of Indy, we stopped at Don Pablo’s because we were, as Caren said, "So hungry she was about to be Miss Cranky Pants." If she was close to being Miss Cranky Pants, that meant I was close to being Mr. Grumpy Grump, so Miss Cranky Pants and Mr. Grumpy Grump went in, ordered our drinks, and as soon as the tortilla chips arrived, we devoured them like a pit bull on a slow moving mailman. Caren ordered her usual spicy Chicken Caesar salad and I ordered the left side of the menu. Actually since I know my band teacher friend will read this, I need to say that I ordered "El Conquistador!" Having written that, I should now apologize to his wife, as he will now walk around the house saying, "El Conquistador!" repeatedly in a slightly cute but oddly Rain Man-ish way. After a wonderful dinner, we headed home - with much less traffic on the roads I might add.
Now all we had to do was wait for the results of the tests.
While we would have liked Dr. Beck to call at 7:01 in the morning, we knew he had surgery, and I had a conference call with the U.S. Department of Education from 10:00 to 12:00, so Dr. Beck was accommodating and worked with our schedule and he called Friday afternoon.
And, just as he said he would, Dr. Beck called with the results of all my tests Friday afternoon. My blood work indicated that the level of a certain marker (a particular protein level that they watch) had gone from 40 with Leon in me to a 2 with Leon gone. This was good news. Then he went on to tell me that the lymph nodes on my left side (Leon's side) were abnormally large. He said that usually this is bad, but after consulting with his pals at the hospital (his words, not mine) they decided that I just had unusually large lymph nodes for some reason. Of course, I hope Dr. Beck's pals were doctors and not the cleaning crew or the person running the coffee kiosk or something.
So what does this all mean?
It means that I am what is known as Clinical Stage I. For now, the removal of Leon got rid of all the cancer. For the next year, I will go to the IU Hospital each month and have a chest x-ray, CT scan, blood work, and meet with Dr. Beck. Then after the first year, I will go down to IU Hospital for the same battery of tests, only every other month or so. Once I make it through the two years, we will decide how often I go for tests after that. The reason for all of this is that out of 100 patients, 70 of them will have no other relapse - ever - and, obviously, 30 of them will. Of the 30 who do relapse, 28 of them will relapse within the first two years after surgery, and the majority of those will be during the first year. That is why Dr. Beck will monitor me closely over the next few years.
While not 100% perfect news, it is pretty darn close to perfect. One thing that made this very easy to go through, was the support I received from all of you. That made these past few weeks not so bonkers.
Do not think that this will be last of my musings here. I have rather liked doing this. Maybe I will have to come up with a new name (feel free to send in your submissions to rickett@educationalfutures.org) - and just write about what is going on in my life, not that many people would care. Nevertheless, I guarantee there will be a health update once a month, as I think we all owe it to Leon!
We met with Dr. Beck at 1:00. About 24 hours earlier, Leon's incision started bleeding a little - no other problem at all during the whole time since surgery, but since I was going to the doctor, the Ghost of Leon had to make his presence known. As soon as I dropped my boxers (a nice blue number by the way), Dr. Beck went, "Oh My!" and grabbed a box of gauze bandages. He took off our gauze bandage, squeezed the incision, told us that is was just blood and there was no infection, and we should just let it be. He and Caren bandaged me up with a gauze bandage about an inch thick and that was that, and on to other things. Dr. Beck did grab some big boxes of gauze, handed them to Caren, and said, "Shove these in your bag and sneak them out of here. The nurses hate it when I do this with the supplies, so hide 'em good!" Then it was time to address the real issue of our visit.
Dr. Beck said the pathology report from Leon’s autopsy was as good as one of those things can be. In men my age (41), Leon is usually made up almost exclusively of a very “bad” type of cell and just a little bit of “good cells.” It turns out that Leon was just the opposite – 90% good cells and 10% bad cells. Of course, the word “good” is relative. Good is bad, but just a little, teeny-tiny bit. He said this is a good indication that things are in Stage I. However, he cautioned, we would not know for certain until I had my blood test followed by the CT scan. So some of my blood was taken, then it was off to have the CT scan.
We had to be there at 2:00 to start the drinking of the contrast solution. The contrast solution was not as bad as I expected. It was sort of like fruit punch with a real bad aspartame aftertaste – and I drank a fourth of the GIGANTIC cup every half hour. Then off to have the CT scan. That was fine until they injected me with the radioactive dye and started sliding me through the big tube (I believe that is the medical term for the CT machine, I am not certain). When they began injecting it, a very hot feeling went through my body. After about a minute of that, I thought I was going to be ill, but just as I thought I was going to lose it – the feeling went away, and that was it. Whew! I had a vision of this multi-million dollar machine covered with my Big Gulp sized remnants of bright red Kool-Aid! What sort of freaked me out and fascinated me at the same time was that just as quickly as the hot feeling went through my body, it was gone, and I felt totally fine! Ahhh, the wonders of nuclear medicine! That was it, and Caren and I were free to go.
We managed to time things perfectly to hit downtown Indianapolis traffic right at 5:02 PM, and the rush hour crush was on! We made it through downtown Indy on Meridian Street. For people unfamiliar with Indianapolis, Meridian was probably designed originally for one lane of traffic each way with lots of room to spare. Now it has two lanes of traffic each way and absolutely no room to spare. So you are zipping through traffic going 45 M.P.H. packed like sardines. When had no problems (primarily because I was driving and my afternoon medication was kicking in), and when we reached the northern most point of Indy, we stopped at Don Pablo’s because we were, as Caren said, "So hungry she was about to be Miss Cranky Pants." If she was close to being Miss Cranky Pants, that meant I was close to being Mr. Grumpy Grump, so Miss Cranky Pants and Mr. Grumpy Grump went in, ordered our drinks, and as soon as the tortilla chips arrived, we devoured them like a pit bull on a slow moving mailman. Caren ordered her usual spicy Chicken Caesar salad and I ordered the left side of the menu. Actually since I know my band teacher friend will read this, I need to say that I ordered "El Conquistador!" Having written that, I should now apologize to his wife, as he will now walk around the house saying, "El Conquistador!" repeatedly in a slightly cute but oddly Rain Man-ish way. After a wonderful dinner, we headed home - with much less traffic on the roads I might add.
Now all we had to do was wait for the results of the tests.
While we would have liked Dr. Beck to call at 7:01 in the morning, we knew he had surgery, and I had a conference call with the U.S. Department of Education from 10:00 to 12:00, so Dr. Beck was accommodating and worked with our schedule and he called Friday afternoon.
And, just as he said he would, Dr. Beck called with the results of all my tests Friday afternoon. My blood work indicated that the level of a certain marker (a particular protein level that they watch) had gone from 40 with Leon in me to a 2 with Leon gone. This was good news. Then he went on to tell me that the lymph nodes on my left side (Leon's side) were abnormally large. He said that usually this is bad, but after consulting with his pals at the hospital (his words, not mine) they decided that I just had unusually large lymph nodes for some reason. Of course, I hope Dr. Beck's pals were doctors and not the cleaning crew or the person running the coffee kiosk or something.
So what does this all mean?
It means that I am what is known as Clinical Stage I. For now, the removal of Leon got rid of all the cancer. For the next year, I will go to the IU Hospital each month and have a chest x-ray, CT scan, blood work, and meet with Dr. Beck. Then after the first year, I will go down to IU Hospital for the same battery of tests, only every other month or so. Once I make it through the two years, we will decide how often I go for tests after that. The reason for all of this is that out of 100 patients, 70 of them will have no other relapse - ever - and, obviously, 30 of them will. Of the 30 who do relapse, 28 of them will relapse within the first two years after surgery, and the majority of those will be during the first year. That is why Dr. Beck will monitor me closely over the next few years.
While not 100% perfect news, it is pretty darn close to perfect. One thing that made this very easy to go through, was the support I received from all of you. That made these past few weeks not so bonkers.
Do not think that this will be last of my musings here. I have rather liked doing this. Maybe I will have to come up with a new name (feel free to send in your submissions to rickett@educationalfutures.org) - and just write about what is going on in my life, not that many people would care. Nevertheless, I guarantee there will be a health update once a month, as I think we all owe it to Leon!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Scheduling Desk
Have you ever tried to schedule a CT scan, blood work, and an appointment with your doctor all on the same day? Let me tell you, it is not an easy task - and I didn't even have to do it. Dr. Beck's secretary, Trish, is an amazing woman, and she has scheduled me three times for these tests, and has finally found one when I am not reading grants for the US Department of Education.
Caren and I head off to IU Hospital on Thursday. Usually, you have your tests done and meet with the doctor. However, Dr. Beck really wants to meet with me, so we will meet with him at 1:00, and then I go and drink the stuff for my CT scan (I have a feeling it will NOT taste like a chocolate shake). Then the stuff flows through my body doing all sorts of unusual things (I wonder if I will GLOW when finished?) and then I have the CT scan later that afternoon. As the gigantic "device" is whirling around me, I promise not to start shouting, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" After that, we are free to go. However, if someone from the Psych Department wanders by, it could be that Caren will be the only one "free to go."
Dr. Beck will call on Friday with the results. The purpose of these results is to find out if the cancer has spread beyond the confines of Leon's former residence. As soon as we hear something, we will pass the news along.
In other news, I ventured beyond the confines of my residence today for the first time since the operation. I was a big brave boy (okay, Caren went with me but I got to drive!) and went to the post office, the bank, and to Sonic for two Route 44 Diet Cherry Limeades (one of our favorites, and they have to be Route 44s - anything else is for wimps). I have to be honest, I was worn out when I got home, and the Ghost of Leon was hurting some.
It was a good practice run for Thursday, as the IU Hospital is finishing up a huge construction project (a new cancer center) and to get to Dr. Beck's office you have to make quite a hike. It is an unusual trek through the catacombs of the hospital as it involves taking the "special" elevator to the basement and then following the yellow signs. The basement of a hospital is, shall we say, interesting. Of course, the way I am walking, I will have to make sure I have a good 20 minutes to get to my appointment or get a wheelchair and make Caren push with me singing the theme to The Love Boat at the top of my lungs. Jack Jones wrote and sang the original theme, but no one sings it better than Charro. Click here to find out!
Caren and I head off to IU Hospital on Thursday. Usually, you have your tests done and meet with the doctor. However, Dr. Beck really wants to meet with me, so we will meet with him at 1:00, and then I go and drink the stuff for my CT scan (I have a feeling it will NOT taste like a chocolate shake). Then the stuff flows through my body doing all sorts of unusual things (I wonder if I will GLOW when finished?) and then I have the CT scan later that afternoon. As the gigantic "device" is whirling around me, I promise not to start shouting, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" After that, we are free to go. However, if someone from the Psych Department wanders by, it could be that Caren will be the only one "free to go."
Dr. Beck will call on Friday with the results. The purpose of these results is to find out if the cancer has spread beyond the confines of Leon's former residence. As soon as we hear something, we will pass the news along.
In other news, I ventured beyond the confines of my residence today for the first time since the operation. I was a big brave boy (okay, Caren went with me but I got to drive!) and went to the post office, the bank, and to Sonic for two Route 44 Diet Cherry Limeades (one of our favorites, and they have to be Route 44s - anything else is for wimps). I have to be honest, I was worn out when I got home, and the Ghost of Leon was hurting some.
It was a good practice run for Thursday, as the IU Hospital is finishing up a huge construction project (a new cancer center) and to get to Dr. Beck's office you have to make quite a hike. It is an unusual trek through the catacombs of the hospital as it involves taking the "special" elevator to the basement and then following the yellow signs. The basement of a hospital is, shall we say, interesting. Of course, the way I am walking, I will have to make sure I have a good 20 minutes to get to my appointment or get a wheelchair and make Caren push with me singing the theme to The Love Boat at the top of my lungs. Jack Jones wrote and sang the original theme, but no one sings it better than Charro. Click here to find out!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Ghost of Leon
I hope this finds all of you doing well. Caren and I are just fine and I can say we are both surviving my recuperation wonderfully. Recovery and recuperation has actually progressed much better than either of us expected.
The incision and what I am now calling “The Ghost of Leon”
both hurt some early on, but not near as much as I expected. I was honestly expecting to be in bed and barely able to move for three or four days. There has been none of that. The only bothersome side effect from the surgery (except for now only having one ball) is the incredible sleepiness that hits on occasion.
I should note that the sleepiness does not always hit when you want it to. For instance, when fireworks are still going off above your house from parts unknown at 1:45 AM after a night of Fourth of July celebrations – there is no attack of sleepiness! I have decided that the best way to solve the Iraq War is to send my neighbors living a few doors down on the other side of our fence to Iraq with a cargo plane full of fireworks of their choosing. I was convinced that we were being invaded at one point last night from all the noise. Tripod, our three-legged cat, chose not to sleep with Caren last night, but chose to huddle in her walk-in closet as his way of avoiding shell shock. If the amount of fireworks exploded over our house is any indication as to the state of the American Economy, I can say the economy is alive and well, at least in Kokomo, Indiana.
Dr. Beck called on Thursday and said that he received the report from pathology on Leon’s autopsy. He said it was just as expected – Leon was full of bad, evil, cancer cells. Dr. Beck believes that he removed all the cancerous cells and that things have not spread. He stressed that this was not a guarantee, and would not know for certain until I have my follow-up Blood Protein Test and an MRI. Once he sees the results of those, we will know the stage of my cancer. Those tests will take place July 14 or July 15. Of course, I will let you know the results of those tests once we know.
Again, all here is fine. The incision is almost totally healed, there is virtually no pain, and only some puffiness remains in certain areas.
The incision and what I am now calling “The Ghost of Leon”
both hurt some early on, but not near as much as I expected. I was honestly expecting to be in bed and barely able to move for three or four days. There has been none of that. The only bothersome side effect from the surgery (except for now only having one ball) is the incredible sleepiness that hits on occasion.
I should note that the sleepiness does not always hit when you want it to. For instance, when fireworks are still going off above your house from parts unknown at 1:45 AM after a night of Fourth of July celebrations – there is no attack of sleepiness! I have decided that the best way to solve the Iraq War is to send my neighbors living a few doors down on the other side of our fence to Iraq with a cargo plane full of fireworks of their choosing. I was convinced that we were being invaded at one point last night from all the noise. Tripod, our three-legged cat, chose not to sleep with Caren last night, but chose to huddle in her walk-in closet as his way of avoiding shell shock. If the amount of fireworks exploded over our house is any indication as to the state of the American Economy, I can say the economy is alive and well, at least in Kokomo, Indiana.
Dr. Beck called on Thursday and said that he received the report from pathology on Leon’s autopsy. He said it was just as expected – Leon was full of bad, evil, cancer cells. Dr. Beck believes that he removed all the cancerous cells and that things have not spread. He stressed that this was not a guarantee, and would not know for certain until I have my follow-up Blood Protein Test and an MRI. Once he sees the results of those, we will know the stage of my cancer. Those tests will take place July 14 or July 15. Of course, I will let you know the results of those tests once we know.
Again, all here is fine. The incision is almost totally healed, there is virtually no pain, and only some puffiness remains in certain areas.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Recovery
I will write more later, but here it is Thursday, and I can tell you that I feel wonderful. I thought I would be in much more pain than I am. It really is a minor pain. Except for some swelling (My, oh, my, the pictures I could post) and being extremely tired, I feel no different. Of course when I wear my thongs and g-strings now, they no longer fit and they just don't look right for some odd reason. I took them all out of the drawer and fashioned them in to a lovely toy for the cats.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Uniball is Born!!!
It is with great sadness that I announce the departure of the beloved Leon from this earth at approximately 8:00 AM, Monday June 30, 2008. We are relieved that he has gone to a better place, and we know that this was all for the better.
Surgery started at about 7:30, and I woke up in the Surgery Recovery Room at 9:30. From a health prospective, things went wonderfully, and the current prognosis is good, if not damn good. I go back to see Dr. Beck next week for some more tests and then we will know for certain. I am truly impressed by his team and the care everyone gave to me while at IU Hospital.
However, from a case management perspective, my case was laughable. Let’s just say, at one point during the day, I was admitted to the hospital for approximately two hours – had my own room and everything. I am certain Caren and my mother-in-law Marilyn both have rather vivid and scathing thoughts as to IU Hospital’s version of communication. But most importantly, I cannot emphasize how impressed all of us were with Dr. Beck, his resident (whose name I forget, but wrote LEON in big letters on my left hip to emphasize who was being removed, Leon on the left or Robespierre on the right), his staff in surgery, and the nurses and staff of the Surgery Recovery Room for a brilliantly entertaining morning and afternoon. True, I did most of the entertaining, but I don’t think any recovery unit in all of these United States laughed more Monday than we all laughed.
Obviously, since I am up, typing, and using the computer, my recovery goes well. My discomfort can best described as being hit by a Boeing 747 in the groin. Okay, that is a total and outright lie – I admit it. You know those little airplanes that are made of balsa wood and fly by rubber band power? My discomfort can best be described as being hit by one of those planes in the hip. Okay, that is a lie, as well. You know the rubber band that is in the balsa wood plane? My discomfort can best be described as being hit in the groin with a rubber band – and that is pretty much the truth. Yes, bending and moving bring some discomfort, but things are really much better than expected, as I really imagined (hoped) I would be flying in the clouds doped up on a myriad of America’s finest legal pain medications available to modern man.
I do have to take it easy, and my lovely wife Caren loves her new role as nurse. Caren as a nurse is a cross between Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Shirley McClain from Terms of Endearment. Some of you might be shocked that I am describing my wife in this manner. There is no reason to be shocked at all. She is honored to be described in these terms - especially after her experience in the waiting room at the hospital today. Let’s just say they almost experienced Shirley McClain (the mean one yelling at the nurses in Terms of Endearment, not the crazy one recalling past lives).
In the meantime, Caren and I thank all of you for you kind thoughts and prayers. I will keep you updated on how things are going.
By the way, I did learn a few things about hospitals that I should probably pass on:
Surgery started at about 7:30, and I woke up in the Surgery Recovery Room at 9:30. From a health prospective, things went wonderfully, and the current prognosis is good, if not damn good. I go back to see Dr. Beck next week for some more tests and then we will know for certain. I am truly impressed by his team and the care everyone gave to me while at IU Hospital.
However, from a case management perspective, my case was laughable. Let’s just say, at one point during the day, I was admitted to the hospital for approximately two hours – had my own room and everything. I am certain Caren and my mother-in-law Marilyn both have rather vivid and scathing thoughts as to IU Hospital’s version of communication. But most importantly, I cannot emphasize how impressed all of us were with Dr. Beck, his resident (whose name I forget, but wrote LEON in big letters on my left hip to emphasize who was being removed, Leon on the left or Robespierre on the right), his staff in surgery, and the nurses and staff of the Surgery Recovery Room for a brilliantly entertaining morning and afternoon. True, I did most of the entertaining, but I don’t think any recovery unit in all of these United States laughed more Monday than we all laughed.
Obviously, since I am up, typing, and using the computer, my recovery goes well. My discomfort can best described as being hit by a Boeing 747 in the groin. Okay, that is a total and outright lie – I admit it. You know those little airplanes that are made of balsa wood and fly by rubber band power? My discomfort can best be described as being hit by one of those planes in the hip. Okay, that is a lie, as well. You know the rubber band that is in the balsa wood plane? My discomfort can best be described as being hit in the groin with a rubber band – and that is pretty much the truth. Yes, bending and moving bring some discomfort, but things are really much better than expected, as I really imagined (hoped) I would be flying in the clouds doped up on a myriad of America’s finest legal pain medications available to modern man.
I do have to take it easy, and my lovely wife Caren loves her new role as nurse. Caren as a nurse is a cross between Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Shirley McClain from Terms of Endearment. Some of you might be shocked that I am describing my wife in this manner. There is no reason to be shocked at all. She is honored to be described in these terms - especially after her experience in the waiting room at the hospital today. Let’s just say they almost experienced Shirley McClain (the mean one yelling at the nurses in Terms of Endearment, not the crazy one recalling past lives).
In the meantime, Caren and I thank all of you for you kind thoughts and prayers. I will keep you updated on how things are going.
By the way, I did learn a few things about hospitals that I should probably pass on:
- When waking up in the Surgery Recovery Room, do not shoot straight up in bed and yell at the top of your lungs, “I’MMMMMMMMMM BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!”
- Doing the above, freaks the nurses out, and can (so I have been told) cause everyone to rush to some elderly woman in Bed #8 and start yelling “CLEAR!” and then making her jump in bed (whatever that was all about).
- And finally, as you are being transferred to your room and you are being pushed through the hallways, do not point at the visitors, doctors, and staff and yell, “I see dead people!”
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