So, I did something that I probably shouldn't have done. It wasn't my place to do it and it certainly wasn't something I needed to do. But I did it, anyway. Why? Well, that's a little complicated.
Four years ago, after essentially beating stage four renal cell cancer, a brain tumor, and ovarian cancer, someone I cared about died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage. Another friend is continually battling cancer and is too weak to even appreciate life right now. Another friend just buried her husband after succumbing to illness. And right now, my own cat, my bud, Oscar, is suffering from a tumor in his belly. Who knows how many good days he'll have left.
I've been struggling for the last year and a half with getting things to a manageable point. I haven't talked about it in depth, but it's pretty obvious what has been going on and that in itself is another reason why I did what I did. That chapter is coming to a close and unfortunately, I screwed up the ending to another one in January.
You see, I let someone get away. Forced them actually. I saw something that I hadn't seen in my entire life and it burned me inside and out. It was, what I thought, was the definition of what we all hope to find in this world. And, like an impatient fool, I couldn't wait until the timing was right. I wasn't patient enough to make sure I had a path of no resistance to reach them. Even though I was given clear and present authority to do so, I was... am... still in a place where it isn't the best time to pursue it. And as the days dragged on and I felt the pressure of knowing what I could have, I pushed harder and in ever more increasing intensity until they hit against me like a tennis ball hits the wheel of a launcher and spun them right out of my life at break neck speed.
After three months of continuing to rebuild my identity, the one I really am inside, getting back out into the mix and basically healing myself, I came to a crossroads. Did I say all that was needed to say? Should I even bother. It's obvious that I was too eager and they were simply not interested. Or scared. Or both. But, as sure as I was about them at the time, I really am not ready to be anywhere other than in my own skin at the time being. So, which path do I take? Do I continue down the road of self discovery or do I take the dangerous path of reopening old wounds and making matters worse?
I went both ways. But even as I have learned to temper my emotions and listen to that voice that tells me, "Maybe that's a bit too much", I also know that I am basically a hopeless romantic about things in this world, so I did what I did.
I did what I did with really no chance or desire to be recognized, though I gather they probably know who sent the message because of the way it was sent.
And I did it, even though three months ago I was given a clear and succinct response to whether or not that type of interaction was even wanted.
And I did it, because no matter how many months or years go by while we may not continue to speak, I still cannot get out of my system that awakening I had with them.
I did it because even if I have to do things anonymously, against better judgment, and without hope of reconciliation, tomorrow is not promised and I don't want to leave anything unsaid, even if it's just something like "Happy Birthday."
Got Mongo? Feed On This!"
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Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Thursday, April 19, 2012
The Hungry Games
I’m fat. I know this. I do not have any delusions that I am who I am. I’m not trying to strut around in tight clothes unaware of the fact that I look like a sausage in casing. I have had a battle with weight most of my life and will probably continue to do so until I am either dead or diabetic. That doesn’t mean I have not tried to lose weight. I am pretty good at losing a few pounds here and there. Usually, I end up putting some back on but I wouldn’t consider myself in need of a Maury intervention and a crew to come cut me out of my house.
That being said, I scoff at the notion that there are people out there who are so obsessed with losing weight in order to fit into a bridal dress that they would voluntarily opt to have a nasal gastric feeding tube inserted instead of losing weight naturally. The new fad costs around $1500 and allows the “patient” to get all the nutrition they need from their feeding tube under a doctor’s supervision.
Are people that nuts?
Feeding tubes are not sexy. They are not trendy. They are not a diet fad. They are a method for keeping people fed who cannot, or will not, ingest food any other way.
A friend of mine’s father just went into hospice for the end stages of intestinal cancer. He opted to remove his feeding tube and has decided to stop treatment. He is reconciling his fate. He did not have the luxury of using the feeding tube to lose weight. He had it because it was keeping him nourished because he couldn’t eat like everyone else. I’m sure he’d be willing to trade places with these self conscious, pretentious brides, and go out for a steak dinner, instead of sitting there waiting for his body to starve itself while hopped up on morphine.
I bet Terry Schiavo would have rather been out looking for a new dress instead of being trapped in a coma with a feeding tube while these idiots are running around counting the pounds they are losing thanks to this fad.
Look, if you can't fit into your bridal dress, then you got the wrong size. Plain and simple. If you put on a few pounds due to stress or tasting all of the cookies and food for the reception, then you probably should go get on the treadmill. This insanity where people don't actually have to do any of the work in order to lose the weight is the main problem we have. Everybody's lazy. I know I could lose 20 pounds just by changing my eating habits. I'VE DONE IT. If I wanted to lose more, I could do some more exercise, too. But in order to get something out of it, you need to put some effort into it. These idiots are cheating just to achieve a certain look for one day. They are mocking the people who don't have that luxury; the ones who are stricken with disease or injury that cannot voluntarily choose to have or remove the feeding tube without suffering the consequences.
But hey, it’s a free country and people have every right to be assholes… just like me with my Twinkies.
BTW, tonight I’m going for a bacon cheese burger, cup of tortilla soup, and a warm chocolate cookie at Max & Erma’s. The only tube I’ll be using is the straw for my Diet Coke. Suck on that bridezillas.
That being said, I scoff at the notion that there are people out there who are so obsessed with losing weight in order to fit into a bridal dress that they would voluntarily opt to have a nasal gastric feeding tube inserted instead of losing weight naturally. The new fad costs around $1500 and allows the “patient” to get all the nutrition they need from their feeding tube under a doctor’s supervision.
Are people that nuts?
Feeding tubes are not sexy. They are not trendy. They are not a diet fad. They are a method for keeping people fed who cannot, or will not, ingest food any other way.
A friend of mine’s father just went into hospice for the end stages of intestinal cancer. He opted to remove his feeding tube and has decided to stop treatment. He is reconciling his fate. He did not have the luxury of using the feeding tube to lose weight. He had it because it was keeping him nourished because he couldn’t eat like everyone else. I’m sure he’d be willing to trade places with these self conscious, pretentious brides, and go out for a steak dinner, instead of sitting there waiting for his body to starve itself while hopped up on morphine.
I bet Terry Schiavo would have rather been out looking for a new dress instead of being trapped in a coma with a feeding tube while these idiots are running around counting the pounds they are losing thanks to this fad.
Look, if you can't fit into your bridal dress, then you got the wrong size. Plain and simple. If you put on a few pounds due to stress or tasting all of the cookies and food for the reception, then you probably should go get on the treadmill. This insanity where people don't actually have to do any of the work in order to lose the weight is the main problem we have. Everybody's lazy. I know I could lose 20 pounds just by changing my eating habits. I'VE DONE IT. If I wanted to lose more, I could do some more exercise, too. But in order to get something out of it, you need to put some effort into it. These idiots are cheating just to achieve a certain look for one day. They are mocking the people who don't have that luxury; the ones who are stricken with disease or injury that cannot voluntarily choose to have or remove the feeding tube without suffering the consequences.
But hey, it’s a free country and people have every right to be assholes… just like me with my Twinkies.
BTW, tonight I’m going for a bacon cheese burger, cup of tortilla soup, and a warm chocolate cookie at Max & Erma’s. The only tube I’ll be using is the straw for my Diet Coke. Suck on that bridezillas.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
God called one more amazing woman to live w/him
I didn't write this and the words are better for it. Thank you Brenna.
1944 - 2010
1944 - 2010
Today, April 11th, 2010, God called one more person to leave the earth and go to a better place. To most people she was just another person, but to me and a lot more people she was the best lady in the world. To me, she was one of my two most amazing grandmas. I'll always love her, and nothing could ever change that. She was awesome. She always took me to see movies when I was little, she was the one to always hold family dinners for holidays, or to just visit.
What's funny is that just two weeks ago, she was fine. She was happy. Then yesterday, she went into a coma from her brain bleeding. The only thing keeping her alive was a breathing machine. The doctors said anything could've caused it, but most of my family were pretty sure it was a brain tumor. Just a few months ago, she got better from one. Now look what happened. My mom and aunt told me I could talk to her, even though she couldn't respond. They said she could hear me. But I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to repeat what everyone else kept telling her over and over again. And I also felt bad knowing she couldn't reply. I knew she wouldve felt bad about that too. So I just prayed.
It was the second time I've ever seen my stepdad cry.. Its actually kind of funny but I love him too. Everyone was crying except the people who never even see my grandma much. They just looked at her. But I could tell they were sad. How couldn't they be?
The only thing that is making me not cry right this minute is how good my 2 year old cousin Bailey is handeling it all. She understands she'll never see Grammy again, but she seemed happy. She KNEW she went to a better place. She even said so.
I only wrote this so I would remember her forever. I don't know how many people will even care enough to read this, but those of you who did, thank you. Me and my family could use a lot of prayers. Thank you.
r.i.p. Grandma
we will always remember you.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Six Million Dollar Miracle
We can rebuild her – We have the technology.
That title is a bit of a misnomer. Not the miracle part, but the price tag associated with it. After all, in the 1970s, the operations that gave Steve Austin his bionic abilities may have cost around six million dollars, but in today’s terms, the actual cost attached to all of that hardware may put it closer to what the government gave AIG in TARP funds. However, to say that my Mother-in-Law was given, not only bionic parts, but a six million dollar cumulative price tag for all her surgeries is probably incorrect. In fact, they didn’t exactly add anything, more like they took pieces out. OK, I should have titled this “The Incredible Shrinking Woman.” Are these 70s and early 80s pop culture references doing anything for ya? Thought not. Well, then let’s just find the chase and cut to it.
I spoke before about my unwillingness to understand how someone can have faith in a higher power when all they’ve done is fight to keep death at bay. This time around, I think I’ll look a little more positive on the subject but I won’t give into too much praise of a higher being keeping her around. Here’s a quick rundown on what we’ve had so far.
In 1997 after a bout with a tricky case of pneumonia, she found out that she had a football sized tumor on her kidney. When they opened her up on the table, they wished that they hadn’t. RCC (Renal Cell Carcinoma) had metastasized into her lungs. They put her at stage IV and removed the tumor, along with the kidney, and an ovary. When I say “They wished they hadn’t” I mean that had they known what was going on inside her, they wouldn’t have bothered and told her to go home and be comfortable. But they didn’t. Instead, they put her into a study for an experimental treatment that would quite literally take her to death’s door in order to reboot her immune system. Consider it the Jurassic Park computer system method.
When I met her daughter, my future wife, she had already been through the treatments and come out with a clean bill of health, for now. All of the spots on her lungs had disappeared and she had been cancer free for a year. I have since learned that you are never really free from it, regardless of how well scans look.
Jump forward to 2006. For nearly 10 years, my M-I-L has had clean scans but a new spot showed up on her pancreas. Soon, the doom and gloom crept back into the thoughts of her family. Statistically speaking, for her to live past five years would have put her into a bracket of about 5%. I’m not exactly sure but I’ve heard various differences pushing her closer to a 1% bracket. But, now she had to endure more surgery.
After 12 hours on the table, the doctors in Pittsburgh removed part of her pancreas, and her spleen, making recovery a difficult process. She spent five days in recovery, more because of the lack of empty rooms than anything else, but she really didn’t look that good and being lumped together in that bullpen of other surgical patients didn’t do much for her recovery process. Still, she came out on the other side with no apparent tumors or other spots in her system. The pathology came back as renal cell cancer; her old nemesis had shot seeds into her system and found a new place to sleep.
The three years that followed gave her an opportunity to see the birth of another grandchild, my daughter. “Gammy,” as my little one refers to her, is pretty much an everyday fixture in her life as we only live a few minutes away and because of the renewed bond between mother and daughter, we see them often, if not every night. We even share the stomach flu as we all got hit with it on Valentine’s Day, providing more evidence that I should just skip holidays all together.
But then something happened. Gammy wasn’t bouncing back from the stomach flu like the rest of us. That missing spleen might have something to do with it, or it could be that something more sinister was going on in there. She began to have problems focusing. Headaches became an everyday occurrence. She started to seem confused and even stopped at a mailbox and drove through a red light. Something wasn’t right. My wife, ever the enforcer when it comes to medical issues started to harp on her about seeing a doctor and her coworkers even forced her to keep an appointment for an MRI in March of 2009. Before she made it back to her desk after the scan, the hospital had called her. She needed to go directly to the ER and consult with an oncologist and neurologist. She had a brain tumor. After the diagnosis, we all realized that these symptoms were noticed long before the stomach flu incident. At New Year’s she seemed distant.
On March 18th, she went in for surgery to remove the tumor. Considering her last surgery lasted 12 hours, we expected a long day ahead of us, but the doctors came out to see my wife and her dad after an hour and a half. What had gone wrong? Could they not operate? Was it really bad? After losing all color in the face, they were given the news. She’s out of surgery and they had already removed the entire tumor. The surgery was quick and she was out of the hospital in two days. A follow up treatment, of radiation to the area, provided extra defense in case they had missed something.
During her stay in the hospital, the announcement of her other daughter’s impeding nuptials provided a method for getting my in laws to go on vacation. In their 43 years of marriage, they had never taken one. So, in we decided to tag along with the newlyweds and get a house at the beach. It would be the first time my daughter and her Gammy would see the beach.
The trip almost got cancelled. My M-I-L started to feel shortness of breath and would get tired walking a small distance. She also developed a lump on her arm. While in the hospital to do additional scans of her abdomen, everything came together. Another mass was found and she was suffering from blood clots in her arm, legs, and lungs. She ended up back in the hospital over Mother’s Day weekend for treatment. An EKG showed a weakened heart and surgery was almost scrubbed because of her condition. If anything, vacation would be cut because of surgery to remove the mass that had now been found in her remaining ovary. Why she did not have a hysterectomy back in 1997 is beyond any of us. Soon, we had a new list of problems to address. Would she be strong enough for surgery? Is this renal cell or ovarian? Can her remaining kidney handle continued stress from the dye used in scans and another surgery?
Due to the EKG results, her surgery was being postponed for a month. The doctors did not feel that the tumor was dangerous enough to operate right now, so they felt they could wait. The blood clots were treated but they waffled on clearance for the trip. It was a 12 hour drive to the beach and she would have to keep her legs elevated and couldn’t sit for long periods of time. Having a two year old daughter would mean numerous stops along the way, so that wasn’t a problem. Also, thanks to my daughter, we needed to have a vehicle that could handle all of her things as well as ours, so we rented a Dodge Grand Caravan to make the trip. In a twist of fate, the blood clots nearly hampered but ultimately allowed for her to go on vacation. A trip, I feel, did wonders for her outlook and health. We had a three story house with lots of steps to climb, and a pool for her to exercise and relax in during the week. After we returned home, her multiple doctors all gave her a clean bill of health for surgery, citing that she was in better condition than she had been in months, perhaps years.
Skipping the Fourth of July was not an option my daughter shares a birthday with the adjoining day. A cookout/birthday party served as a celebration and feast before surgery. The following Thursday would be her latest date with the surgical blade. Because of the volatile nature of ovarian cancer, she could not be biopsied until after surgery. Running the risk of rupturing the tumor could escalate her into a higher stage. I had just learned that once you get classified as stage IV RCC, you keep that no matter how clean your scans are there was no sense in adding a high stage of ovarian cancer if it was possible.
After an hour and a half or surgery, she had been put into recovery. The gynecological oncologist sat with us in a room and discussed the procedure. He was used to see ovarian cancer on a regular basis and from what he saw, this was not it. There was a very condensed and compact area that was affected. There were no nodules or other infected tissue which suggested to him that this was indeed, renal cell cancer. Pathology could reverse that opinion but for now, we breathed a sigh of relief. When you have to root for one kind of cancer over another you start to feel like your rooting for one political candidate who is not as despicable as the other while still maintaining that they are both evil. When asked about the short length of surgery he said that it would have gone quicker, but they spent an hour cutting through a lot of scar tissue from previous surgeries in 1997 and 2006. At one point before surgery, my M-I-L wondered if they could just put a zipper in place instead of having to constantly cut her open since she’s becoming an old pro at this. I told her in recovery that the next time they ought to have it down to fifteen minutes. It could be like ordering a pizza. It’ll be done in 30 minutes or it’s free. Maybe you could start using a drive through for this. While trying not to pop a stitch from laughing at the lameness of my jokes, she said, “There won’t be another one.” I’m not sure if that means she hopes that this is the last time she’ll have to do this or that she feels that her luck has just about run out.
Think about it, while simultaneously keeping the Pittsburgh medical profession in business, she’s pared away about ever spare part you can imagine. How long before it’s something she can’t live without? She’s already a diabetic; she has OSA (Obstructive Sleep Apnea), hypertension, high blood pressure, and is prone to pulmonary emboli. She takes more drugs than the ballplayers listed on the Mitchell Report and the bands on Ozzfest. Sooner or later, she won’t be treatable. It’s not like she can take that amazing cocktail of drugs like she did in 1997. She was in perfect health back then. Now, she wouldn’t survive the extreme dosage needed when she first got diagnosed. Lesser doses may not be sufficient to rid her of more tumors.
Through all this, we have maintained that this is a chronic condition instead of a terminal one. Cancer has taken a heck of a lot of her body, but not her spirit. Approaching the back nine of her 60s has given her the frame of mind that she’s just playing with the house money and the deck has been getting colder as the time marches on. The Sword of Damocles is constantly hanging overhead waiting for her to exhale. One day, luck will run out and I hope that is well into her 90s or more as long as she can maintain a good quality of life. I know my wife will be devastated when the day comes and she wants every day she can get but she has to know that it’s not her choice and ultimately, there may come a time when she can’t fight. I’m just hoping that she goes twelve rounds with death before losing at Battleship, Clue, Electric Football, or Twister. Be that as it may, the fight rages on and she does not go gently into that good night. If there is a higher power, I think he’s just not ready for her. She is a force to be reckoned with say what you will about Mother-in-Laws; I think I’d like to keep her around.
Frankly, I think the medical profession ought to be asking her to do speaking tours. She’s beaten the odds so many times; I’m beginning to she’s unable to be killed. After all, her mother is in the upper half of the 80s and is still kicking it in an assisted living facility with an artificial hip, bouts with congestive heart failure, and some dementia. My wife also has a resilient nature as she’s come back from thyroid disease and MS to lead a normal life. So, to adjust for inflation, maybe my Mother-in-Law is the $30 million dollar woman, or perhaps just priceless.
That title is a bit of a misnomer. Not the miracle part, but the price tag associated with it. After all, in the 1970s, the operations that gave Steve Austin his bionic abilities may have cost around six million dollars, but in today’s terms, the actual cost attached to all of that hardware may put it closer to what the government gave AIG in TARP funds. However, to say that my Mother-in-Law was given, not only bionic parts, but a six million dollar cumulative price tag for all her surgeries is probably incorrect. In fact, they didn’t exactly add anything, more like they took pieces out. OK, I should have titled this “The Incredible Shrinking Woman.” Are these 70s and early 80s pop culture references doing anything for ya? Thought not. Well, then let’s just find the chase and cut to it.
I spoke before about my unwillingness to understand how someone can have faith in a higher power when all they’ve done is fight to keep death at bay. This time around, I think I’ll look a little more positive on the subject but I won’t give into too much praise of a higher being keeping her around. Here’s a quick rundown on what we’ve had so far.
In 1997 after a bout with a tricky case of pneumonia, she found out that she had a football sized tumor on her kidney. When they opened her up on the table, they wished that they hadn’t. RCC (Renal Cell Carcinoma) had metastasized into her lungs. They put her at stage IV and removed the tumor, along with the kidney, and an ovary. When I say “They wished they hadn’t” I mean that had they known what was going on inside her, they wouldn’t have bothered and told her to go home and be comfortable. But they didn’t. Instead, they put her into a study for an experimental treatment that would quite literally take her to death’s door in order to reboot her immune system. Consider it the Jurassic Park computer system method.
When I met her daughter, my future wife, she had already been through the treatments and come out with a clean bill of health, for now. All of the spots on her lungs had disappeared and she had been cancer free for a year. I have since learned that you are never really free from it, regardless of how well scans look.
Jump forward to 2006. For nearly 10 years, my M-I-L has had clean scans but a new spot showed up on her pancreas. Soon, the doom and gloom crept back into the thoughts of her family. Statistically speaking, for her to live past five years would have put her into a bracket of about 5%. I’m not exactly sure but I’ve heard various differences pushing her closer to a 1% bracket. But, now she had to endure more surgery.
After 12 hours on the table, the doctors in Pittsburgh removed part of her pancreas, and her spleen, making recovery a difficult process. She spent five days in recovery, more because of the lack of empty rooms than anything else, but she really didn’t look that good and being lumped together in that bullpen of other surgical patients didn’t do much for her recovery process. Still, she came out on the other side with no apparent tumors or other spots in her system. The pathology came back as renal cell cancer; her old nemesis had shot seeds into her system and found a new place to sleep.
The three years that followed gave her an opportunity to see the birth of another grandchild, my daughter. “Gammy,” as my little one refers to her, is pretty much an everyday fixture in her life as we only live a few minutes away and because of the renewed bond between mother and daughter, we see them often, if not every night. We even share the stomach flu as we all got hit with it on Valentine’s Day, providing more evidence that I should just skip holidays all together.
But then something happened. Gammy wasn’t bouncing back from the stomach flu like the rest of us. That missing spleen might have something to do with it, or it could be that something more sinister was going on in there. She began to have problems focusing. Headaches became an everyday occurrence. She started to seem confused and even stopped at a mailbox and drove through a red light. Something wasn’t right. My wife, ever the enforcer when it comes to medical issues started to harp on her about seeing a doctor and her coworkers even forced her to keep an appointment for an MRI in March of 2009. Before she made it back to her desk after the scan, the hospital had called her. She needed to go directly to the ER and consult with an oncologist and neurologist. She had a brain tumor. After the diagnosis, we all realized that these symptoms were noticed long before the stomach flu incident. At New Year’s she seemed distant.
On March 18th, she went in for surgery to remove the tumor. Considering her last surgery lasted 12 hours, we expected a long day ahead of us, but the doctors came out to see my wife and her dad after an hour and a half. What had gone wrong? Could they not operate? Was it really bad? After losing all color in the face, they were given the news. She’s out of surgery and they had already removed the entire tumor. The surgery was quick and she was out of the hospital in two days. A follow up treatment, of radiation to the area, provided extra defense in case they had missed something.
During her stay in the hospital, the announcement of her other daughter’s impeding nuptials provided a method for getting my in laws to go on vacation. In their 43 years of marriage, they had never taken one. So, in we decided to tag along with the newlyweds and get a house at the beach. It would be the first time my daughter and her Gammy would see the beach.
The trip almost got cancelled. My M-I-L started to feel shortness of breath and would get tired walking a small distance. She also developed a lump on her arm. While in the hospital to do additional scans of her abdomen, everything came together. Another mass was found and she was suffering from blood clots in her arm, legs, and lungs. She ended up back in the hospital over Mother’s Day weekend for treatment. An EKG showed a weakened heart and surgery was almost scrubbed because of her condition. If anything, vacation would be cut because of surgery to remove the mass that had now been found in her remaining ovary. Why she did not have a hysterectomy back in 1997 is beyond any of us. Soon, we had a new list of problems to address. Would she be strong enough for surgery? Is this renal cell or ovarian? Can her remaining kidney handle continued stress from the dye used in scans and another surgery?
Due to the EKG results, her surgery was being postponed for a month. The doctors did not feel that the tumor was dangerous enough to operate right now, so they felt they could wait. The blood clots were treated but they waffled on clearance for the trip. It was a 12 hour drive to the beach and she would have to keep her legs elevated and couldn’t sit for long periods of time. Having a two year old daughter would mean numerous stops along the way, so that wasn’t a problem. Also, thanks to my daughter, we needed to have a vehicle that could handle all of her things as well as ours, so we rented a Dodge Grand Caravan to make the trip. In a twist of fate, the blood clots nearly hampered but ultimately allowed for her to go on vacation. A trip, I feel, did wonders for her outlook and health. We had a three story house with lots of steps to climb, and a pool for her to exercise and relax in during the week. After we returned home, her multiple doctors all gave her a clean bill of health for surgery, citing that she was in better condition than she had been in months, perhaps years.
Skipping the Fourth of July was not an option my daughter shares a birthday with the adjoining day. A cookout/birthday party served as a celebration and feast before surgery. The following Thursday would be her latest date with the surgical blade. Because of the volatile nature of ovarian cancer, she could not be biopsied until after surgery. Running the risk of rupturing the tumor could escalate her into a higher stage. I had just learned that once you get classified as stage IV RCC, you keep that no matter how clean your scans are there was no sense in adding a high stage of ovarian cancer if it was possible.
After an hour and a half or surgery, she had been put into recovery. The gynecological oncologist sat with us in a room and discussed the procedure. He was used to see ovarian cancer on a regular basis and from what he saw, this was not it. There was a very condensed and compact area that was affected. There were no nodules or other infected tissue which suggested to him that this was indeed, renal cell cancer. Pathology could reverse that opinion but for now, we breathed a sigh of relief. When you have to root for one kind of cancer over another you start to feel like your rooting for one political candidate who is not as despicable as the other while still maintaining that they are both evil. When asked about the short length of surgery he said that it would have gone quicker, but they spent an hour cutting through a lot of scar tissue from previous surgeries in 1997 and 2006. At one point before surgery, my M-I-L wondered if they could just put a zipper in place instead of having to constantly cut her open since she’s becoming an old pro at this. I told her in recovery that the next time they ought to have it down to fifteen minutes. It could be like ordering a pizza. It’ll be done in 30 minutes or it’s free. Maybe you could start using a drive through for this. While trying not to pop a stitch from laughing at the lameness of my jokes, she said, “There won’t be another one.” I’m not sure if that means she hopes that this is the last time she’ll have to do this or that she feels that her luck has just about run out.
Think about it, while simultaneously keeping the Pittsburgh medical profession in business, she’s pared away about ever spare part you can imagine. How long before it’s something she can’t live without? She’s already a diabetic; she has OSA (Obstructive Sleep Apnea), hypertension, high blood pressure, and is prone to pulmonary emboli. She takes more drugs than the ballplayers listed on the Mitchell Report and the bands on Ozzfest. Sooner or later, she won’t be treatable. It’s not like she can take that amazing cocktail of drugs like she did in 1997. She was in perfect health back then. Now, she wouldn’t survive the extreme dosage needed when she first got diagnosed. Lesser doses may not be sufficient to rid her of more tumors.
Through all this, we have maintained that this is a chronic condition instead of a terminal one. Cancer has taken a heck of a lot of her body, but not her spirit. Approaching the back nine of her 60s has given her the frame of mind that she’s just playing with the house money and the deck has been getting colder as the time marches on. The Sword of Damocles is constantly hanging overhead waiting for her to exhale. One day, luck will run out and I hope that is well into her 90s or more as long as she can maintain a good quality of life. I know my wife will be devastated when the day comes and she wants every day she can get but she has to know that it’s not her choice and ultimately, there may come a time when she can’t fight. I’m just hoping that she goes twelve rounds with death before losing at Battleship, Clue, Electric Football, or Twister. Be that as it may, the fight rages on and she does not go gently into that good night. If there is a higher power, I think he’s just not ready for her. She is a force to be reckoned with say what you will about Mother-in-Laws; I think I’d like to keep her around.
Frankly, I think the medical profession ought to be asking her to do speaking tours. She’s beaten the odds so many times; I’m beginning to she’s unable to be killed. After all, her mother is in the upper half of the 80s and is still kicking it in an assisted living facility with an artificial hip, bouts with congestive heart failure, and some dementia. My wife also has a resilient nature as she’s come back from thyroid disease and MS to lead a normal life. So, to adjust for inflation, maybe my Mother-in-Law is the $30 million dollar woman, or perhaps just priceless.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
It's Not a Tumor
Oh, wait. it is!
The plot device. In the hands of a skilled writer it can be apparent in the story yet unnoticed until it is used to resolve the action. In the hands of a bad writer, it can bring the action to an abrupt halt or throw everything out of joint in a contrived revelation to the characters. An example that crosses both boundaries of good and bad is the Ruby Slippers in The Wizard of Oz. The Ruby Slippers are the main motivation behind the Wicked Witch of the West’s pursuit of Dorothy, even more so than the fact that she did a house drop off the top ropes onto her sister. However, after the witch is destroyed they serve no real purpose until we she misses the balloon ride to Kansas. Feeling distraught, she is then told by the Glinda that she could use the Ruby Slippers to River Dance her way back home. The whole time she had the method to get home but it was a little contrived that after all this, all she had to do was click her heels. It’s a bit of lazy writing in my opinion.
The same goes for television shows, primarily in the genre of a soap opera. Now before I get blasted here, you can classify a Soap Opera as something you watch during the daytime while eating bonbons or you can look at what it is derived from, the serial drama. In both cases, the storyline progressives across multiple episodes, sometimes seasons, and yet sometimes they are tidied up or ended with a bad plot device.
In one of my many white board sessions, trying to explain how LOST’s time travelling conundrums work, I felt a sharp pain in my head. I was getting frustrated because I get what’s going on due to my several years of watching these kinds of shows like Quantum Leap and Back to the Future. She can’t grasp the fact that both sets of characters are being shown on screen in the same episode but 33 years apart from each other. Maybe the lack of the “Whoosh” sound is the problem. Anyway, that sharp pain didn’t give me a lot of worry, but considering recent events like my Mother in Law having a brain tumor and one of my friends from high school dying from brain cancer, I thought that maybe this was more than just a headache. It’s not. Don’t worry. You have to have a brain before you can get cancer in it.
But that sparked a longer debate between me and the misses. It seems that a lot of top notch television shows are using brain tumors to further their storyline or resolve them. If your DVR is at 98% because you’re behind on shows like I am, you may want to skip the next paragraphs.
ER – Dr. Mark Green
In the series 15 year history, it’s not hard to believe that a main character would develop a brain tumor. In this case, the actor wanted to move on to other opportunities and his character was written out after dying from a brain tumor.
HOUSE – Dr. Gregory House
OK, this is a false positive. House only faked a brain tumor but still, I’m seeing a pattern.
Grey’s Anatomy – Izzie Stevens
There it is. The tri-fecta of television doctor’s “suffering” (I know...see HOUSE) from a brain tumor. In one of the most bizarre turns on the tube, Izzie’s skin cancer metastasizes into a brain tumor. The first clue may have been her hoping in bed with dead Denny Duquette. The real clue for those with forensic television plot line backgrounds would have been the clinical trials that Derek and Meredith had been conducting. Bad bad bad.
Bones – Seeley Booth
At least by giving Booth a brain tumor, we get some hysterical hallucinations. I don’t mean dead soldiers helping him out of a ship that is rigged to explode. I mean seeing and talking to Stewie Griffin, an animated character from the Family Guy. It also drives the plot to make Booth the Baby Daddy to Bones’ Bundle.
All My Children – Jonathan Lavery
Of course, a Soap Opera is the brain tumor’s playground or at least the devilish writer’s playground. Although, it happened three years ago, I point out this instance because the discovery of a brain tumor in this character lead to a Deus ex machine type resolution to his storyline. Lavery came onto the scene, physically abused his girlfriend, killed his brother, and tried to blow up his other brother’s wife and friend, killed yet two more people (one a prominent character on the show), and then supposedly blew up in an explosion. After awhile it was discovered that his sister was taking care of him and he was admitted to a hospital and operated on to remove the evil tumor that caused all his mayhem, leaving him with the mental state of a child.
Eli Stone – Eli Stone
Not a brain tumor, but an aneurysm drives the entire plot of this prophetic show about a Lawyer with a conscience. Yeah, it got cancelled. Too unbelievable. Not, the fact that he had visions of George Michael dancing in his living room but that he had a conscience.
Desperate Housewives – Noah Taylor
Before zipping ahead five years into the future….yeah OK, Hello? LOST much? The show had a character named Zach whose mother not only killed herself in the pilot but provides narration from beyond the grave. Turns out Zach was adopted and his maternal grandfather, dying of a…you guessed it, brain tumor, was willing to leave everything to him if he proved himself a man. He did by unplugging grandpa’s life support, killing him.
Life on Mars – Det. Sam Tyler
Being an import of the BBC version of the show, it was hard to believe that the reason behind the problems with Sam Tyler’s grasp of reality would be a brain tumor. Yet, fans speculated on message boards and forums that the series would end with him having one. Nope, turns out he’s an astronaut with a garbled simulation running in his head….probably on Vista.
The Unusuals – Eric Delahoy
Trying hard to be like M*A*S*H and actually scoring well in some areas, this comedy drama has one of its characters dying of brain cancer. This leads to his over the top attempts to either be a hero or kill himself.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer – Joyce Summers
Ok, it was 10 years ago, but come on, but one of the best uses of a brain tumor in a show was the fifth season of Buffy. Although, the brain tumor was successfully removed, an aneurysm ultimately killed off Joyce Summers and leaving Buffy to not only save the world from the Hellmouth, but also run a household and help raise her teenage sister, Dawn. One of the best episodes of the series, The Body, featured no soundtrack and delves into the human nature of its lead character, a strong heroic figure that can kill demons, vampires, and all other sort of supernatural beings yet cannot save her own mother from death by natural means.
Well, that’s all I got but I’m sure I’ve missed a few and hopefully, you all will feel free to point them out. It is sweeps after all. There’s bound to be a few more shows out there with characters who have brain tumors. In fact, I think Fox just greenlit a show this fall about a brain tumor living in New York City, trying to make it as an actor. Is he kidding? Good night, everyone.
The plot device. In the hands of a skilled writer it can be apparent in the story yet unnoticed until it is used to resolve the action. In the hands of a bad writer, it can bring the action to an abrupt halt or throw everything out of joint in a contrived revelation to the characters. An example that crosses both boundaries of good and bad is the Ruby Slippers in The Wizard of Oz. The Ruby Slippers are the main motivation behind the Wicked Witch of the West’s pursuit of Dorothy, even more so than the fact that she did a house drop off the top ropes onto her sister. However, after the witch is destroyed they serve no real purpose until we she misses the balloon ride to Kansas. Feeling distraught, she is then told by the Glinda that she could use the Ruby Slippers to River Dance her way back home. The whole time she had the method to get home but it was a little contrived that after all this, all she had to do was click her heels. It’s a bit of lazy writing in my opinion.
The same goes for television shows, primarily in the genre of a soap opera. Now before I get blasted here, you can classify a Soap Opera as something you watch during the daytime while eating bonbons or you can look at what it is derived from, the serial drama. In both cases, the storyline progressives across multiple episodes, sometimes seasons, and yet sometimes they are tidied up or ended with a bad plot device.
In one of my many white board sessions, trying to explain how LOST’s time travelling conundrums work, I felt a sharp pain in my head. I was getting frustrated because I get what’s going on due to my several years of watching these kinds of shows like Quantum Leap and Back to the Future. She can’t grasp the fact that both sets of characters are being shown on screen in the same episode but 33 years apart from each other. Maybe the lack of the “Whoosh” sound is the problem. Anyway, that sharp pain didn’t give me a lot of worry, but considering recent events like my Mother in Law having a brain tumor and one of my friends from high school dying from brain cancer, I thought that maybe this was more than just a headache. It’s not. Don’t worry. You have to have a brain before you can get cancer in it.
But that sparked a longer debate between me and the misses. It seems that a lot of top notch television shows are using brain tumors to further their storyline or resolve them. If your DVR is at 98% because you’re behind on shows like I am, you may want to skip the next paragraphs.
ER – Dr. Mark Green
In the series 15 year history, it’s not hard to believe that a main character would develop a brain tumor. In this case, the actor wanted to move on to other opportunities and his character was written out after dying from a brain tumor.
HOUSE – Dr. Gregory House
OK, this is a false positive. House only faked a brain tumor but still, I’m seeing a pattern.
Grey’s Anatomy – Izzie Stevens
There it is. The tri-fecta of television doctor’s “suffering” (I know...see HOUSE) from a brain tumor. In one of the most bizarre turns on the tube, Izzie’s skin cancer metastasizes into a brain tumor. The first clue may have been her hoping in bed with dead Denny Duquette. The real clue for those with forensic television plot line backgrounds would have been the clinical trials that Derek and Meredith had been conducting. Bad bad bad.
Bones – Seeley Booth
At least by giving Booth a brain tumor, we get some hysterical hallucinations. I don’t mean dead soldiers helping him out of a ship that is rigged to explode. I mean seeing and talking to Stewie Griffin, an animated character from the Family Guy. It also drives the plot to make Booth the Baby Daddy to Bones’ Bundle.
All My Children – Jonathan Lavery
Of course, a Soap Opera is the brain tumor’s playground or at least the devilish writer’s playground. Although, it happened three years ago, I point out this instance because the discovery of a brain tumor in this character lead to a Deus ex machine type resolution to his storyline. Lavery came onto the scene, physically abused his girlfriend, killed his brother, and tried to blow up his other brother’s wife and friend, killed yet two more people (one a prominent character on the show), and then supposedly blew up in an explosion. After awhile it was discovered that his sister was taking care of him and he was admitted to a hospital and operated on to remove the evil tumor that caused all his mayhem, leaving him with the mental state of a child.
Eli Stone – Eli Stone
Not a brain tumor, but an aneurysm drives the entire plot of this prophetic show about a Lawyer with a conscience. Yeah, it got cancelled. Too unbelievable. Not, the fact that he had visions of George Michael dancing in his living room but that he had a conscience.
Desperate Housewives – Noah Taylor
Before zipping ahead five years into the future….yeah OK, Hello? LOST much? The show had a character named Zach whose mother not only killed herself in the pilot but provides narration from beyond the grave. Turns out Zach was adopted and his maternal grandfather, dying of a…you guessed it, brain tumor, was willing to leave everything to him if he proved himself a man. He did by unplugging grandpa’s life support, killing him.
Life on Mars – Det. Sam Tyler
Being an import of the BBC version of the show, it was hard to believe that the reason behind the problems with Sam Tyler’s grasp of reality would be a brain tumor. Yet, fans speculated on message boards and forums that the series would end with him having one. Nope, turns out he’s an astronaut with a garbled simulation running in his head….probably on Vista.
The Unusuals – Eric Delahoy
Trying hard to be like M*A*S*H and actually scoring well in some areas, this comedy drama has one of its characters dying of brain cancer. This leads to his over the top attempts to either be a hero or kill himself.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer – Joyce Summers
Ok, it was 10 years ago, but come on, but one of the best uses of a brain tumor in a show was the fifth season of Buffy. Although, the brain tumor was successfully removed, an aneurysm ultimately killed off Joyce Summers and leaving Buffy to not only save the world from the Hellmouth, but also run a household and help raise her teenage sister, Dawn. One of the best episodes of the series, The Body, featured no soundtrack and delves into the human nature of its lead character, a strong heroic figure that can kill demons, vampires, and all other sort of supernatural beings yet cannot save her own mother from death by natural means.
Well, that’s all I got but I’m sure I’ve missed a few and hopefully, you all will feel free to point them out. It is sweeps after all. There’s bound to be a few more shows out there with characters who have brain tumors. In fact, I think Fox just greenlit a show this fall about a brain tumor living in New York City, trying to make it as an actor. Is he kidding? Good night, everyone.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I'm sorry. Eleven Years Too Late
We met in high school and sort of got put into that same social group of misfits and outcasts. You had such a strange personality and at times I even felt that I couldn’t connect on your level. Even your name was different than any I had ever known. Yet, there was more going on there beneath the surface, but I was too stupid and immature to realize just how unique an individual you really were. For all your quirks and unashamed security in how you presented yourself, I, like most people, simply chalked it up to you just being a little weird. I’m sorry it took 11 years to realize it.
The times that I didn’t have my head up my ass were fun. Regardless of your style, you made it worthwhile. There was the games of hide and seek, or a variant of such, in your old Victorian home that kept us all laughing until our sides hurt. Once, we came to your place and just sat out on the roof watching the trains go on by through the neighborhood. You let me call your parents by your personal nicknames for them. I’m sorry I took advantage of your friendship.
We would watch crazy movies like The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Clue at your house. Sometimes I would wonder how someone could love Rocky Horror as much as you did? You had several versions of the soundtrack and I thought that odd. Yet, in my own personal library I have multiple versions of the Star Wars movies in various formats and I don’t find that out of the ordinary. I’m sorry I was a hypocrite.
When you needed someone most, I didn’t see it. You had a rough time with a relationship and even after it imploded, you gave me and other friends all the liquor from the wedding that never was. We spent that summer driving around with a floating bar, always remembering to put more ice in the trunk until we finished the beer. We had that party at that lodge in the woods and I bartended with your booze. I’m sorry I didn’t make you another drink.
We hung out in small amounts and sometimes I felt that best. I was such a prick. Anybody in this world should be happy to have a friend call them even when they would rather not be bothered. I’m guilty just like everyone in the world, perhaps more so, because I could see what I was doing. I wasn’t oblivious, I just choose to continue the practice. You would call, and I would either be busy or wouldn’t answer the phone. It’s not that I think I was that important, but you were. You deserved my time and I didn’t give it. I would have rather sat at home in silence or with the inane blaring of a show on television that I half ignored than hear your voice and your thoughts. You wanted to hang out and I acted like I was too busy for you. I didn’t even have a job at the time. I had all the free time in the world, yet I couldn’t be bothered. I’m sorry I didn’t answer you.
Then it all stopped. You were somewhere in the world and I was in my own place. You were a picture in a yearbook or an anecdote that I would pull out when I would talk about my old life. Maybe you finally realized I wasn’t worth it. I mean, how dare I believe that my presence would be uplifting or warranted. Maybe you were happy I was so far on the peripheral that the thought of our time together was a footnote when you heard a song or watched a movie. I’m sure there were other people who saw what I didn’t and they took the time. Now, I’m probably extremely arrogant or pretentious to assume that my friendship was anything special. The fact that I’m even writing this, now, means I think having me as a friend was worth something and that’s a pretty big showing of testicular fortitude on my part. It wasn’t until 11 years went by and then someone, who I hadn’t spoken to in nearly as long, said you were sick and that there probably wasn’t much more time left. Suddenly, I could make time. Finally, I got it. I had decided that I had been stupid and should come see you. I’m sorry I didn’t.
I can make 1000 excuses as to why I didn’t. The biggest was that I was embarrassed. I should be the last person you would want to see. Where was I? Like every other time you were in my life for one reason or another, I dropped the ball. There’s always tomorrow, right? At one time or another we probably both had that same thought. Maybe not at the same time but more than likely we both looked ahead at our future and figured there would always be more time for everything. You got robbed. I’m sorry I have time and you don’t.
I was so wrapped up in my own self indulgent bullshit that I could never find five minutes to get in touch with someone who I used to call my ‘friend’ without pausing. I threw that term around like I had a sense of entitlement. I didn’t put nearly enough time into what that word meant. Now I don’t have that chance. No, not chance, privilege, honor, freedom, pleasure. Any number of words could describe what your friendship meant and that is gone. I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry you took a chance on my sorry ass. I’m sorry you got sick. I’m sorry you died. I’m sorry Margd.
The times that I didn’t have my head up my ass were fun. Regardless of your style, you made it worthwhile. There was the games of hide and seek, or a variant of such, in your old Victorian home that kept us all laughing until our sides hurt. Once, we came to your place and just sat out on the roof watching the trains go on by through the neighborhood. You let me call your parents by your personal nicknames for them. I’m sorry I took advantage of your friendship.
We would watch crazy movies like The Rocky Horror Picture Show or Clue at your house. Sometimes I would wonder how someone could love Rocky Horror as much as you did? You had several versions of the soundtrack and I thought that odd. Yet, in my own personal library I have multiple versions of the Star Wars movies in various formats and I don’t find that out of the ordinary. I’m sorry I was a hypocrite.
When you needed someone most, I didn’t see it. You had a rough time with a relationship and even after it imploded, you gave me and other friends all the liquor from the wedding that never was. We spent that summer driving around with a floating bar, always remembering to put more ice in the trunk until we finished the beer. We had that party at that lodge in the woods and I bartended with your booze. I’m sorry I didn’t make you another drink.
We hung out in small amounts and sometimes I felt that best. I was such a prick. Anybody in this world should be happy to have a friend call them even when they would rather not be bothered. I’m guilty just like everyone in the world, perhaps more so, because I could see what I was doing. I wasn’t oblivious, I just choose to continue the practice. You would call, and I would either be busy or wouldn’t answer the phone. It’s not that I think I was that important, but you were. You deserved my time and I didn’t give it. I would have rather sat at home in silence or with the inane blaring of a show on television that I half ignored than hear your voice and your thoughts. You wanted to hang out and I acted like I was too busy for you. I didn’t even have a job at the time. I had all the free time in the world, yet I couldn’t be bothered. I’m sorry I didn’t answer you.
Then it all stopped. You were somewhere in the world and I was in my own place. You were a picture in a yearbook or an anecdote that I would pull out when I would talk about my old life. Maybe you finally realized I wasn’t worth it. I mean, how dare I believe that my presence would be uplifting or warranted. Maybe you were happy I was so far on the peripheral that the thought of our time together was a footnote when you heard a song or watched a movie. I’m sure there were other people who saw what I didn’t and they took the time. Now, I’m probably extremely arrogant or pretentious to assume that my friendship was anything special. The fact that I’m even writing this, now, means I think having me as a friend was worth something and that’s a pretty big showing of testicular fortitude on my part. It wasn’t until 11 years went by and then someone, who I hadn’t spoken to in nearly as long, said you were sick and that there probably wasn’t much more time left. Suddenly, I could make time. Finally, I got it. I had decided that I had been stupid and should come see you. I’m sorry I didn’t.
I can make 1000 excuses as to why I didn’t. The biggest was that I was embarrassed. I should be the last person you would want to see. Where was I? Like every other time you were in my life for one reason or another, I dropped the ball. There’s always tomorrow, right? At one time or another we probably both had that same thought. Maybe not at the same time but more than likely we both looked ahead at our future and figured there would always be more time for everything. You got robbed. I’m sorry I have time and you don’t.
I was so wrapped up in my own self indulgent bullshit that I could never find five minutes to get in touch with someone who I used to call my ‘friend’ without pausing. I threw that term around like I had a sense of entitlement. I didn’t put nearly enough time into what that word meant. Now I don’t have that chance. No, not chance, privilege, honor, freedom, pleasure. Any number of words could describe what your friendship meant and that is gone. I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry you took a chance on my sorry ass. I’m sorry you got sick. I’m sorry you died. I’m sorry Margd.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A Job More Important Than Brain Surgeon
I haven’t been posting with my normal frequency. A couple of posts back I went into great detail about my Mother-in-Law’s diagnosis with a brain tumor. For any of those of you who are wondering, the prognosis is good. Let me start off by giving a big thanks and kudos to the staff and doctors of UPMC Shadyside. Anyone familiar with medicine and hospital care has probably heard of the UPMC Health System. Being a resident of the Southwestern Pennsylvania area, we have access to some of the most cutting edge technology in hospitals. Granted, there are bigger and more advanced facilities but we hold our own here. The care my Mother-In-Law received was excellent and the staff should be commended on their skills. I’d also like to send a big shout out to Wendy’s for their Baconator Combo Meal and PBS Kids Sprout, but more on that later.
Last I had stated, my wife’s Mother went through an MRI and was admitted to hospital for testing. Two days in the ER and two days in the Neurosurgery wing later, she came home and prepared for surgery. They had given her steroids to reduce the swelling which had caused the loopy behavior. Now, they were going to go in and remove a tumor, roughly 5 cm in size. She was going to endure about four hours of surgery, three to four days of recovery in the hospital and two weeks’ worth of home recovery before going back to work. Truthfully, that’s not too bad. They don’t expect any rehabilitation or adverse effects from poking her in the head. They’re were off on their estimates.
Now before you start to sink and think the worst, realize I said they were off on their estimates. I didn’t say how. It turns out she was in surgery for little more than an hour and a half and was awake immediately after. She spent Wednesday evening and most of Thursday in ICU recovery and then got moved to a room in the Neurosurgery wing. She came home on Friday. The only hurdle we have left to clear is the two weeks of home recovery. See, no doom and gloom.
While I can’t go into any great details about her experience I can give you a glimpse into what it is like as a spectator to the event. Because, as you know, it’s all about me. From my perspective, I’ve had to watch from the outside looking in on the ups and downs of my Mother-in-Law’s health issues. Only recently have I become a more active player but the recent events have been more of an exercise in child management than moral support.
When I got the call from my MIL, as she will be referenced here on out, I was sitting at my desk like always. I had been conversing with her cousin about her impeding MRI and she had mentioned about my MIL stopping at mailboxes and running red lights on the way there. She had been acting rather distant and confused for a month. She seemed meek and this is a woman that is a mama bear. She will knock you down and tell you like it is. For her to have this look of confusion on her face when trying to eat her dinner, you know something is wrong.
And the MRI almost didn’t happen. She had an appointment with her PCP and was planning on telling them everything was fine. My wife, a new mama bear on her way to full membership, was going with her to make sure they understood what was really happening. She helped to get the MRI in the works. Then, my MIL coworkers kept the wheel spinning when my MIL decided she was going to just cancel or reschedule the MRI because she felt fine. They forced her to go…but nobody offered to drive, unfortunately.
So, there I am twiddling away the afternoon when I got the call. “You need to go home now. I need to go to the ER and you won’t have a babysitter for the afternoon.” I didn’t really understand how it all worked. I just did what I was told. I left work, and started home. She called me on my cell and asked if I was on my way. I missed part of the message. Originally, I thought I was going home as her husband, our babysitter, was going to be on his way to pick her up for the trip to the ER. Apparently, I was to take her home, first. Luckily, I was only at the other end of the road her office is on and turned around.
In the car, she quickly tried to contact some people and seemed with it more than usual. I asked her if her or her husband had told my wife, yet. They hadn’t and I specifically told them not to. I would take care of it when I got there. My fear was that one of them would call and tell her on the phone while our daughter was in her presence. Knowing my wife, I was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face and her distressed look would upset the baby. Since our daughter is still less than two years old, she doesn’t quite understand what is about to happen but she does sense tension and despair and her empathic ability carries over into her mood. Her world was going to be thrown upside down and I wanted it to try and stay clear of the debris.
I dropped my MIL off and headed home. The three minute drive from one house to the other wasn’t long enough in my opinion. Here I was about to tell my wife that her Mother was going to the ER and that she needed to contact her oncologist and have him consult with a neurosurgeon. There’s no easy way to cram all that medical jargon into a more digestible chunk without sounding insincere or flippant. I practiced again and again how I would tell her. Not to mention, I was going to have to somehow deliver the bad news with a smile and upbeat demeanor so that my daughter doesn’t catch onto it. I decided to wing it as I pulled into the driveway. My wife was just getting out of the shower and was puzzled as to why I was there instead of her Dad. She had already sensed something was wrong and I immediately asked her if the baby was napping. Luckily, she had just gone down and my wife had every opportunity to act naturally.
She only caught three words out of my entire speech. “ER”, “Oncologist” and “Neurosurgeon.” Everything else was white noise. She began wandering around the house not making any logical motions. Putting things away that didn’t present any issue being out. Trying to get ready to teach lessons that she was going to have to cancel because she was going to go to the hospital. I asked her if she wanted me to take her or to stay with our daughter while she went. She needed me to be there so, I called my Mother to come and sit with the baby. While my wife called her students, I made every possible provision to ensure a smooth stay for my Mom because I didn’t know when we’d be back. I filled up the gas in our car so that if she had to travel, she had a baby seat. I moved all of the cats, their food and their litter box into our room. She’s allergic. I got out different foods and snacks for them to have for dinner and I started listing all of our cell numbers and what hospital we’d be at on the refrigerator.
Our daughter woke up right before my Mother arrived which is nice because she sees us first. That keeps her life simple and normal. We left for the ER and found out that there was some kind of mass on my MIL’s brain and that they needed to reduce the swelling first. This was the cause for her mental state. That state seemed fine to me as she and the nurse attending to her in the ER had a very upbeat and snappy banter about needle sticks, health care, and all around bedside manner. I don’t know if she was using humor and snarky comments as a defense mechanism but it worked. The nurse was laughing hysterically as were we.
After three more days in the hospital, my MIL came home with a plan of action. The surgeon was confident about procedure and she was scheduled for a Wednesday surgery. I took off work for the last half of the week and got the marching orders.
Wednesday: My wife and FIL were going down with my MIL for surgery. I was staying home until the baby awoke and then will transport her to my parents and join my wife at the hospital.
Thursday: My daughter had a doctor’s appointment, so I was going to be with her, then probably wouldn’t see my wife until late.
Friday: Everything was probably just status quo in recovery and I could go to work and then take over watching the little one while my wife goes to the hospital.
Weekend: Play by ear.
I did what I could to keep busy in the quiet of my house while my daughter slept. I fiddled with my computer, caught up on my DVR recordings and generally became bored out of my mind. Meanwhile, my MIL was having her head cracked open like a walnut so that they could look inside for something that didn’t belong. Once the baby was up, I fed her, packed her whole world into the car and left for my 40 minute drive to my parents. After running down the list of things I could remember, I parted with my daughter and headed for Pittsburgh. One thing I will share with you about this experience. I’ve acquired some new skills. I am now able to eat a full meal from Wendy’s, including a frosty, while driving 65 mph on the Turnpike. Previously, I had always required two hands to eat a Frosty. They require a fork. A straw just doesn’t cut it. I managed to be able to place it in the cup holder and spoon out the frosty goodness without dripping. Both Friday of the last week and today I had to grab my lunch on the go from Wendy’s and I have gained a huge love of the Baconator sandwich. I highly recommend picking up one…or three.
I got to the hospital around 4pm and sat with my extended family in the ICU family lounge. As I stated earlier, surgery was abnormally quick. It was the kind of situation where you think the worst. The kind where the doctor informs you that there was no way to do the operation because of the tumor or that she arrested before they could even get it all out. Seeing a doctor that quick is enough to make your stomach fall out of your ass. Luckily, it was just a quick surgery.
We were allowed to see her in ICU soon after and she looked like a reject from a punk show or someone that had passed out at a party before removing their shoes. Her hair was all messed up with red and yellow patches of color and there was marker writing near her temple. I couldn’t read what was written but in my sick and twisted sense of humor I asked if that was where they notated to “DO NOT CUT” or “CUT LEFT OF HERE.” She had a pounding headache which was normal but had very good cognitive skills.
My wife was a bundle of nerves and constantly needled the doctors for more information prompting my FIL to ask for some Duct Tape. I could understand her state of mind. She and her Mother are very close and ever since her first diagnosis of renal cell cancer in 97, she has become very attached to her. I fear one day it will be very, very hard. I just hope that it’s a situation where she goes in her sleep as a very old woman from natural causes. It’s never easy to lose a parent but this is a connection that transcends normal Mother-Daughter relationships. You have to admire that. One of the aspects of this family that I have grown to love is how Daughters take care of their Mothers, young and old alike.
Finally allowing her to get some much needed rest, we went to pick up our Daughter to get some normalcy in our evening. She was very good for my parents and my wife decided and her parents recommended that she needed to stay home on Thursday as nothing new was going to happen. No test results were going to come in on the tissue that was removed. She wasn’t going to have any changes in care. She needed to just rest and my wife needed to let her. She also needed to go with me to our Daughter’s doctor appointment as I am still a novice when it comes to handling all the particulars.
Come Friday, my wife was simply going in with her Father to help get her Mother home. This was a highly improbable event. After having major brain surgery on Wednesday, she was coming home on Friday. I understand that patient turnaround in a major hospital is essential to maintain, but I just couldn’t believe that she was cleared for this. Granted, when my wife was in for the birth of our child, she opted to come home a day early because she was ready to climb the walls. This was something she regretted as she really needed another day of recovery in a hospital setting. You live and you learn. However, cesarean births and brain surgery are two different matters, yet my wife was in the hospital longer than her Mother in this respect.
While my wife got her Mother settled in and cleaned up around the house in preparation for the inevitable guests and well wishers to arrive, I stayed home once again and watched our Daughter. Since I wasn’t going to be dropping her off anywhere it was just a Daddy-Daughter day and we watched television. First there was Zaboomafoo. Then there was Barney & Friends. Next, was Play With Me, Sesame. Finally, there was Caillou. My Daughter was enthralled and sat on my lap with her “Blangy” (Blanket) and her “BaJoose” (Bottle of Juice) during most of the block of kids programming. Otherwise, she was playing with her Mrs. Potato Head or other toys scattered about our living room.
By Saturday, things were returning to normal. My wife was slowly getting back into her routine. My MIL was slowly recovering all her faculties. And I was slowly recovering from all the junk food and Baconators I had been eating over the last week. Wanting to do something special for me in all this, my wife said we should go shopping and said it was time to get the Wii. This is the same Wii I have mentioned in Free Wii 4 Me: Parts One and Two. I finally got it and boy are my arms tired.
So, while I wasn’t an active participant in all my wife’s family drama concerning her Mother and the tumor, I played, what I felt was an equally important and vital role. Because sometimes, the biggest impact and contribution you can make in any stressful and complex situation is to just keep the status quo for the smallest of affected individuals. In any crisis there needs to be that one person who maintains a unified front, calming those who need it the most, even if it’s just being a chauffeur or a television buddy. That was me. You may be the brain surgeon, but I am the Daddy and that makes me more important here.
Last I had stated, my wife’s Mother went through an MRI and was admitted to hospital for testing. Two days in the ER and two days in the Neurosurgery wing later, she came home and prepared for surgery. They had given her steroids to reduce the swelling which had caused the loopy behavior. Now, they were going to go in and remove a tumor, roughly 5 cm in size. She was going to endure about four hours of surgery, three to four days of recovery in the hospital and two weeks’ worth of home recovery before going back to work. Truthfully, that’s not too bad. They don’t expect any rehabilitation or adverse effects from poking her in the head. They’re were off on their estimates.
Now before you start to sink and think the worst, realize I said they were off on their estimates. I didn’t say how. It turns out she was in surgery for little more than an hour and a half and was awake immediately after. She spent Wednesday evening and most of Thursday in ICU recovery and then got moved to a room in the Neurosurgery wing. She came home on Friday. The only hurdle we have left to clear is the two weeks of home recovery. See, no doom and gloom.
While I can’t go into any great details about her experience I can give you a glimpse into what it is like as a spectator to the event. Because, as you know, it’s all about me. From my perspective, I’ve had to watch from the outside looking in on the ups and downs of my Mother-in-Law’s health issues. Only recently have I become a more active player but the recent events have been more of an exercise in child management than moral support.
When I got the call from my MIL, as she will be referenced here on out, I was sitting at my desk like always. I had been conversing with her cousin about her impeding MRI and she had mentioned about my MIL stopping at mailboxes and running red lights on the way there. She had been acting rather distant and confused for a month. She seemed meek and this is a woman that is a mama bear. She will knock you down and tell you like it is. For her to have this look of confusion on her face when trying to eat her dinner, you know something is wrong.
And the MRI almost didn’t happen. She had an appointment with her PCP and was planning on telling them everything was fine. My wife, a new mama bear on her way to full membership, was going with her to make sure they understood what was really happening. She helped to get the MRI in the works. Then, my MIL coworkers kept the wheel spinning when my MIL decided she was going to just cancel or reschedule the MRI because she felt fine. They forced her to go…but nobody offered to drive, unfortunately.
So, there I am twiddling away the afternoon when I got the call. “You need to go home now. I need to go to the ER and you won’t have a babysitter for the afternoon.” I didn’t really understand how it all worked. I just did what I was told. I left work, and started home. She called me on my cell and asked if I was on my way. I missed part of the message. Originally, I thought I was going home as her husband, our babysitter, was going to be on his way to pick her up for the trip to the ER. Apparently, I was to take her home, first. Luckily, I was only at the other end of the road her office is on and turned around.
In the car, she quickly tried to contact some people and seemed with it more than usual. I asked her if her or her husband had told my wife, yet. They hadn’t and I specifically told them not to. I would take care of it when I got there. My fear was that one of them would call and tell her on the phone while our daughter was in her presence. Knowing my wife, I was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face and her distressed look would upset the baby. Since our daughter is still less than two years old, she doesn’t quite understand what is about to happen but she does sense tension and despair and her empathic ability carries over into her mood. Her world was going to be thrown upside down and I wanted it to try and stay clear of the debris.
I dropped my MIL off and headed home. The three minute drive from one house to the other wasn’t long enough in my opinion. Here I was about to tell my wife that her Mother was going to the ER and that she needed to contact her oncologist and have him consult with a neurosurgeon. There’s no easy way to cram all that medical jargon into a more digestible chunk without sounding insincere or flippant. I practiced again and again how I would tell her. Not to mention, I was going to have to somehow deliver the bad news with a smile and upbeat demeanor so that my daughter doesn’t catch onto it. I decided to wing it as I pulled into the driveway. My wife was just getting out of the shower and was puzzled as to why I was there instead of her Dad. She had already sensed something was wrong and I immediately asked her if the baby was napping. Luckily, she had just gone down and my wife had every opportunity to act naturally.
She only caught three words out of my entire speech. “ER”, “Oncologist” and “Neurosurgeon.” Everything else was white noise. She began wandering around the house not making any logical motions. Putting things away that didn’t present any issue being out. Trying to get ready to teach lessons that she was going to have to cancel because she was going to go to the hospital. I asked her if she wanted me to take her or to stay with our daughter while she went. She needed me to be there so, I called my Mother to come and sit with the baby. While my wife called her students, I made every possible provision to ensure a smooth stay for my Mom because I didn’t know when we’d be back. I filled up the gas in our car so that if she had to travel, she had a baby seat. I moved all of the cats, their food and their litter box into our room. She’s allergic. I got out different foods and snacks for them to have for dinner and I started listing all of our cell numbers and what hospital we’d be at on the refrigerator.
Our daughter woke up right before my Mother arrived which is nice because she sees us first. That keeps her life simple and normal. We left for the ER and found out that there was some kind of mass on my MIL’s brain and that they needed to reduce the swelling first. This was the cause for her mental state. That state seemed fine to me as she and the nurse attending to her in the ER had a very upbeat and snappy banter about needle sticks, health care, and all around bedside manner. I don’t know if she was using humor and snarky comments as a defense mechanism but it worked. The nurse was laughing hysterically as were we.
After three more days in the hospital, my MIL came home with a plan of action. The surgeon was confident about procedure and she was scheduled for a Wednesday surgery. I took off work for the last half of the week and got the marching orders.
Wednesday: My wife and FIL were going down with my MIL for surgery. I was staying home until the baby awoke and then will transport her to my parents and join my wife at the hospital.
Thursday: My daughter had a doctor’s appointment, so I was going to be with her, then probably wouldn’t see my wife until late.
Friday: Everything was probably just status quo in recovery and I could go to work and then take over watching the little one while my wife goes to the hospital.
Weekend: Play by ear.
I did what I could to keep busy in the quiet of my house while my daughter slept. I fiddled with my computer, caught up on my DVR recordings and generally became bored out of my mind. Meanwhile, my MIL was having her head cracked open like a walnut so that they could look inside for something that didn’t belong. Once the baby was up, I fed her, packed her whole world into the car and left for my 40 minute drive to my parents. After running down the list of things I could remember, I parted with my daughter and headed for Pittsburgh. One thing I will share with you about this experience. I’ve acquired some new skills. I am now able to eat a full meal from Wendy’s, including a frosty, while driving 65 mph on the Turnpike. Previously, I had always required two hands to eat a Frosty. They require a fork. A straw just doesn’t cut it. I managed to be able to place it in the cup holder and spoon out the frosty goodness without dripping. Both Friday of the last week and today I had to grab my lunch on the go from Wendy’s and I have gained a huge love of the Baconator sandwich. I highly recommend picking up one…or three.
I got to the hospital around 4pm and sat with my extended family in the ICU family lounge. As I stated earlier, surgery was abnormally quick. It was the kind of situation where you think the worst. The kind where the doctor informs you that there was no way to do the operation because of the tumor or that she arrested before they could even get it all out. Seeing a doctor that quick is enough to make your stomach fall out of your ass. Luckily, it was just a quick surgery.
We were allowed to see her in ICU soon after and she looked like a reject from a punk show or someone that had passed out at a party before removing their shoes. Her hair was all messed up with red and yellow patches of color and there was marker writing near her temple. I couldn’t read what was written but in my sick and twisted sense of humor I asked if that was where they notated to “DO NOT CUT” or “CUT LEFT OF HERE.” She had a pounding headache which was normal but had very good cognitive skills.
My wife was a bundle of nerves and constantly needled the doctors for more information prompting my FIL to ask for some Duct Tape. I could understand her state of mind. She and her Mother are very close and ever since her first diagnosis of renal cell cancer in 97, she has become very attached to her. I fear one day it will be very, very hard. I just hope that it’s a situation where she goes in her sleep as a very old woman from natural causes. It’s never easy to lose a parent but this is a connection that transcends normal Mother-Daughter relationships. You have to admire that. One of the aspects of this family that I have grown to love is how Daughters take care of their Mothers, young and old alike.
Finally allowing her to get some much needed rest, we went to pick up our Daughter to get some normalcy in our evening. She was very good for my parents and my wife decided and her parents recommended that she needed to stay home on Thursday as nothing new was going to happen. No test results were going to come in on the tissue that was removed. She wasn’t going to have any changes in care. She needed to just rest and my wife needed to let her. She also needed to go with me to our Daughter’s doctor appointment as I am still a novice when it comes to handling all the particulars.
Come Friday, my wife was simply going in with her Father to help get her Mother home. This was a highly improbable event. After having major brain surgery on Wednesday, she was coming home on Friday. I understand that patient turnaround in a major hospital is essential to maintain, but I just couldn’t believe that she was cleared for this. Granted, when my wife was in for the birth of our child, she opted to come home a day early because she was ready to climb the walls. This was something she regretted as she really needed another day of recovery in a hospital setting. You live and you learn. However, cesarean births and brain surgery are two different matters, yet my wife was in the hospital longer than her Mother in this respect.
While my wife got her Mother settled in and cleaned up around the house in preparation for the inevitable guests and well wishers to arrive, I stayed home once again and watched our Daughter. Since I wasn’t going to be dropping her off anywhere it was just a Daddy-Daughter day and we watched television. First there was Zaboomafoo. Then there was Barney & Friends. Next, was Play With Me, Sesame. Finally, there was Caillou. My Daughter was enthralled and sat on my lap with her “Blangy” (Blanket) and her “BaJoose” (Bottle of Juice) during most of the block of kids programming. Otherwise, she was playing with her Mrs. Potato Head or other toys scattered about our living room.
By Saturday, things were returning to normal. My wife was slowly getting back into her routine. My MIL was slowly recovering all her faculties. And I was slowly recovering from all the junk food and Baconators I had been eating over the last week. Wanting to do something special for me in all this, my wife said we should go shopping and said it was time to get the Wii. This is the same Wii I have mentioned in Free Wii 4 Me: Parts One and Two. I finally got it and boy are my arms tired.
So, while I wasn’t an active participant in all my wife’s family drama concerning her Mother and the tumor, I played, what I felt was an equally important and vital role. Because sometimes, the biggest impact and contribution you can make in any stressful and complex situation is to just keep the status quo for the smallest of affected individuals. In any crisis there needs to be that one person who maintains a unified front, calming those who need it the most, even if it’s just being a chauffeur or a television buddy. That was me. You may be the brain surgeon, but I am the Daddy and that makes me more important here.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Are You There God? It's Me, Mongo
It could be anything, really. It could be the gum you just stepped in on your way out of the store, the car in front of you that just stopped at a newly formed yellow light causing you to be late to an appointment, or even your job giving you grief. Any of these among a host of others could be the reason why you're so pissed off at the world that you want to climb up a bell tower with a high powered rifle. When you get like this, that is when the universe knocks on you door, pokes its head into your self centered, self absorbed life and reminds how unimportant your problems are in the scheme of things. The universe is sure to remind you that it's not about you and it's nothing personal.
Now, I was born in a Byzantine Catholic family. I went to catechism classes as a child and learned all the principals of religion, the Nicene Creed, the rosary, and at the age of five I made my first Holy Communion. For seven more years I still held all those principals of faith as truths. God exists, he loves us, and everything is his will. When I reached the age of 12 or maybe 13, I had a drastic change in my faith structure. My uncle, who I hadn't seen since in probably six years or so had come to visit my Mother. At first, I thought he had fallen on hard times. He looked rather bad like he'd been on a three day bender with Mel Gibson in Malibu. He was very skinny and had trouble talking and stumbled a bit. It wasn't until after he had died that I found out he had Multiple Sclerosis.
MS is a wonderful little disease. You don't just suddenly up and die one day. It takes its time with you, slowing paring away everything you are, one piece at a time. It eats away at the protective covering to your nervous system, damaging the connections to the point where you have trouble walking and numbness. Imagine MS as a bull fight. It comes into the ring and acts as the picador and banderilleros, stabbing at you and weakening you, but it doesn't kill you. There you are, weakened with your head down in a charging stance and in comes the matador which is most likely pneumonia or some other illness. It toys with you for awhile before finally killing you. It was this experience that caused me to look up into the sky and ask, "Why?" Why would a being, all powerful and knowing allow someone to go through this kind of internal torture?
As I moved through adolescence and into adulthood, I held my discourse close to the vest. I didn't talk about it with people because they had their beliefs and I wasn't about to infringe on their rights. I went through college and graduated and my little world was fine. I began dating my wife after graduation. She held a special place for God and I didn't want to express my disbelief because of it.
At that same time, I began working at a hotel near my home. One of my supervisors had a granddaughter named Samantha, who was 12 years old, and had bone cancer. She was a spirited and cheerful girl who had already beaten it once and now it had come back. Regardless of her station in life, she acted like any other 12 year old who had the entire world ahead of her. Most of us were embittered by life, especially after college, but she still believed in all the things children believed in and showed us jaded assholes what life should be like. As she went back through treatment, she showed more courage and strength as a child than most stalwart of manly men around. Her positive outlook was enough to sway me back towards the flock and I secretly spoke to God one night and tried to mend fences. You know those moments at night between awake and sleep, when you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the wind and that one tree branch banging against the house your only company. You make those little bets. You ask those little favors because that's the time when you believe that God has your undivided attention.
So, I asked. "God. Look, I could be talking to that little bug on the ceiling or I could be talking to you. At this point, it's all the same. I want you to give this one a pass. This isn't about me wanting you to help me pass finals or get out of that speeding ticket. This is a little girl that deserves the chance to grow up and spread that infectious spirit, saving the rest of our sorry asses." I spoke to the big guy two more nights in row. She died a couple days later. I felt like a battered person going back to their spouse, giving them another chance, only to be beaten within an inch of their life.
You can never measure the impact of your life until you're not there with the yard stick. In a medium sized funeral home nearby, people stood in line to get inside for Samantha's viewings. People, religious and not, will spin this experience so many ways you'd think it was politics. On one side you get "There is no God. This happened because it happened." The other side will say that "She was meant for better things in heaven and that her struggle and death serves as a lesson for us all to appreciate life and we've come together to celebrate how she touched us." I say that this is a little girl that didn't get the chance to grow up, fall in love or fall out of love, for the first time. She didn't get the joy of driving her first car or living in her first place on her own. If there is a higher power and he has that power to do some miraculous things, he dropped the ball. There are perfectly normal and healthy people in this world ripping off others' life savings, shaking babies, and killing innocent families before turning the gun on themselves. Out of all those physically fit adults, you have to give a 12 year old with a 10,000 watt smile bone cancer.
I now put more faith into extra terrestrial life. I find it easier to believe that we are just the product of a perfect set of variables than the design and execution of some otherworldly being. Somewhere in that vast universe, another planet at a perfect distance from a star has the ability to sustain life and perhaps they are advanced enough to be able to travel across the universe to ask for a cup of sugar. It makes more sense to me that we are nothing more than a really good flan. The right ingredients at the right temperature producing a tasty treat. Cook it too long, you get Mercury. Open the oven too soon, you get Mars. I find more comfort in that than one being was responsible for everything and did in less time than it takes me to get over a head cold.
After my whole Carl Sagan fueled rant, I went on with my life. My girlfriend asked me why I had so much trouble believing and I told her. Then she told me why she had such an easy time believing. Just before I met her, her mother had been diagnosed with renal cell cancer. Her parents had kept it from her while she finished up her first semester of college. They didn't want her failing out because this type is very dangerous. Not to say that any other cancer is a walk in the park but renal cell has a better green thumb than I do and shoots seeds all over the place. You can have cancer anywhere in your body that is renal cell in nature. Her mom had it in her lungs and on her kidney. In fact the doctors didn't know any of this until they had already opened her up on the table and pulled a football sized tumor out of her gut. Had they known prior to surgery that she was in stage IV, they wouldn't have operated. Instead they would have given her a pat on the head and a "good luck." But they didn't. She was put into a study and given experimental treatments. She shed her skin twice and her body temperature went between hot to cold faster than my shower if I nudge the dial ever so slightly to the right. After an intense battle she was a kidney short, but cancer free. That was her miracle. Her mother survived Stage IV cancer and went on to live her life. My wife told me that she had to believe in God, he saved her Mother. In my own little damaged mind I told her that if he was so great, then why did she have it in the first place.
Further proof of my disdain for the almighty would occur less than three years later. Still three years from getting married or engaged my wife started to experience problems with her eye. She felt as if someone had smeared Crisco in it, blurring her vision. She went to an optometrist which then referred her to a neurologist. She had optic neuritis, an inflammation of the optic nerve which caused loss of vision. There were two primary reasons why this would be happening. She either had a brain tumor, or MS. She hoped for brain tumor. She got MS. She's been treating it with a daily shot of Copaxone and has only had one relapse with the optic neuritis. At one point she wanted me to break up with her. She didn't want me to throw my life away on someone who was going to end up in wheelchair. I ended up proposing to her.
Three years later we were planning our nuptials and, if there is a God, you have to believe that he has a sense of humor, if not irony. He wanted to make sure that I knew what it was like to have a parent with renal cell cancer. Again, another set of parents decided to keep their child in the dark about things while he went off and had a good time at his wedding and honeymoon. It wasn't until after the holidays that we found out my Father had been diagnosed with it. It was an odd thing because the doctors weren't even looking for cancer. He was tired and jaundiced and it just happened to show up on one of his many scans performed to determine the problem. So, on my birthday in March, he went into the hospital and had his kidney removed. He came through perfectly and was fine. Unfortunately, his doctor must have been the kind of child that didn't finish his vegetables because he left a little bit of cancer in my Dad. A year later, he had to go back in for more surgery.
Remember I said God has a sense of humor? Down the road at another hospital, my Mother in Law was also having surgery at the same time. It turns out her cancer had come back and got into her pancreas. My wife was convinced her mom was about to die and I was just oblivious because here I was wondering why my Father was flat on his back again. To know the man you would understand why him on his back in pain is an odd sight. At 65 he was still active with a full time job and spent his extra time with his brother taking care of a farm which includes replacing the roof of the barn and other laborious tasks that puts me to shame when I breathe heavy from mowing the lawn.
After dueling bed pans was done, both our parents became cancer free for second time. Unfortunately, my Mother in Law's lack of organs had begun to catch up with her. Without part of her pancreas, she now has Type II diabetes. She lost her spleen previously and takes longer to bounce back from illness, and Sleep Apnea forces her to wear a CPAP mask at night in order to breathe while sleeping. In all, she has no complaints. According to her, she's been playing with the house money for the last ten years and regrets nothing. She's seen her daughters be married and have children. She has her quirks like her love of a good gadget or toy and she's not afraid to tell it like it is. She's sharp. As a benefits analyst she knows her stuff. That is why we were so concerned when she became unfocused and foggy in the last month. She began repeating questions that she had already been given answers to minutes ago. She seemed meek and unable to even type properly at work. We implored her to get an MRI and find out what is going on up there. She had recently been given a different blood pressure medication and put on singular, both of which can cause headaches but this was different. On her way to the MRI, she stopped at two mailboxes and ran a red light.
Back at work, she got the call. "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, "Fine, just fine." She replied. "No, you're not. There is something going on up there. You need to get to the hospital now, call your oncologist and get a recommendation for a neurosurgeon." Our collective stomachs fell out our collective asses. In the past ten years she hasn't had a brain scan because they've been so worried about the rest of her body. I immediately spoke in a Sallah accent saying, "They're digging in the wrong place." She is at the hospital and their is some kind of mass on her brain. Swelling has been causing her mental lapses and right now she is being treated for that until they can come up with a course of treatment. And me, I'm calling up friends I haven't spoken to in years.
I don't want this for me. I want this for my wife. I want this for my daughter. I want this for my Father in Law. This woman has been able to hold a family together much better than I could ever hold anything together, and I pray in the church of duct tape. The people around me that I love have gone through cancer, MS, Graeves Disease, diabetes, OSA, and a slew of other health issues. Some have made it, some have not. Whether you're out there rolling your 20 sided die, deciding our fate, we're here and about out of saving throws. I know this lady has beaten cancer twice. But in football, beating someone twice usually can mean anything come the playoffs. We aren't ready and I'm not willing to call this one, yet. You're not doing anything to help sway anyone like me back to flock. She's already lost a kidney, her pancreas, and some of her bounce. What more do you want? She has a family that loves her and a little granddaughter that adores her. The company she's worked at for over 15 years has decided to sell to a bigger company, forcing her out of her job that she's been so loyal to. Prove me wrong and we'll talk.
Now, I was born in a Byzantine Catholic family. I went to catechism classes as a child and learned all the principals of religion, the Nicene Creed, the rosary, and at the age of five I made my first Holy Communion. For seven more years I still held all those principals of faith as truths. God exists, he loves us, and everything is his will. When I reached the age of 12 or maybe 13, I had a drastic change in my faith structure. My uncle, who I hadn't seen since in probably six years or so had come to visit my Mother. At first, I thought he had fallen on hard times. He looked rather bad like he'd been on a three day bender with Mel Gibson in Malibu. He was very skinny and had trouble talking and stumbled a bit. It wasn't until after he had died that I found out he had Multiple Sclerosis.
MS is a wonderful little disease. You don't just suddenly up and die one day. It takes its time with you, slowing paring away everything you are, one piece at a time. It eats away at the protective covering to your nervous system, damaging the connections to the point where you have trouble walking and numbness. Imagine MS as a bull fight. It comes into the ring and acts as the picador and banderilleros, stabbing at you and weakening you, but it doesn't kill you. There you are, weakened with your head down in a charging stance and in comes the matador which is most likely pneumonia or some other illness. It toys with you for awhile before finally killing you. It was this experience that caused me to look up into the sky and ask, "Why?" Why would a being, all powerful and knowing allow someone to go through this kind of internal torture?
As I moved through adolescence and into adulthood, I held my discourse close to the vest. I didn't talk about it with people because they had their beliefs and I wasn't about to infringe on their rights. I went through college and graduated and my little world was fine. I began dating my wife after graduation. She held a special place for God and I didn't want to express my disbelief because of it.
At that same time, I began working at a hotel near my home. One of my supervisors had a granddaughter named Samantha, who was 12 years old, and had bone cancer. She was a spirited and cheerful girl who had already beaten it once and now it had come back. Regardless of her station in life, she acted like any other 12 year old who had the entire world ahead of her. Most of us were embittered by life, especially after college, but she still believed in all the things children believed in and showed us jaded assholes what life should be like. As she went back through treatment, she showed more courage and strength as a child than most stalwart of manly men around. Her positive outlook was enough to sway me back towards the flock and I secretly spoke to God one night and tried to mend fences. You know those moments at night between awake and sleep, when you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the wind and that one tree branch banging against the house your only company. You make those little bets. You ask those little favors because that's the time when you believe that God has your undivided attention.
So, I asked. "God. Look, I could be talking to that little bug on the ceiling or I could be talking to you. At this point, it's all the same. I want you to give this one a pass. This isn't about me wanting you to help me pass finals or get out of that speeding ticket. This is a little girl that deserves the chance to grow up and spread that infectious spirit, saving the rest of our sorry asses." I spoke to the big guy two more nights in row. She died a couple days later. I felt like a battered person going back to their spouse, giving them another chance, only to be beaten within an inch of their life.
You can never measure the impact of your life until you're not there with the yard stick. In a medium sized funeral home nearby, people stood in line to get inside for Samantha's viewings. People, religious and not, will spin this experience so many ways you'd think it was politics. On one side you get "There is no God. This happened because it happened." The other side will say that "She was meant for better things in heaven and that her struggle and death serves as a lesson for us all to appreciate life and we've come together to celebrate how she touched us." I say that this is a little girl that didn't get the chance to grow up, fall in love or fall out of love, for the first time. She didn't get the joy of driving her first car or living in her first place on her own. If there is a higher power and he has that power to do some miraculous things, he dropped the ball. There are perfectly normal and healthy people in this world ripping off others' life savings, shaking babies, and killing innocent families before turning the gun on themselves. Out of all those physically fit adults, you have to give a 12 year old with a 10,000 watt smile bone cancer.
I now put more faith into extra terrestrial life. I find it easier to believe that we are just the product of a perfect set of variables than the design and execution of some otherworldly being. Somewhere in that vast universe, another planet at a perfect distance from a star has the ability to sustain life and perhaps they are advanced enough to be able to travel across the universe to ask for a cup of sugar. It makes more sense to me that we are nothing more than a really good flan. The right ingredients at the right temperature producing a tasty treat. Cook it too long, you get Mercury. Open the oven too soon, you get Mars. I find more comfort in that than one being was responsible for everything and did in less time than it takes me to get over a head cold.
After my whole Carl Sagan fueled rant, I went on with my life. My girlfriend asked me why I had so much trouble believing and I told her. Then she told me why she had such an easy time believing. Just before I met her, her mother had been diagnosed with renal cell cancer. Her parents had kept it from her while she finished up her first semester of college. They didn't want her failing out because this type is very dangerous. Not to say that any other cancer is a walk in the park but renal cell has a better green thumb than I do and shoots seeds all over the place. You can have cancer anywhere in your body that is renal cell in nature. Her mom had it in her lungs and on her kidney. In fact the doctors didn't know any of this until they had already opened her up on the table and pulled a football sized tumor out of her gut. Had they known prior to surgery that she was in stage IV, they wouldn't have operated. Instead they would have given her a pat on the head and a "good luck." But they didn't. She was put into a study and given experimental treatments. She shed her skin twice and her body temperature went between hot to cold faster than my shower if I nudge the dial ever so slightly to the right. After an intense battle she was a kidney short, but cancer free. That was her miracle. Her mother survived Stage IV cancer and went on to live her life. My wife told me that she had to believe in God, he saved her Mother. In my own little damaged mind I told her that if he was so great, then why did she have it in the first place.
Further proof of my disdain for the almighty would occur less than three years later. Still three years from getting married or engaged my wife started to experience problems with her eye. She felt as if someone had smeared Crisco in it, blurring her vision. She went to an optometrist which then referred her to a neurologist. She had optic neuritis, an inflammation of the optic nerve which caused loss of vision. There were two primary reasons why this would be happening. She either had a brain tumor, or MS. She hoped for brain tumor. She got MS. She's been treating it with a daily shot of Copaxone and has only had one relapse with the optic neuritis. At one point she wanted me to break up with her. She didn't want me to throw my life away on someone who was going to end up in wheelchair. I ended up proposing to her.
Three years later we were planning our nuptials and, if there is a God, you have to believe that he has a sense of humor, if not irony. He wanted to make sure that I knew what it was like to have a parent with renal cell cancer. Again, another set of parents decided to keep their child in the dark about things while he went off and had a good time at his wedding and honeymoon. It wasn't until after the holidays that we found out my Father had been diagnosed with it. It was an odd thing because the doctors weren't even looking for cancer. He was tired and jaundiced and it just happened to show up on one of his many scans performed to determine the problem. So, on my birthday in March, he went into the hospital and had his kidney removed. He came through perfectly and was fine. Unfortunately, his doctor must have been the kind of child that didn't finish his vegetables because he left a little bit of cancer in my Dad. A year later, he had to go back in for more surgery.
Remember I said God has a sense of humor? Down the road at another hospital, my Mother in Law was also having surgery at the same time. It turns out her cancer had come back and got into her pancreas. My wife was convinced her mom was about to die and I was just oblivious because here I was wondering why my Father was flat on his back again. To know the man you would understand why him on his back in pain is an odd sight. At 65 he was still active with a full time job and spent his extra time with his brother taking care of a farm which includes replacing the roof of the barn and other laborious tasks that puts me to shame when I breathe heavy from mowing the lawn.
After dueling bed pans was done, both our parents became cancer free for second time. Unfortunately, my Mother in Law's lack of organs had begun to catch up with her. Without part of her pancreas, she now has Type II diabetes. She lost her spleen previously and takes longer to bounce back from illness, and Sleep Apnea forces her to wear a CPAP mask at night in order to breathe while sleeping. In all, she has no complaints. According to her, she's been playing with the house money for the last ten years and regrets nothing. She's seen her daughters be married and have children. She has her quirks like her love of a good gadget or toy and she's not afraid to tell it like it is. She's sharp. As a benefits analyst she knows her stuff. That is why we were so concerned when she became unfocused and foggy in the last month. She began repeating questions that she had already been given answers to minutes ago. She seemed meek and unable to even type properly at work. We implored her to get an MRI and find out what is going on up there. She had recently been given a different blood pressure medication and put on singular, both of which can cause headaches but this was different. On her way to the MRI, she stopped at two mailboxes and ran a red light.
Back at work, she got the call. "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked, "Fine, just fine." She replied. "No, you're not. There is something going on up there. You need to get to the hospital now, call your oncologist and get a recommendation for a neurosurgeon." Our collective stomachs fell out our collective asses. In the past ten years she hasn't had a brain scan because they've been so worried about the rest of her body. I immediately spoke in a Sallah accent saying, "They're digging in the wrong place." She is at the hospital and their is some kind of mass on her brain. Swelling has been causing her mental lapses and right now she is being treated for that until they can come up with a course of treatment. And me, I'm calling up friends I haven't spoken to in years.
I don't want this for me. I want this for my wife. I want this for my daughter. I want this for my Father in Law. This woman has been able to hold a family together much better than I could ever hold anything together, and I pray in the church of duct tape. The people around me that I love have gone through cancer, MS, Graeves Disease, diabetes, OSA, and a slew of other health issues. Some have made it, some have not. Whether you're out there rolling your 20 sided die, deciding our fate, we're here and about out of saving throws. I know this lady has beaten cancer twice. But in football, beating someone twice usually can mean anything come the playoffs. We aren't ready and I'm not willing to call this one, yet. You're not doing anything to help sway anyone like me back to flock. She's already lost a kidney, her pancreas, and some of her bounce. What more do you want? She has a family that loves her and a little granddaughter that adores her. The company she's worked at for over 15 years has decided to sell to a bigger company, forcing her out of her job that she's been so loyal to. Prove me wrong and we'll talk.
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