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 |   My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion. |
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Dear Friend: This is not a Blog about writing! (I already have one of those.) This is a blog about a journey I am taking with illness. I have recently been diagnosed with Cancer. My goal is honest therapy as I progress through, and beyond this new reality in my life. I hope that, somewhere along the way you will find some words that will help you too. While this is, in fact, an interactive Blog, I hope that you will scroll slowly down this page. For you see, the front of this Blog IS my journey. The entries are conversations that are held along the journey.Yes, there is a lot on it--before actually getting to the Blog entries. But, I hope that by the objects and words which appear before the Blog itself, you might come to understand just a little bit about me, and my journey, and some truly amazing friends who have agreed to journey with me. I hope that you, too, will choose to accompany me on my walk--through the Valley. I invite you to join me, and discover the wondrous truths, meet some truly amazing people, and share those "memorable" moments this journey will undoubtedly present. Come along, won't you? In His Care, ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Would you like to help me help others? I found this amazing organization, and I am proud to be a sponsor. I hope you will check it out. It's called The Network For Good.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM" ("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss") ~Leunig~ The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse. ~Helen Keller~ "If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people." ~Virginia Woolf~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "There is strength in truth." ~The Barton Family Crest~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” — Helen Keller, American social activist, public speaker and author (1880-1968) I have moved the list of my thanks for those who have helped to make this little Blog so very special. I hope that you will take a moment to read the list, growing every day, and let these fellow travellers along this journey know that you appreciate the contributions they make to our walk together.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please feel free to click on the Blog Rings icon below to be transported to some of the very best of the Best Bloggers around WDC. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you are new to WDC, or to our Blogging community, I highly recommend the monthly edition of "The Blogville News". Feel free to click below, and let scarlett_o_h know that a Blogger sent ya! Hey! We've started a Christian's Blog Ring on WDC. Click on the logo, and join us! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Budroe
 Ring LeaderI have three publications at the moment. Here is a link to purchase my latest one. Buy a great read, and help a fellow writer out, Okay?  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| My first thought when I was situated in my room at the Cancer Care Unit was: "I'm Home!" There occurs, in life, certain circular repetitions. If you are vigilant, you can spot them from time to time. Hearing your words come out of your child's mouth, talking to their child is one of those most amazing times, for instance. Having had a number of personal family members die from Cancer, I immediately knew where I was. This was another circle completed--almost, for me. There is a rule of Hospitals that says that people admitted to the Cancer Care Unit always return there, no matter what the admitting diagnosis may be. There are some very good reasons for this, actually. No matter what we may think of it, Oncology is an extremely specialized field of Medicine, and its patients need very specialized care. Usually (but not always), the Nursing personnel of a CaCU are not only extremely specialized in their skills, but bring other critical, yet "intangible" characteristics to their jobs. I know, because I used to teach them. Circle complete. I also spent a good number of years as a Chaplain, who specialized in the care of terminally ill patients. Circle complete. Now, it looked as if I was going to discover (and I surely did) some things about these folks, and this place, that I had never known before. Circle complete. "The Unit" is where patients often come for their "final admission". Many people, when their condition becomes too difficult for them, or their care givers to handle, want to see "lots of White Coats" around them. It gives them comfort and security, knowing that they are in a place where any peculiarity can be effectively dealt with. This also includes such things as fear, pain, and the horrific. Sometimes, patients are "dropped off" (quite literally) into the CaCU by family members who "just can't deal with this anymore!". Eventually, everyone in the CaCU is healed. Very, very few are discharged. As I lay in my bed on the unit, I had an opportunity to consider all these realities. I knew that, at least so far as I knew, this most probably would not be my "final admission". But, I knew that one would most likely come, somewhere along this journey. I wasn't too sure how I felt about that. One of the decisions I did purposely make was to remind myself to get all my "final papers" in order. This list includes such happy sheets as My Last Will and Testimoney, My Living Will, My Advanced Life Directive, and My "Do Not Rescusitate" (DNR) Directive. The other thing I purposely decided to do was to observe, very carefully, the care givers here. Is this the place I want to die? Is this the place that I will die? (Failing of course the refrigerator falling 3 stories onto my head!) Of all the places that I would choose to take my leave of "this mortal coil" would I choose this one? Is this the place whose "White Coats" I would most want to see? Believe me when I tell you that such considerations as the selection of the wall paper in my room did NOT go unnoticed! My goals during my stay here were to get down the requirement for Oxygen (if not completely, at least to a much more manageable level), eliminate the need for Insulin by injection (Two requirements for being discharged), becoming 100% ambulatory, and caring for myself with ADL (activities of daily living). And, of course, I got to watch a bag drip. And, over the course of my stay in "the unit", that is pretty much precisely what I did. The staff truly appreciated seeing a patient walking, albeit a skosh ascance! My "Pole" was a good friend during many constitutionals, I'll tell ya. Of course, the second I pulled the plug on it to walk, it would stop working. It took about three days of Nurses complaining over having to reset my Infusion Pump to come up with the idea of getting one with a fully charged, and working, battery! And, I was able to be wheeled to tests in a wheelchair! Yeay! This was a major victory for all concerned. Aaron really thought I had lightened his work requirements as a personal favor to him, and never failed to speak of his appreciation for this kind consideration! When a patient is in a bed, things happen faster. When a patient is waiting for a test in a wheelchair they can (as amazing as it may sound) become totally invisible! I, however, met invisibility with vocality! (I can be an extremely interesting patient when the occasion calls for it, trust me on this one!) Only one time did I arrive for a test, and have to exercise my vocality more than once! But, it was fun! It's really a kick to see how people react when you are trying to get away from those Blue people from Xenon - 9, let me tell ya!  Those days in "The Unit" quickly drifted into routine. I wasn't being stuck every hour on the hour. I only got my "Daily Draw" at 0430, and Maria never failed to be the person who showed up in the quiet time. I learned later that she specifically requested to be the Phlebotomist to "stick" me. She said she could do it right, and besides, she liked me as a patient! She could, and I liked her, too. Such a spirit! On the 15th day, I went for a Colonoscopy/Sigmoid/Rectal study, down in the Endo Lab. That was the time that Dr. C. said to me "Roll over, I need to put a catheter up your butt!" I rolled over, and a nurse in a mask (I never caught her name...) drained a needle full of something wondrous into my vein through my IV. Fade to black. Late, on the evening of the 15th day, my doc came in and said "You are outa here, dude! You should be able to go home for just a couple of days sometime in the morning. We need to hang one more bag of Heparin, and get the last study path reports on your Colonoscopy, and you are history!" Oh, MAN! I'm goin' HOME!!!! I had done such a good job with my requirements that I moved ahead the time table by a few WEEKS! My Oxygen was down to 2 L at 100%. My Oxygen saturation % was holding at 90% room air. I was now 48 hours without Insulin injections, and my body seemed to be responding well to the Insulin pills. The damage was still there, and always will be. I had to deal with the Thyroid and Parotid stuff, but that seemed doable. The Pulmonary Hypertension was totally outa control, over the top, beyond all extremes. But, I had invested several moments of my time convincing the docs that I could do a whole bunch better at relaxin' at home than layin HERE, watchin' a bag drip!! We agreed to do it my way (Somebody cue Sinatra!) for a couple of days, just to see what I and my body together could do by being in my own little house, sleeping in my own bed, poopin' on my own throne, and taking a shower in MY bathtub. According to my Doc, I should be able to go home by breakfast time, but she was gonna order me a breakfast anyway! (She just knew how much I loved the "food"--she was loving that way, ya see.) I called my friend Tom, and told him the good news. He wasn't whatcha call enthusiastic about it. "Yeah, I'll see ya tomorrow afternoon sometime, Dude. Call me when they have your discharge papers!" Huh? Tom has been a patient here before. Seems that there is a huge disconnect in the process between getting the Discharge Order from the Doc and actually being discharged from the Hospital. There was, only nowhere could anyone have possibly known why. I would have a most busy day tomorrow. It would be the day I got my true introduction to the Battlefield. |
| It was cool. You woulda loved it! 1,800 words of wit-n-wisdom! (No, REALLY!) Then, my ISP decided to bring down the system for maintenance, and NOT TELL ANYBODY!! I was just typin' away like a good boy, not doin' NUTHIN'! (Like, fer instance, savin' my work!) This produced stressimus maximus, a bad thing in my world. So, rather than try to re-create the entry, I am going to concentrate on my NCAA 2006 XBox Football Game, where my University of Kentucky Wildcat team is whoopin' up on Tennessee, 68-0 in the 4th quarter! (Hey, it's MY fantasy!!) It's been a very good day in my world. I hope it has been in yours, too. I have long ago learned that, when stuff like this happens (and especially here), its more than likely 'cause Dad wanted something else to go in the space. He's driving, and I'm just enjoyin' the scenery. I'll pick up again in a day or so. Isn't my new hat just so cool? And, what about that picture ?? Wow! I hope you are all safe, happy, and well. I'll see ya tomorrow. Right, now, I gotta whoop some Volunteer butt! In His Care, Budroe P.S. The XBox Wildcats win! 83-0!! Yeay! |
| I spent 11 days in ICU. From the 9th, to the 11th day, my job was to lay in bed (I FINALLY got a bedside toilet--life was better!), get poked a kagillion times a day, and watch an IV drip! Heparin was going in at about 30 ml/hour on an infusion pump, which had no intention of being unplugged! I started getting radically rambunctious, and adventurous too, I might add. I had decided that the luxurious shower needed to attend me, and that ceramic toilet looked like...Graceland, to me! Enough with the Spongebaths, already! When the "Big Adventure" is moving from the bed to a chair, so the CNA's could change my bed linens, I felt brave. (Trust me, I learned about being on many drugs AND feeling brave! Oh, yes I *OUCH!!* did, too!) Doctors came to "just check in on" me--no developments there. My primary Doc would still come in each morning, patiently (for her, sitting still is the patience of a Saint--I sware! That gal must sleep on the ceiling!) waiting for my list, and doing the daily dance! I became "Dude!" and she became "Dudette!!" (we still are!), and we conived to get her some tickets to a rather limited engagement of "HorrorFest, 2006". Actually, one of my friends owns a few Theatres, and knew where some really great tickets (with backstage/party stuff, too!) could be gotten. She got two of them. I haven't heard the specifics yet, but I understand she had a good time. Meanwhile, I'm watchin' a bag drip! If you ever get called on this journey, contact me first for the Hospital to go to. Believe me, I can tell you one! This place was, and is, just awesome! There is a ton of Hospitals in our Area, with five (5!) major facilities within five minutes of my house--in 2 states! How I got so incredibly lucky to get this one is almost, but not quite beyond my comprehension! I'm guessin' Dad had a moment, and decided to pull a practical joke on some Nurses--and along I come! On the evening of the eleventh day in the Hospital, and in the ICU, a Nurse came into my room, and told me they were moving me. She said she was sure I was ready to go to "the Ward". I was stable, I was laying in an ICU bed, breathing up all their Oxygen, watching an IV drip! They had some sick person who really needed the space, you see. Along comes Aaron, around 1930 (7:30 PM), bouncing into my room, his eyes ablaze! I asked him what was up, and he said he was just happy to be the one to transfer me OUT of "ICK!" (his term) and into the "real" Hospital! The staff had gathered up all my stuff, and unceremoniously dumped it into my bed, turned around "Cleaning Their Hands Of ME!!", and leaving. When Aaron and I finally got to the elevator, the entire floor staff was waiting on me to show up. They clapped, and every one of them wished me well on my journey! Now, I gotta tell ya...well, maybe I don't. It did, and I was!! Even the Nazi Nurse was there, and whispered somethin' really special into my ear before we got into the Elevator: "Thank Dad for me! He really did a great job with you!" "Why? Have I suddenly got Blonde hair, and Bangs?", I inquired. "Who do you think fixed you up around here, US?" She smiled, and winked. Somehow, she got it. So did I. Yep, THAT special! We descended a couple of floors, and came out of the elevator INTO a ward of private rooms. Now, that was just spiffy! I had never gotten off an elevator into the middle of a ward before. I had been told that this was a General Med/Surg Ward (Medical/Surgical), but they were all private rooms. Aaron stopped by the Nurses station to hand in my Chart, and (as only appropriate--after ALL!) announce my arrival. The Nurse looked at the Chart for a moment, and then looked up at me, smiling. "Mr. Fields, I am Sue. I will be your Nurse this evening. You will be in room #13. Welcome to the Cancer Care Unit." |
| It's important in this life to know both. I don't mean know, as in "being able to identify". It is imperative to know each with intimacy. Life teaches us many lessons, if we are willing students, I believe. Some lessons are extremely difficult, and life-changing. Once learned, these lessons forever change what comes after them. Some lessons are simply glorious, and forever change what comes after them. It's important to know the difference. Friends are life lessons with feet. In my life, I have had some pretty amazing friends--of both types, to be honest. Friends can lift you up, or they can put you down. Yes, there is such a thing as a "bad" friend. I have had them, and I have been one as well--so have you. I had, for many years, a sign over my office door. For a long time, I hung it on the inside of my office. People used to see it as they left. It made a statement that they would inevitably notice. The problem with that was that it was always AFTER the encounter. That sign, all by itself, could have changed many visits if it had been noticed BEFORE people entered my office. So, after a couple of years, and strange looks from my visitors (which was, in itself, sometimes a great "payoff" for my decidedly individualistic style), I decided to hang the sign on the outside of my office door. I didn't put it at eye level, as I wanted to do. I put it over the doorframe of my office. "Everyone crossing this threshhold causes me joy, depending on their direction of travel!" I had, many years previously, seen a sign for sale at a junk store that said somewhat the same thing. I just "liberated" the thought, and personalized it! It had an amazing effect on the visitors, the visit, and me. You just love it when some people show up. Sometimes, you just love it when people take their leave. I have many friends, who are the cause of countless Blessings in my life. Many of them are people that I have not yet met., thanks to this amazing thing called the Internet. They, living their own lives, enrich mine greatly. They exist in all corners of the World, from the streets of Korea, to the Steppes of Russia! I have friends serving in Iraq (or soon will!), and I have friends that I can open my front door and shout to. It's a long list. Friends keep you centered, if you let them. They keep you honest (at least the best ones do), and they keep you humble. Friends keep your life valid, and valuable. I remember that I once heard a friend tell my Mother, who had many friends, that "Children are nothing less than the jewels in your Crown!". I have three step-children, and five grand-children. I have come to understand the meaning behind this statement. Jewels have their own, individual luster, and sometimes require polishing. (Sometimes, it is the "Board of Education" which polishes the butt of that jewelry, and sometimes it is life itself.) I once heard a best friend tell me something that is quite true. He said: "Friends hate the people who hurt YOU. Good friends 'take care' of the people who hurt you in life. Great friends bury the body in different time zones, and you don't know anything happened until you read it in the paper! Your best friend will be sitting beside you in the jail cell, saying 'I really thought you were gonna outrun that Cop! That was FUN!' " It is hard for me to really categorize my friends like that, but if we are honest we all do it. Every list of Friends has a first name, doesn't it? In my life, I have had many "Best" Friends. To me, personally, THESE are the jewels in my Crown. I can tell you that, if this be true, mine is gonna just dazzle! There will be a few cracked gems, but MAN will they shine! And yes, my kids are among them--and I am unbelievably proud to be able to say that. I love them, and I like, respect, and admire each of them. When "the event" occurred, there was one person's name on my mind. I mentioned him in the explanation of how all this got started. Not only did he "jump and run", but he quite literally saved my life. If he ever reads this Blog, he will end my life, with malice aforethought! He is the biggest man I know, and I am forever grateful to have the distinct privilege, and high honor, to call him Friend. Not only did he call EMS, but he was guarding and protecting me with every beat of his heart (and that was a LOT of beats!) while they cared for me. (All Mothers would have been so proud of him!) His Mother-In-Law, another of my heroes, was right beside him, giving him instructions, holding my hand, and telling me calmly "It's going to be alright, Bud. We are here, and so is Dad!" Lor-Dee, but I do hate bawlin' and snottin'! (Yeah, Mark, I stole it! But, it fits!) I wasn't breathin'. He was dyin'. She was trying to help keep us both calm, while she was losin' it. EMS was workin' in the most amazing ways, I am told. He wasn't afraid I was going to die; he was looking at a dead man. That dead man was his very best friend in this world. Yet, he never wavered. You see why I say "with feet"? Tom Wilson is that man's name. He is as pugnacious and ornery an Irishman as you'd ever want to drink with! He is from New York City (Long Island, actually. Pardon ME!) He, his wife, his two children, and his Mother-In-Law live directly across the street from me. I live where I do because of him. Almost everything sitting in my little home came from his. The computer I use--he built. (That's what he does.) He is ferociously loyal to his family, and to this friend. I love him. He is my friend. He is also part of my company, Grand Organ Productions, LLC. He is my Vice-President and Chief Information Technology Officer. (He's the hardware guy. I'm the software guy. It's important to know the difference!) We are beginning a company that, if we are successful, will far outlast us. It (the company) isn't ready for business yet, but we are preparing. I have another business partner, as well. She is also my best friend. (See, and you thought it was just you, didn't you!) Her name is Linda Walker. What a piece of work this lady is!! She's the only person I know who could go toe-to-toe with Tom Wilson about anything, and wind up standing side-by-side with him on everything! They love gangin' up on me at the first available opportunity. It's just 'thetic, I tell ya! <sniffle> AND, I DIN'T EVEN DOOOO NUTHIN'! (My favorite line from childhood, as ineffective now as it was then!) Linda Walker. How does one explain this phenomena? Linda and I became friends during my truck driving days. We were introduced this way: Me (Standing at the window, preparing to turn in paperwork) "I have some paperwork to turn in. Do I give it to you?" Linda (Sitting across the room at her desk--the only person IN the room) "So? Does it look like I care?" Linda would become my dispatcher. We travelled to three trucking companies together. When I "hung up the keys", she quit dispatching a few months later. I am CERTAIN the two events are purely coincidental! Dispatchers and drivers develop a very unique relationship. I will talk about that later on in this Blog. At least, the really good ones do. And, this lady was the very best. How she EVER put up with having to train me to be a passable (but never really a "good") driver is one of the mysteries of the Universe. And, if you don't believe me, please ask her. She will bend you ears for hours with living testimonials of my complete ineptitude! Linda R. Walker (as I incidentally learned many years later) also has a past, and a History. She was, for many years, a Senior Screenplay Editor for Universal Studios! She has quite an impressive list of screen credits to her name, and worked for the very best people in the industry. (Only this idiot would find out this information by asking his "friend" to be a beta reader!) Tha's the kinda luck I have, folks. Linda serves Grand Organ Productions, LLC as Vice President, and Chief Intellectual Properties Officer. All copyrighted work of Grand Organ Productions falls under her care. She is also my Senior Editor. I am not a new writer, but I am a new fiction writer! Yet one more time, Linda is training me in what I feel certain she believes is a hopeless task. At least, she keeps telling me that! "This book is really good! I can't believe YOU wrote it!" And, like that! You see what I gotta put up with? Ain't it just Terrible?? <Sniffles> Linda is also my personal confidante. Between Tom and Linda, my entire life story could be written without error. I believe it is a truth to say that we have no secrets from one another. Well, of course we all do, but we don't know it, so there! Linda has been my Guide for a very long time. She and her husband Ed live across town, and are dealing with his recent Pulmonectomy, Stroke, and Heart Attack. He was a truck driver for over 30 years. Ed is my friend, too, and a durned good one. He mentored me as a driver for many years, and still does a great job of listening. His counsel is brief--he doesn't waste words. What a gift! Linda now works at the U. S. Census Bureau. She is also a care-giver to patients of our local Hospice, a postion it seems she also has a long history with (but happened to fail to mention to me until recently!). She is a Bingo fanatic! She also tends to collect "wounded ducks", unfortunately. (If you need an explanation, you won't understand!) I was a wounded duck, once. I'm not any more, and it is 100% HER FAULT!! She currently is the Mommie of a 9 year-old Chow named "Cindy", and a brand new 2 year-old Bishon named "Willy". She is a great one, too. I think it's just humans that get on her nerves....Linda Rose Walker is my friend. I love her. She knows it. She loves me. I know it. We share a mutual respect and admiration, and unlimited mistrust of one another, for our own sakes. She is also a "first believer" in the book, and in the series, and in me. Everybody needs one. I have two. I would love to go out drinking with them, and get them both puh lastered! at the same time. I just don't think we could cover the damages! But, MAN what a party that would be!  Every single day I was hospitalized the first time, either Linda or Tom visited me. I spoke with both of them nearly every day on the phone from my hospital room. They (and others) saw me at my very worst, and still love me anyway. You have a thumbnail sketch of two of the most important humans on the planet. They are my friends. They would die for me. I would freely die for them. I love them. They are my friends. If you want to see what it is that we are about, you can check out the website at http://www.kybudman.com (Please excuse the shameless plug. They'd kill me if I didn't, and then this Blog would come to a premature end!) Why am i just going on, and on, and on about my friends, you ask? Simple. What do you think was going through my mind, five minutes after Doctor P. left my room? You may well have lived the shock of hearing devastating news from a dear friend. Imagine being the friend telling it. I can deal with my stuff. For the newly diagnosed cancer patient as a rule, it very quickly passes, this time where you are concerned about yourself. That comes back, later. But, to be the bearer of such news to those you love is an assignment that comes straight from the bowels of Hell! Rationalization does not work, and justification is useless. "They have to be told!" Why? Why me? Why do I have to be the one to destroy these people's lives? You want to know what's unfair? Why does this have to "spread", like a Cancer, among everyone on my Christmas Card List? Somewhere along this journey, I will spend some time on that. I have history of telling, and hearing such news. If you are ever called to this journey, you will understand more fully what I am trying to say. To the Cancer patient, and especially to those given a terminal diagnosis, this is but the first of countless desecrations of your life. You will lose many, many things along the way on this journey. But, when you are staring your loved ones in the face, delivering this bit of "dish", your entire Universe changes, and it will never change back. Please understand me. I can handle, at least for the moment anyway, MY stuff. But, knowing that, when they hear it, the people you would die to keep from causing hurt are going to hurt in a way that cannot be touched, or healed. And regardless of the name of the enemy that causes it, YOU have to do it. And, friends, that just plain ole, every day, run-of-the-mill, SUCKS! Perhaps, if you are extremely lucky, you have a spouse, a child, or a close relative or dear friend that will sincerely ask you "Do you want me to tell ______?" And you will want, with all you have within you, to just scream "YES!" But, after some thought, I realized that anyone on my Christmas Card List that I would allow some other person to "notify" is probably someone that shouldn't be on that List in the first place! I didn't WANT to stare my beloved friends in the face, or my family members. It simply fell upon me to do so. Long before you discuss the logistics and tactical or strategic approach for so-and-so, you are either lying helpless in a bed, or sitting in a wheelchair attached to God-knows-what, a completely vulnerable, helpless victim! Who in this world has EVER seen you in this shape before, or you would want to? You may not believe it, or know it, or want to admit it, but the relationship with that person, whoever it is, will be forever changed with this news. You will, on one or another level (and regardless of the outcome, by the way) become a "victim". "She lost her battle with Cancer!" "He is a victim of _____ Cancer, you know!" Without preamble, or intent, or even permission, all of a sudden, in only a moment, your entire definition to others is changed. The books say that this is the first step to "de-personalize" the disease. It helps the person deal with the illness in a way that they can accept. Who, me? No, the people on that List, that's who! Will they love me less? NO! They will just love me differently! I don't want them to have to, dammit! Will they look at me differently, or say things (or NOT say things) to me differently? You betchum they will! Why? Because now my entire identity is all warped, and different. I am a Cancer Patient. Whether I "Lose The Battle" (Boy, are we gonna talk about THAT one!), or am "a victim of Cancer", or even "a Cancer Survivor", I am forever, without consent, permission, or intent, different. Immediately, and automatically, I will be someone who I have never before been in the eyes of those who, more than anyone else, I want to see ME! If I had you tell Tom, or Linda, I would get beat unconscious by each of them! And once they had mopped up the floor with my carcass, they would each have beat me again for leavin' a dirty waxy buildup! Believe it or not, "How am I going to tell _______?" is, most often, the very first concern of the newly diagnosed Cancer patient. It isn't about them. This scenario will play itself out time, and time again in the journey of the Cancer patient. Deciding who, how, and when to tell those people in your world that matter, matters a very great deal. It is personal, it is a private thing, and it is very, very important. There are family members of mine who do not yet know. I refuse to let them have a link to this blog--yet. Others know, and read every day. Hell, I've even had to tell them who NOT to tell! This particular enemy brings a full arsenal, believe me. I am asking you to consider this particular weapon in a way that maybe you never have before. If you want to know why the cancer patient you can think of is a little emotional, or on edge, here's a great start for ya. You could do a whole lot worse for yourself than considering this reality BEFORE you are called on this journey, as well. And, if you do, please, please write it down. Make an itemized list of instructions for yourself, or others as to who, how, and when you wish others you care for to know. It really REALLY matters. In my case, my friends didn't blink--in front of me. I may never truly know the horror they experienced at my hand the day I had to divulge this information to them. I only pray that they will know I told them because of love. How's that for a "Gotcha!" ? |
| About an hour after being returned to my spacious accommodations, I received a caller. Dr. P., in his usual calm and quiet style, was simply present in my room. His smile was sincere and gentle. "How are you today, Mr. Fields?" "I am well, Doctor P. How are you doing today?" "I am quite well, thank you for asking." It wasn't as it sounds: like some kind of conversational dance. It was a genuine exchange. That alone somewhat surprised me. "Mr. Fields, we have the results of the scans of your neck, and I must discuss them with you." "Well, pull up a chair, Doc, and let's chat, shall we?" I was kidding. He pulled up a chair, and sat--ramrod straight. Bearing! Patients notice. "Mr. Fields, the scans showed us some things that are not very pleasant, I'm afraid." He paused for a moment. I wondered to myself if he was preparing himself, or me for what was to come next. "We found some tumors on either side of your neck. They originate in, and around your Parotid Glands. They are really rather rare, actually." I wondered if perhaps Doctor P. might not actually be one of the last of the English Colonials in India. His bearing was military, his dialect precise, and his demeanor extremely calm. I like him a lot. It's not all that often that a person emits trust. He did. "Mr. Fields, these tumors are called 'Wharthin's' tumors, and are only very rarely discovered. They are almost always benign. Unfortunately, in your case, they are malignant. The Medical terminology is Polymorphic Low-Grade Adenocarcinoma, or PLGA if you are interested." I remember being amazed. There actually IS a word worse!! Even with the earlier events, it was a gut-punch with effect. Dr. P. paused for a moment, then continued. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid there's more distressing news, if you can accept it." "I can accept anything so long as it is the truth, Dr. P." He smiled. He was doing well, and seemed satisfied with my statement. "We also discovered several malignant tumors (nodules) on, in and around your Thyroid Gland. We will need to remove your Thyroid, as well. I know it is difficult to hear, but if you must have malignancy, there really IS no place better to have them than the Thyroid." How's that for a mixed message!! "The primary concern for us presently (presently??) is your hypertension. Your Heart and Lungs are in no condition for any treatment, including Surgery we might consider. Your body would simply not tolerate any of them. Chemo-Therapy and/or Radiation Therapy as a follow-up to surgery is extremely devestating to the body. We will have to wait to see how it goes with the Pulmonary Hypertension, then we can look at our options." "Who would do this Surgery of, I presume, all these tumors, Doctor?" "I will do your surgery, Mr. Fields, unless there is someone else you would prefer." "I would NOT prefer anyone else, Doctor P. If you are willing to do the Surgery in the proper time, I will have the Surgery. Thank you." He simply nodded, and smiled. He stood up, and put his hand on my shoulder. "I believe you will be just fine, Mr. Fields. I will visit with you again, soon. Do you have any questions?" "Tons of questions I have, Doctor. But, perhaps they would best be saved for another time, if that is alright." "Certainly. I understand. Is there anything you need now?" "No Sir. I am okay. Thank you for telling me this news, Doctor P. I can handle anything, so long as it is the truth." He nodded, and silently left my room. The Parotid Glands are two small, almond-shaped glands located near the joint where your upper and lower jaw join, on the side of your face. They are sometimes referred to as the "Spit Glands". They are the major salivary glands of the body. There are several "minor" salivary glands. According to research from the National Organization of Rare disorders (I now am a card-carrying member!): "Less than one (1%) per cent of all cancers reported in the USA are salivary cancers and, of these, 80% begin in the parotid glands, and about 15% begin in the submandibular glands, leaving only 5% that begin in the sublingual and minor salivary glands. Most of the tumors that start in the major salivary glands turn out to be benign, while most, but not all, of the cancers that start in the minor salivary glands turn out to be malignant."* I know that's what they are called, and I believe that is what they do. I do not know what happens to you without them. Evidently, at some point, I may well get the opportunity to find out. As for the Thyroid, it is a "Butterfly", or "H"- shaped organ located about in the center of the neck. According to my research: "First identified by anatomist Thomas Wharton in 1965, the thyroid is a neck gland with two lobes made to control the body's metabolism. The thyroid gland also produces several hormones, especially thyroxine and triidothyronine. The thyroid also helps govern the level of calcium in the body by producing the hormone calcitonin. People will experience problems with their thyroid if the gland is too active or if the thyroid isn't producing hormones at a high enough level." "Thyroid nodules are abnormal growths or lumps in the thyroid gland. Most nodules are not cancerous (benign) and do not cause problems. Many do not even need treatment. Only about 5% of thyroid nodules are cancerous. Cancerous nodules have to be surgically removed." * The Thyroid Gland acts as a part of the "thermostat" system of the body. Both of these organs are a part of the Endocrine system. The Thyroid can cause severe problems. Two well-known diseases of the Thyroid are Graves' Disease, usually affecting the Thyroid and the Pituitary Gland (which afflicts President G. H. W. Bush), and Addison's Disease , usually involving the Pituitary Gland, the Adrenal Gland, and the Hypothalamus (which afflicted President Kennedy). Serious conditions of the Thyroid can be life-threatening, but the removal of the Thyroid results in having to take a pill once a day for the rest of your life. Big Deal! So I take 32 pills a day! I'm not exactly sure how to communicate this, but after I had heard the news, and had gotten the specifics that I could from Doctor P., I actually had a deep sense of relief! The enemy really does have a name! Cancer of the Parotids (PLGA), and Cancer of the Thyroid. Perhaps Dr. N. had finally, finally found the trigger. Information is the key to understanding. Understanding is the key to planning. Planning is the key to victory! Well, now all we have to do is to get the PHT numbers down out of the Stratosphere, cut these suckers, and nuke 'em out of existence! It seemed like the beginnings of a plan. If you have a plan, you have control Maybe, just maybe, I could plan on getting control of my life back!! But, how do you get PHT numbers down? No one seemed to know. If they did, they weren't telling me about it. And, in the next few days, the skies would get just a little darker still. * References available upon request |
The Moment Of all the things witty that I wish I had thought of to say, and of all the things that suddenly I would have just loved to say--I said nothing. I didn't say anything from that moment on. I didn't speak during the procedure, I didn't speak to the technician after the procedure, and I said nothing to Aaron--who sensed something was very, very wrong. When he came to whisk me in the general direction of my room, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked, softly "Are you alright, Mr. Fields? You're not your usual self." Boy, you got THAT right, kid! I just patted his hand a couple of times. Silence engulfed my entire world. The only thing I heard were the words of that technician. "You have Cancer!" I held my chart in my hand the entire way back to my room. I never opened it. I did, however, make certain this time that it was, in fact, my chart. After being delivered, and re-arranged in my room, Aaron left. He stopped, turned around and looked at me. He smiled a 250-watt smile, and waved. I waved back. That was, evidently, sufficient. He left me to the silence. In all the books I had ever read, and of all the times I was called to the side of a recently diagnosed patient, and of all the people I have intimately known who have had Cancer, nowhere had any one of them said the first word about what you do when it's YOU. The "Self-Help" books don't mention it. More likely, I just skipped over that part. Well, wouldn't you? My professional training had side-stepped it. And, here it was in my face, on my shoulders, and taking up just way too much space in my head. What are you supposed to DO with that information, friend? When you look down, and see where your feet are, and that's where they are, what do you DO? I mean, what's the proper protocol, here? What is the "preferred" reaction, anyway? This news changes baseball games, bowling teams, recitals, meetings, and meals that haven't even been planned yet! Not only does such news as this change where you are, but it changes wherever you will ever be! Regardless of the outcome, or the years you live, or the life you have after it, this news changes everything about you. "You have Cancer!" I would truly love to come up with some amazing and profoundly helpful (even if trite) statement here that would help in this moment. I'd even love to hear one! I really don't know of any other such intimately personal moment in a human life, except perhaps the act of death. Everyone who ever hears those words will have some kind of response. That mine came as it did, on the one hand, shows me even one more time just what kind of a sense of humor God has. There's "out of left field", then there is this! This is TRULY a God-Moment! And, in that moment, He was. I could not bring myself to cry, although I sorely wanted to. But, I felt His tears. And, I felt His arms. And, that was enough for me. That my Dad was crying in my pain, and my fear, and my lonliness of that moment was, WAS sufficient grace for me. I presumed then, as now, that there would come a time when I bust loose, and "let 'er rip!". So far, that has not really happened--but then we are very early on the journey, aren't we? Who do you get mad at? The bug? The choices? The habits? The people who DON'T have Cancer? Your family, who is going to, very shortly, have their entire worlds forever changed? God? And for how long? How much, and how long is mad enough? How scared is scared enough? How do you act that scared? I truly do not know. That the fear is real, and paralyzing beyond your imagination is very true, because it doesn't just paralyze your feet: it paralyzes your brain! The Brain, of course, will just do a chemical dump, and you will be completely numb! But, you can't think, you are so scared! And you eventually realize that, as long as you live, some part of that same fear will always be with you. Yes, I was angry. I still am. Yes, I was scared. I still am. These, and a host of other emotions will, should you ever be called to take this journey, flood your very being. Anxiety? I got tons of it! Sadness, and grief, and misery, and helplessness, and hopelessness, and all the other colors of the palette will suddenly take up residence in your living, too. There is no doubt that, during this journey, I will want to write about my experiences with all these things--and more. But, for all those who have gone before me, or who are on this very same journey with me, I think I would like to wait until later. For those of you who are family members of those recently diagnosed with Cancer, I want you to know this moment. You have your own (and I am sure) completely valid reasons for the sadness you feel for your loved one. But, if you would, please, just take a moment and live in THESE shoes. It's really important. If you can truly feel what it is that I am talking about, it may well change the way you look at your loved one. It also may change the way you talk to them, deal with them, and help them along on their journey. And, for some who come so quickly to my mind, it may help you to look at them a little differently, as well. You thought they were brave? You thought they were strong? You thought they were such warriors? You have no idea. But, perhaps now you will. |
| During the latter part of Day 8 in the ICU, I was suddenly everyone's prize. The trouble was, everyone wanted me to be where THEY were, instead of peacefully resting in my room. There is, in the Hospital, a definite time shift. Some have referred to it as becoming "institutionalized" (in this case, a relative state of being, NOT an act of commitment!). Time is much more often measured around meals. People have wondered why that is. I have come to my own conclusion, and I will tell you what it is. If you are ever called upon to take this journey in your life, you will remember what I say. Meals. Regardless of which Doctor, or Nurse, or Therapist, or Social Worker, or Specialist with a wild hair, enters or leaves your room, the medications being delivered, or the Welcome Wagon Lady taking a wrong turn, it is meals that never change. They always arrive (whenever that is) at the same time, every day. My breakfast came into my room at 0800. My lunch arrived at noon, and my dinner/supper arrived at 1700 (5 PM) each, and every day. While I was in the Hospital this first time, I did eventually move from the ICU to a different Ward. That ward had ITS times too, and they were just slightly different. But, I quickly adjusted. It was only about a fifteen-minute shift, so it wasn't really very difficult. But, I will admit my tummy had the hardest time adjusting to it. I've given you the rough outline of every day, but there was some amazing stuff in the "free space" of each day. Tests. I cannot begin to tell you how many times my friend, young Aaron, would come into my room shouting the words "We're supposed to go to..." someplace freakin' ELSE! As best as I can currently recall, here are some numbers for ya! Cath Lab: 4 times MRI Lab: 22 times CT Lab: 18 times X-Ray: 8 times Surgery: 2 times Endoscopy Lab: 4 times With, or without irradiated dye (which made me so hot all over I'll NEVER say anything to you ladies again, so long as I shall live!). Stand up! Just lay still! Hold your breath! (Even the machines say this now!) I need to borrow your arm! (IV's) My Favorite? Of all time? Dr. C., and his Endo team (doing a Colonoscopy/Sigmoid Study): "Turn over, Mr. Fields, I need to stick this catheter up your butt!" "Sharp stick!" (Duh!) "Have you had a bowel movement yet, today?" "Where's your urinal, Bud? Playin' 'Hide The Pee' again, are we?" "Did you bring your Chart with you THIS time, Bud?" (Like it was my job, or somethin'!) "They'll be with you shortly, I'm SURE!" (Which guaranteed me I had time to knit a car cover for a '48 Phantom! And, NO I don't knit!) When Dr. Jane said she wasn't going to stop until she found out the cause of "the event", she really and seriously meant it. Every inch of my body was filmed, either on X-Ray or digitally! And, I do mean several times. Please believe me, friend. What I am about to tell you is gospel-testified truth. I distinctly remember waking up from a nap, realizing two things: 1. I must have slept with my head scrunched up into my neck, because I had a headache when I woke up, and 2. There was yet another strange Doctor (Doctor Win-different "W") in my room. He was one of several Endo guys that suddenly descended on my case out of nowhere. As a way of introduction, he asked me how I was feeling. "Well, Doctor, I think I might have slept funny during my nap. I have a little headache." "A headache??!!" He snapped. And, completely disappeared from my room. Five minutes later, I was being hustled off by transportation for...ya ready? A BRAIN SCAN! Words failed me then, and they fail me now. Just so you know that I hadn't somehow awakened in "Happy Herbie's Home for the Hapless", and to at least let this amazing Doctor off the hook a little (bitty) bit...there was a good medical reason for it. Boy, was he lucky! I was being "heparinized", which means that my body was being forced to reduce the blood clotting factor down towards the zero mark. This was being done in an attempt to keep any new clots from forming that might place me closer to the Pearly Gates, ya see. If the Heparin works too well, the body can begin to spontaneously bleed inside, all on its own. But, this Doc didn't "draw", he just concluded. Off I went, passing either Willy, or Nilly (I just couldn't tell them apart at the time) along the way. Thankfully, the Brain Scan was (don't...you...DARE!) negative for the massive internal hemhorraging the good Physician seemed to fully expect, and I went back to my room aboard Bed # 007. No, seriously! Bond woulda loved this contraption. (And, in room 13 besides--always been my lucky number!) Being a patient requires many things that perhaps you have never had to encounter before in your life. There is a level of knowledge which is a really good thing to have. I mean, look at the plethora of new terms we are sharing together. (As, I suppose, opposed to, say, a miasma?) As I said before, knowledge is power. Knowledge is, to at least a small degree control, because when you can finally understand what your Doctor is telling you, you are somewhat equal. You often get to make care determinations that otherwise the Doctor would be forced to make on your behalf. Part of the knowledge, though, is knowing what NOT to know and, as I so poigantly have shown, what NOT to say. I have no idea what some of the tests run were, even though I was always told the what, why, and who of each one of them. What the test was, why I was receiving it, and who ordered the test were my basic information requirements. I didn't usually go into detail with the test giver about what they were looking for, or why I was getting the test. You will learn that asking questions like this at the wrong time, and especially to the wrong person, can make your otherwise blissful day turn to stone cold crap! That particular day, I learned NEVER to offer my condition to Dr. Win. I also learned not to invite uninvited information into my brain at the same time. When I was wheeled into the area for the Brain Scan, the technologist took my Chart from Aaron, opened it up, looked at me, and she said: "Hello Mr. Fields. I see here you have Cancer." |
| Several weeks before this "event" happened, one of my dearest WDC friends started naggin' me to write a blog. Now that there is something of substance to blog about, I have become overwhelmed. Finally agreeing to give it a shot, I promised that I would try it for a while and see how it went. But, I wasn't going to write it correctly, I was just going to write it honestly. I believe that I have honored that commitment, at least to myself. There have been some moments, thus far, that have caused me great pain to write, and to read afterwards. Pain that I didn't even know existed has come through my fingers in a way that has left me short for words. When I said it was for therapy, I had no idea just how theraputic it would become. And, to be honest, that has been quite the surprise. But, there has been another surprise which is even greater. I really didn't believe that anyone would really want to read these words. I mean, let's face it. Who would? Don't we all have our buckets to carry around? Who needs to swim in someone else's sewer? A couple of days ago, I spent literally hours reading every entry, and every comment that has been so selflessly given here. To know that there are so many caring, loving, and genuinely concerned friends who will stop, listen, and give of themselves has just floored me, and I want to thank you. The writing has been tough for me, as I processed (much of it for the first time, or the second...) the realities of the days since October 28th, 2006. But, as difficult as the words have been to write, I also know that they are difficult to read. Believe me, I've read them! I want to go on writing them, for the original purpose still stands. But, the picture has changed so very much. The love, the concern, and the friendship shown to me by those of you who have read, and stay anyway, has allowed me to see light in the darkness, green in the valley, and warm light upon my face--even in these first tough times. In the Bible, there is a question that is asked: "Am I my Brother's keeper?" The answer given can best be understood here, I think. "Yes!" We ARE to share our burdens AND our joys with one another. But when the burdens are yours, it is very hard to ask, much less think, someone else to share them. It has been said that "a burden shared is halved; a joy shared is multiplied." That statement has never in my life been more truthfully lived out than here. I am radically grateful to each of you, and pray that you will be richly blessed, indeed. I hope you will choose to walk along even further on this journey with me, because the road does get bumpy from time to time. While I am not so good at it at the moment, because of you all, I am slowly learning. I am learning to lean. That is, on this particular journey, perhaps one of the most difficult lessons of all. How blessed am I to have such wonderful friends to lean upon. Thank you for it all, and for so much more. I truly couldn't do it without each and every one of you. I just wanted you to know. In His Care, Budroe |
| I was awakened by, believe it or not, a Doctor! I had no idea at the time, but I had been peacefully resting (Cue the interruption!) for some 4 hours. It's not so much that I was in slumber by decision, you understand. But, the most wonderful Nurse gave me the most wonderful drug (to this moment, I have no idea what it was!) you see, and off to the land of la la I traipsed. I should have seen it coming, but I really didn't mind so much. The alternative was not much to behold. This particular Doctor, for reasons I cannot really explain to you, became my favorite. If you are called upon this journey, I guarantee you that you, too, will for some reason or other, declare of the herd your choice. I am willing to bet GP's that you will be more surprised than anyone else about your choice. This man, appearing to be in his early to mid-fifties, did not wake me up with his voice, or with his hand. (Some Docs like to wake patients by pulling on the Big Toe--go figger!) This Doctor woke me with his presence! He had a gentle smile, and wide eyes. I believe he was either Pakistani or Indian. Dr. P. was, as I later learned, and Endocrinology Oncologist (Cancer Doc that specializes in diseases of the Endocrine System). After the bracelet ritual, which confirmed his right to be in my room, and my right to wonder what he was doing in my room, this man set down his "Black Bag"! (Does that tell you anything?) "Hello, Mr. Fields, I am Doctor P. How are you feeling right now?" "Well, Doc, the guy in the lab coat that was here before ya kinda hit me with a sledge hammer full of drugs. I'm kinda loopey, to tell ya the truth!" He howled! I mean, this guy broke uuuppp!! I started laughing just watching and listening to this guy completely lose it. A FAN!! (No wonder...) He came over to my bed, attempting to re-assemble himself into some kind of proper medical decorum (which, I gotta tell ya, was a pure scream!). He put his hand very gently around my neck (Great, I get the Critic!), and felt around (palpated) my neck. "How long has that lump been on the side of your neck?" "Which lump on the side of my neck, Doc?" "This one, over here." He put his hand on the left side of my neck, and rubbed gently. "Oh! I thought you meant the other one!" He looked stunned. "Other one?? WHAT other one?" He looked stunned! He hadn't found THAT one! I win! "This one, over here that goes to that mole on the back of my skull. See, feel it?" Then, he felt it. That particular lump was a doozy. It went from just below my ear to below the Thyroid line. It was soft, and mushy. (Now, don't ya jest love it when I talk all technical an' stuff?) Knowingly, he looked at me, and patted my shoulder. "You are going to be fine, Mr. Fields. I will come visit you again! Thank you." "Thank you, Dr. P. Have a legendary day!" I smiled, and he smiled. He walked slowly out to my door, looking back a couple of time and snickering. He was mumbling something about a sledge hammer, shaking his head. He got outside my door, and busted out laughin' again! It somehow made me feel good. I'll bet he doesn't get to have a lot of yucks in his line of work. Transportation arrived, unannounced, and my newest friend Aaron, young man of perhaps 17 years, smiled at me. "Mr. Fields? We are supposed to take you down for a test. Just buckle up tight, and hang on. We'll have you there in a flash!" Imagine. Go ahead, I did. I pictured the JATO tanks igniting in the hallway, just short of the elevator. I wondered to myself how they would explain THIS one to the Coroner. "Speed kills, Peaches!" I said to the youngster. "Let's arrive alive, okay?" "Yes Sir!" And, off we went to see one of my earlier acquaintences, Dr. W.--at the Cath Lab! Dr. W. is another Endo/Onc guy, but he's a Surgeon. Nobody tole me 'bout no Surgery, Lucy! "Mr. Fields, do you remember me?" "Take off that mask, man, and give me a fair shot at it and I'll let ya know!" I said. Pulling down his mask, I did confirm to the memory banks that it was, in fact, Dr. W. "Hiya, Dr. W. Howzit goin', and what in blazes am I doing HERE?" "Oh, well the room was available, and we are going to use it for you, today." "Umm, and what, just perzacktly do "we" intend to use it today FOR?" "Oh, they didn't tell you?" Okay, let's just stop the bus for a minute here, okay? I will readily admit, to whomever wishes it admitted, that I am NOT the sharpest knife in the drawer, okay? I may be one brick shy of an outhouse, but this guy had me beat! When you are a patient, as you may have already noticed, there are things you pick up on. I hope you will spend just a few moments (however few may be required) to come up with an original response to this question. You will, I guarantee you, hear it more than once during your first hospital stay. Yes, these were the hands, attached to the body, which was controlled by THIS Brainiac! The mouth was movin', but the Brain was NOT engaged, ya know? "Well, some kid came and pushed my bed down the hallway a while ago, mumbling somethin' about goin' to the Casino, Doc. This don't look like no Casino I ever lost money at!" "Mr. Fields, we are going to put some metal (actually, more metal, but why should a SURGEON know that?) into your body. These are called "In-Line" filters, and we are going to insert them through your groin...." "WHOA! Waitaminnute here, Doc! My Groin?" "Well, actually through a vein in your Groin, Mr. Fields. They will catch any blood clots which break loose from your legs. We have to try to keep the clots from reaching your Heart, or your Brain, or like has already happened, from your lungs. They won't like it if that happens, I promise you!" Wonderful. I don't have enough to wonder about. Now, I got Lee Majors runnin' through my mind, and some really cheezy theme music goin' off in my ears. "We need you to sign this Authorization Form, Mr. Fields, so we can do the procedure. Just sign right here!" Pointing to the spot on the paper, Doctor W. handed me a pen. I signed. Well, wouldn't you?? "2.5 Versed, please Nurse." I looked at the Nurse who was putting a syringe into my IV line. "I'm going to like Versed, ain't...." Fade to Black. I woke up in my room, in my bed. I had five new Vena Cava Filters in my body which, if the Doctor was correct (who am I to argue?), would last for about 20 years--give or take. Give or take what, precisely, I have yet to discover. But, there is a warranty, soo... At least I got my first piece of legit jewelry. I got a pendant telling the world that I have metal filters inside my body. The guys at Security are gonna get a LOAD outa this one! "You're not flyin' nowhere!" I wasn't feelin' so hot, actually. I felt nauseated all over the place. Sweet water was making its first appearance in my mouth, and things were kind of "swimmy". About five minutes later, the floor's Dietician came knocking at my door. "Mr. Fields?? Food Service! I have your lunch. May I come in?" Oh, man. It's not difficult enough facing that, umm, food. Not now. Please, not now. "Just set it down. I've just had a procedure, and I'm still a little woozy." I could NOT care less, Lady. Just please get out of my sight, or we are both gonna really regret our friendship. "Alright." She lifted the cover, and the aroma wafted into and around my nostrils. I probably have not mentioned this before, (Why would I?) but I have no sense of smell. I haven't had for over 30 years. The reciprocating sense, in my case, has been the sense of taste. I can taste what you smell. Think for a moment about pollution; think of industrial pollution. Call it lunch, and you've got that tray. "Thank you! I'll ring when it's ready." "Okay, Mr. Fields. Enjoy your meal!' She happily skips, replete with cane, out the door. (It's a picture, go with it!) I rang the Nurses call button. I would like to tell you that the ICU bed which I occupied was designed by the same folks who engineered Kirk's Enterprise! Up, or Down. Legs Up, or down. Head up, or down. Raise the bed, or Lower the bed. Television. Radio. Call Button. I'm woozy. I'm about to barf in gigantic, really ugly proportions. I can't find th' damn Nurses Call Button on this Starship! Finally, after pushing all the buttons I can see, the Nurses Call light goes on. "May I help you?" Remember my admonishment to you earlier? You know, with Dr. Brainiac? Double it. You can be vanilla about it, or you can choose, as I consistently chose, to be some extravagant variation of Double Fudge Ripple/Rocky Road. "Yes. Is this the car wash? I'd like the 'El Presidente', please." You just gotta know the sweet savor of that particular silence. Priceless. You know the wonderbrain on the other end is having kittens, trying to believe she did NOT just hear what she heard. Subtle, yet elegant. And, as only could be written by a Script Director for "As the Stomach Churns", I got...after an extremely pregnant pause... "I beg your pardon, Sir?" "No need to beg, lady. I'm feelin' nauseous, can I have an emesis basin, please?" I hear irrepressible laughter in the intercom. "Oh! I thought you said... Your Nurse will be right there!" Alright, I'll admit it. They are small, tiny, insignificant victories. But, if you are ever called to take this journey, friend, you will NEED them! Do not pale, and cower. Go FORTH into the abyss, laughin' your patootie to the other side! Verily Lo, and many cattle. "So as it is written, so let it be DONE!" (Thanks to Pharoah, and Mr. DeMille!) I couldn't figure out which was going to be first: me laughin' my way back onto a respirator, or that Nurse arriving with the emesis basin (Barf bucket). I was laughin' like somebody switched the Oxygen to Nitrous! But, that's okay, it only hurts when I breathe. The Nurse came into the room, holding forth the basin de emesis as if it were loaded with e.coli. "Feeling a little sick? Here, if you..." She put it in the bed, near my hand. Laughin' like a deranged hyena, I grabbed it and let loose. I am not certain if my aim was off, or I had mis-judged velocity and elevation. Let us merely note, for the record, that I significantly MISSED. There was no untouched thing within ten feet of my mouth--except the disposal implement so recently arrived. And, yes, including the deliverer. "OH MY GAWD!" This poor soul didn't know whether to give a weather forecast or just have kittens. The Nurse was a bit dazed, too. :) One frantic push on the Nurse's light, a panicked "I need HELP in here--NOW!" into the unknown, and several folks came streakin' into my room! Me? I was otherwise indisposed, wretchin' my toenails into the atmosphere. We later determined that I had a less-than-satisfactory reaction to the combination of the drugs already in my system, and the drugs given so generously by Dr. W. in the Cath Lab. I guess ole Dr. W. got the last snicker, after all! Friends, one of the things I am learning on this journey is that you are going to do things that just totally humiliate you. Someone is going to have to bring you a bed pan. (I'm going to talk about these later!!!) Someone is going to have to remove said bed pan from under your nasty butt. Someone is going to have to wipe said nasty butt, and make it all shiny and new again. You are going to eliminate waste from every available orifice you posses--perhaps a few you didn't even know you possess! In this particular instance, I was completely mortified!! I was angry. I was humiliated. I was... everything you can think of to go with it. But, mostly, what I was, was helpless. Being helpless is, to the average adult, a unique experience. The hospital staff have probably, I wager, seen vomitus (sorry, but it fits. That's what it is!) before. They have probably wiped a few butts before, too. They have cleaned up Blood, and every other imaginable body fluid before. But, never before has ANYONE (since I was but a mere tyke) had to clean up my waste before! Perhaps it was an involuntary nervous reaction to the day's events. Maybe it was a combination of drugs. I don't know, it could have been the perfect ending of a perfect day! But, it was what it was. I would like to blame it on the stench--err, aroma of the delicacies placed before me in a food tray. (As it happened, meat loaf, et al. Sorry, Jeeves! Hospitals and Meat Loaf should NEVER be in the same Area Code!) As a patient, you try to do for yourself all that you can. There is an indwelling fear that, failing to do anything once--means you can't do it at all. In this case, what I did was beyond my control--in every possible sense of the word! I hope you will remember that it is perhaps only YOUR first time to ride this particular rodeo. Nurses and Doctors have seen it before you, and they will doubtless see it after you. It's YOU that has to learn the overwhelming humility of being helped. Selfless care is a very humbling experience. You don't see it as anything like that. I didn't, and you won't. But, these folks do. What you think is the penultimate defeat isn't. It's just a part of the process. It's just one little step on the journey. It feels like the end of life as you know it. And, perhaps there's a reason for that, too. It is. And, believe it or not, it can get worse. I know it did for me. |
| On about ICU Day 8, a thin little man, with wire-rimmed glasses came into my room just after dawn. I fully expected him to apologize, telling me he was looking for accounting. Rather, he came over to the far side of my bed, smiling somewhat apologetically I thought. I observed him as he observed me. He reached down, and picked up my right wrist and read my patient information band. Sliding his hand down my wrist, he grasped my hand. "Good morning, Mr. Fields. I am Doctor K. Your Doctor asked me to come by and take a look at you." "Good Morning, Doctor. I wasn't aware, but please feel free." From underneath (or somewhere) his lab coat, he produced a Stethescope. He asked me to raise up into a sitting position so that he could listen to my breathing. Asking me to take deep breaths, he moved the instrument around the front, and back of my chest, intently listening to my breathing. "It sounds like you are having a little trouble breathing this morning, Mr. Fields. Are you in pain?" "Some, but not too much." I replied. He looked over at my oxygen delivery system, mounted on the wall of my room. "You are getting quite a bit of oxygen into your system right now." "Yes Sir, I am. 7 litres, at 100% on this mask." Which, of course, I felt compelled to remove in order to talk with him. Each time I would respond required me to remove the "Non-Rebreathe" mask from my face. This was fast taking on the sensation of a Grade "B" Burlesque show. "Your blood work is giving us some concern, Mr. Fields. I am going to order a few special tests to help us isolate the problem, if that is alright with you." "As long as they just add tubes to the "draw", I really don't mind." Did you ever have one of those moments, where you suddenly just KNEW something was wrong? From somewhere either in the pit of my stomach, or the back of my brain, an alarm bell slowly began ringing distantly, quietly. I suddenly remembered that I hadn't asked him the required question of every new face I saw. "I have several Doctors on my Medical Care Team, Doctor K, but since this is our first meeting, may I ask specifically what is your area of expertise?" "I am a Hematology Oncologist." Smiling at him, I said "Oh, you're a bug chaser! Are you a good one?" Relaxing visibly, he smiled, looking me directly in the face. "Yes, Mr. Fields. I am a very good one." Looking away, I replied quietly "You better be." "We are going to find out what is going on with you, Mr. Fields. I promise." "Okay, Dr. K." Suddenly, it seems as if it was getting even more difficult to breathe. I replaced the mask on my face, and laid back in the bed. "I'll get those blood studies ordered right away. I'll see you again tomorrow, and perhaps we will have something to report to you." He patted my hand, and quietly left my room. Thundering silence. Spinning nearly out of control, I grasped the siderails of the bed, just to make sure I was still in it. My mind was racing in a way that I had never before experienced. I relinquished control of my thoughts to my brain, turned my head, and just looked out the window. It was, appropriately I thought, overcast and drizzling rain outside my room. Fear began somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, as my gut got tighter. I simply tried to relax, and let my senses, my brain, my heart, and my body respond to those forces that were taking it over. Logic and common sense were last seen running down the hallway, just a screamin'... For some reason, I began reviewing all the people who had come to take my blood. How many tubes had so-and-so drawn? What color were the tops again? Counting the vials, the sticks, and the people seemed to be one activity my brain could handle at the moment. For some unknown reason to me, either then or now, as I write these words, an echo of a past conversation crept into the theatre, and displayed itself across the gray screen just behind my eyes. "What triggered it? Why did this happen?" Suddenly, I wanted to see my brother-in-law. He was, for over 20 years, the Dean of the Medical School at Wayne State University. He was, by specialty, not only one of the nation's premiere Hematology Specialists, but his area of study and expertise was Hematology/Oncology. I had not seen or talked to him in over ten years, since the death of my wife. I wondered if perhaps Dr. K. might know him, or know of him. I was willing to bet money that Ray (my brother-in-law) would be able to tell me chapter and verse on THIS bug chaser. Raymie would tell me about this guy. Raymie would tell me what was going on. Raymie can make this all go away, I bet. Hematology Oncologists are the guys that look at (study) your blood (Hematology), and study it for the presence of markers, and indicators of Cancer cells in the body (Oncology). "This ain't no good!" Right about then, my Nurse showed up with a needle in her hand. It had probably not been ten minutes. "We got an order from Dr. K. to put this in. I'm going to put it in your IV line. It will take effect in just a minute." "Well, at least it won't hurt!" I said, smiling wanly as I looked at her. I shouldn't have. What I saw in that woman's face is the very, precise moment I knew we were headed down an entirely different road. I saw sadness. And, even worse, I saw pity. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fields." She said as she pushed in the plunger on the syringe. Patting my arm after delivering the drug, she looked at me and quietly said: "It will be alright." The sedative must have been one motha of a drug, because it took effect immediately, and I didn't get an opportunity to respond to her. If I could have, I would have said "Bullshit!". But the darkness came, and I let it wash over me like a wave. |
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