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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 ** |
| Not disabled. Totally disabled. As in, I will, most probably, never hold a job again. The damage to my lungs is permanent. The Diabetes can be managed. But the lungs are shot. The PHT is extreme. My heart is just having to work way too hard. It will eventually get tired--too tired. My lungs are already overloaded. They will get tired. I will die. In the ICU, someone is "drawing blood" just about once on the hour. Some are just bothersome "needle sticks". Some techs (Phlebotomists) are very good, and some are, umm, not. I have a "Two Stick" rule. If you can't get blood in two attempts, that's it. Get someone else to give 'er a whirl! And, we never use the same arm twice in a row. And, NO! You may NOT use my hands. That's all I have to get around the bed with. If I am so sore that I can't boost my lard butt up in bed, I'm going to become a very bad patient! (Going to??) It is quite strange how we adapt to our situations in life. For me, adapting to the life of a patient in the Intensive Care Unit was not easy. Once I really got with it, and returned to most of my previous mentation, I began observing my condition, and my surroundings. As I would recall later, ICU is an extremely controlled environment. For instance, every afternoon between 1400 and 1630 (2-4:30 PM) the Nurses do not allow any visitors--including Doctors! That is when they run the Ward. All personal patient care must be completed before this. Patient assessments, Nurse's Rounds, dressing changes, meds, TPR's (Temperature, Pulse, and Respiration), and perhaps even a moment of personal interaction with each patient are carried out. It is the one chance in a 24-hour period when the Nursing staff has a chance to get caught up with the patient care. There may be, in any given morning, 15 (in my case, for instance) Docs visiting a patient. Orders and Doctor's Notes are written, and must be taken care of. Did you know that every time a Doctor comes into your room, they must (by law) enter a notation in your Chart? Lest you be fooled, it also makes their billing partner very happy! There is another time that patients come to know in the ICU, as well. I call it "The Oh-Four-Thirties". At 0400 (4 A-Freakin-O'Clock M!), a lab tech would quietly enter my room to do the "Daily Draw". Every ICU patient has a "Daily Draw". What do they do with the "Hourly Draws"??? This is a very important event because it sets the baseline for all other numbers collected that day (24 hour period between "Daily Draw" numbers. This is THE Hospital "Day"!) My assigned lab tech was a young girl named Maria. The only thing I can tell you about this particular Angel was that, on many days, she drew my blood and I didn't even wake up! But, after the second morning, I was always awake when Maria very quietly would say "Mr. Fields?" In those few moments, my day was set. And, with Maria, there just was NO bad day. Every single time that woman came into my room, I felt Blessed. She only apologized for hurting me one time, and I dispensed with that in short order. "Just make it good the first time!" She never failed. What a pro! Her smile was always evident, and her kind and gentle nature never failed to impress me all to smash!! Then, she would (get this!) THANK me, and leave. And, then the 0430's would arrive. From the time the "Daily Draw" was complete, until breakfast arrived (around 0800), you were totally alone. Quiet permeated the bed, the room, and the entire Ward. The darkness was always quietly punctuated with one single light, so that care givers could see their way to your bedside. My light was a completely unobtrusive nite light, positioned on the bottom of my bed! (Thank you, Hill-Rom!) For me, personally, there have always been two things that would either keep me awake, or wake me up at night: sound, and movement. Nothing sounds quite so loud to my ear as a whisper in a quiet place. There were lots of whispers during this time. I don't think I slept once during my 16-day visit during this time. I thought. I questioned. I pondered, and wondered, and propositioned, but I didn't sleep. Hey, the Nazi-Nurses had THEIR time to catch up, and I had mine! It's only fair! I believe that it would be a truthful statement to say that, having read that first paragraph to yourself, it's a bit much to wrap your brain around. Beyond all the people wanting to help you, or tell you stuff that just made you wanna slap 'em into a different time zone ("It's going to be alright!" was my particular hot button.), the human brain needs time to process. You process events (Okay, what did I have done yesterday? What do I remember? Who was that Doc again? What is on the agenda for today that I know about? What is that test, anyway?) Doctor Jane got quickly into the habit of visiting me each morning at 0730, after the first time she came in "early" (that's 1/2 hour before breakfast, Doc. Stand anywhere near my food and you could be seriously hurt! My day is 1/3 over at 07-farkin' 30!) and found a list of questions waiting for her that I had written that morning, during the "0430's". She knew she had to get them all satisfactorily answered, give me the current score, tell me what I should expect that day, advise me of any med or condition changes, make me laugh at least once, let me make her laugh at least once, and get the hell outa my room before that tray of food showed up. She trained very nicely, thank you. At 0745, the Nurse came in and took my Blood Sugar, and gave me Insulin before I ate. So, I basically had three hours in the day to myself, my thoughts, and my life. You must remember that we are only part-way through the initial Hospital stay, here. I am trying desperately to get caught up. I just cannot WAIT to share my joy with the Federal, State, and local beauracracies that I dealt with yesterday! But, first things first. There's no one around to ask about what "shot lungs" means. "Disabled? Me?" and each and every other snippet you have discovered during the previous day. This is a storm, and I am in it. More than anything else, Doctor Jane just gave me Weather Reports for eleven days! And, nary one time did she forecast anything but more of the same lousy weather! What th' hell IS Pulmonary Hypertension? I don't know for sure, but it sounds purty bad, Budroe. Is my heart beating? Can I breathe okay? Adjust your oxygen mask, dummy! Feel your pulse! BREATHE! Of course, the "0430's" can also be an entertaining time, too. I mean, there are plans to be made! I got Nurses to upset, lab techs to holler at, food to swill, and Docs to get crazy! And, there is the quiet. Fear lives in the quiet time. Everything is unknown, and different, and strange. Words you have never heard before ring in your ears like a claxon. Thoughts just will not go away. Tears come, too, in the "0430's" of life in the Hospital. That was my time to release, relent, and review. Every day I spent in the Hospital had an "0430". Incidentally, so does every day at home. I guess it has just become a habit. As long as I have this special time, the rest of the day can just do what it wants. If you follow along for this ride, I have no doubt that you will see many entries that are created during this time. It is the only time, you see, where you have only yourself to yourself. That's one of those things that we humans take for granted. You can hate it, and be grumpy all day because of it. You can ignore it, and act like it isn't there. You can simply huff and puff in your anger and get through it. I chose to embrace it. It was my ME time. And, it was my Dad time. I prayed, studied Scripture, and even was caught a couple of times quietly singing some of my favorite Hymns during this time. And yes, I would write during this time as well. Sometimes, I would feel "centered" early, and just drift off to sleep for a bit. (Well, I did until that one time when I awoke at 0630 to find a totally unknown Doctor with his Thumb up my butt! That was the end of that, I tellya!) "Did I wake ya?" Umm, NO, Doc, just pretend I'm not even here! You ARE a Doc, right? I mean, is this gonna lead to cards and flowers and a proposition, or am I about to have a Prostate Exam? Sheesh! If you ever get called to take this journey, you too will have the "0430's". Don't be afraid of them, but embrace them. It will be really tough, I know. But, if you can use that time (What else are ya gonna do, sleep? Wanna BET?) to just get your bearings, to recap the stuff of yesterday and try to see into today, it will be so much better for you as a Patient. And, incidentally, as a person. Because, some days give you things that nobody saw coming! I know. And sometimes, that is when you'd settle for terror any day of the week! |
| Everybody has a life, right? I mean, think about yours--right now. I'm not asking you to think about whether you are where you thought you would be by this point in your life. I'm not asking you to think about where you want to go in your life--"the plan". I am talking about simply "taking stock" of your life at this very moment. Consider the good, and the bad of your life. Where are you at this very moment? If you are having trouble understanding my request, or just how serious I am about it, look down. Look down until you can see your feet. Where are they? That is the moment of your life that I am talking about. Can you just take a couple of minutes and evaluate your life at this very moment? My life took a drastic change of direction between one breath and the next. Let me tell you where I was standing when it happened. Maybe it will help you to understand a little bit about where it is that I was, and where I am today. The moment before "the event", I was: A full-time student, working to receive my Doctorate in Information Technology. I had approximately twelve classes left to finish. I was an honor student, having made the Dean's list every single session since beginning the course of study that I had dreamed of for years. I had just received my textbooks, and course assignments for two new classes, due to begin in five days. These were to be my favorite classes yet, because they were the ones that really would get into the "meat" of my specialty. That very day, I had spent a couple of early morning hours setting up my folders on my computer, getting my schedule in line for the session, and setting up the new information on my classes, my instructors, and my fellow students. Looking over the assignments and work load, I felt like this was going to be just a total blast! Finally! Fun in learning! Preparing to begin one of my most favorite activities in the world: NaNoWriMo-2006! After successfully completing the NaNoPubYe's 2006 "Fall Warmup", I felt as if I was back in the groove. I had a disturbing novel to write, the first of a trilogy. A good premise, a necessary story to tell, characters that would go the distance, and a plot to die for! (Hey, it's MY story, ain't it?) You who do this wondrous event know what it takes to prepare. Chat rooms were active, the nanocookies were ordered, and I had enough coffee beans arriving shortly to float a battleship! The Forums were buzzing, friends were being made, and excitement filled the air. I was going to write original words again. Oh, would my publisher be pleased! (Well probably not, but it IS my story!) A friend had invited me to spend the Holidays with he and his family in California. He had a special gift for me, that he just could NOT wait to deliver. That is, in itself, quite a bizarre story which should probably be written down. But it should not be included in any time capsule for the future alien race visitors to read! I had done the research, found the best price on a ticket. It was set. I love to fly, and have over 6 million air miles to my credit. I looked at taking a train, because I just do so love travelling by train whenever possible. California is one of my favorite places to visit--mostly because I get to leave every time I go there. Work on the mystery series was coming along satisfactorily. Four books were currently in various stages. Publishers were talking about "a series", and contracts. Agents were vying for representation rights. (Well, they were being given the opportunity to vie, anyway!) Research, planning, outlining, etc. were being attended to. My Editor had just recently told me in quite a gutsy moment of incidental truth that she believes the book will do quite well. After these long months of doing all those things that a writer does AFTER the draft is written, I was seeing some progress and it felt good! And, to top it all off, I was going to write new words again! Life was, in short, in cruise mode. I am not a wealthy man. I am not a rich man. Hell, I'm not even comfortable! I had decided in April to "hang up the keys" and come off the road as a big-rig driver to attend school, and to attend to the books. Unemployment paid the bills, and provided me with food. It was finally looking as if I had, in fact, made a good decision, after all. Along with the job, and the pay, went the benefits. The IRA was more than performing, and was healthy. Insurance? In thirty years, I had used my insurance one time, to correct a broken foot at work. I am as healthy as a big Russian Bear! The timing of success was critical, but it looked like everything was on track. No, things weren't great by any stretch of the imagination. But, on Monday morning, things were okay. Hope was alive, things were happening, and it looked like we just might sneak in under the wire and break through. Web sites were being set up, the Forums were alive and active, and the Blogs seemed to be doing well. Intellectual property was growing for the new company, and that was the stock we were trying to increase at every opportunity! Three people were working diligently, patiently, and persistently at the goal of arriving upon the doorstep of success! Life wasn't great, but it was okay. In fact, the very morning all this happened, I happened to mention in a phone conversation with one of my cohorts that things, and life, were "okay". I was writing. My Editor was editing. My IT guy was setting up some new hardware to drive the internet presence for the company. Life was okay. I stopped long enough to take inventory of my foodstock, and made a short list. Cigarettes (down to only 2 packs left), Coke (Cherry, my favorite), Sugar (almost out--can't have coffee without it), and Toilet Paper (Paper Towels were about to be called into service--a very bad thing!) were the list. I write this so you can join me vicariously on that Monday. I want you to know where I was on that day, because I want to tell you something. I want you to listen, and I want you to understand what I am saying. It's really important, okay? According to the latest information from the Social Security Administration, (SSA Publication No. 05-10029, January 2006,"Disability Benefits"), Pg. 2 says: "Disability is something most people do not like to think about. But the chances that you will become disabled probably are greater than you realize. Studies show that a 20-year old worker has a 3 in 10 chance of becoming disabled before reaching retirement age." We worry endlessly about those things that can, and will kill us. Death is a terrible thing to think about--especially if you do not understand it. I'll be writing a lot about that here. At least, I want to. There are so many things that we do truly fear about life, and in the living of life. But, what if you only "almost" die? What if you come to learn what it is that is going to cause your death? What if you discover it might just take a while? What if it takes a long while? Lookit. I said it was going to be honest. It's just you and me, okay? There's nobody to be brave for, or to make feel better. No one is watching. BE Here for a moment. It does truly matter. Because, despite the humor, and the diatribes, and the avoidance of the reality, you may one day find yourself standing, as I am, just one step past where I was on that fateful day. This is really tough to write, and it is tough to consider, I know. I will tell honestly that I have tears as I write these words. That is perfectly and wondrously okay. Cry a little, or let 'er rip! Shake and tremble a little bit if you want to. Feel sorry for me if you must, but I hope you will not. Shout to the sky about how unfair it is, if you think that will help. You, should you ever face this terrible moment, will respond in your own time, and in your own way. Perhaps it will be a miocardial infarction. Maybe it will be AIDS. It could be that a stroke will visit your present. Diabetes may come calling at your door. Or you might just hear the one word that sends us all into a pure, unfettered tizzy: "Cancer!" In that moment, and the moments which will follow, you will encounter so many different feelings that your brain will completely overload, I promise you. That's what the brain does! Why? To protect us, I think, the brain just stops receiving input and takes a time out. This is only the beginning. That moment stands alone in its significance in all of your life. To try to tell you how to address that moment is arrogance of the first order. I think it would be demeaning, over-bearing, and useless besides. I do not know where you are, right now. But, I want YOU to know where you are right now. I want desperately for you to get really used to knowing where you are in every moment. Not in fear, either. In gratitude of the highest order, you should know where each moment is in your life. For those of you reading this who think I'm getting "preachy", I am--without apology. This subject has recently become really important to my life. This is the subject I am talking about, and that I want you who read to consider. Yes, it's tough. Did you suspect it wouldn't be? Consider your life in this moment, and then go on about the business of living the life you have. Do this not from the standpoint of ignorance, unthankfulness, or a sense of insignificance. Rather, do this because it does truly matter. Do it because, in that moment which puts you on the other side of that life, you will at least have a landmark for where you are. It is so important, because no small number of people will be waiting for you on the other side of that one small step. Professionals in a myriad of specialties who you will believe are from a completely different planet. |
| I began to return to the land of chaos and confusion on about the third day in ICU. I clearly remember a dream of being on a ventilator, gagging. I hear voices, in my dream, saying something about "He's coming up! If we don't get him off the vent now, we never will. Pull it out!" This, friends, is NOT the preferred waking method from such a deliriously wondrous sleep. Much fuzziness and drug-fog ensued, for probably one full day. Every hour, someone was poking a needle into my arm to "take blood" from me. That regimen was broken up about every four hours with someone else coming in to stick a really awful needle into an artery to "take an ABG" (Arterial Blood Gas). I do sincerely hope that you have NO idea what an ABG is, because that means that you have never been really sick. Of all the countless needle sticks I endured in the Hospital, these were undoubtedly THE worst. They just hurt--like dammit, okay? OWIE! Tests yield numbers, and medical types just love numbers. No, I mean really LOVE numbers! They tell us so much about our bodies. My numbers were impressive, but not in the good way. On about day four, I met "my" Doc for the first time. She stood about 4' nothin', weighed about 40 pounds, and moved just a little past the speed of light! The first words I remember her ever saying to me in my life were "Dude! You're awake! Cool!" Of all the "white coats", hers was Boss Hoss, and it really did physically seem as if everybody around her, and especially around me, knew it. They gave her total deference. I noticed this almost immediately. It's something patients notice when they are trying to figure out the players without a programme. As Dr. Jane would soon explain to me, I was one sick puppy. It seems that, quite without invitation or preamble, a blood clot had formed. But, because it was me we are talking about, it wasn't your average blood clot. Oh, NO! This enemy was "Special". How special, you may inquire? Her opening comment about it went "Dude! This is the second largest blood clot I have ever seen in a human being. But, it's cool because it is the largest one I've ever seen in a LIVING human being!" Shall I give you a moment to feel the love? I'll wait. This particular blood clot is known as a "Saddle-back" clot. It developed, and filled approximately 70% of both my lungs' blood supply, effectively permanently damaging that space. Evidently my lungs quit working to keep from exploding. (See? Every part of me is considerate!) Besides the damages to both lungs, a condition was created which is known as Pulmonary Hypertension. (No, not like cholesterol and blood pressure hypertension!) In Pulmonary Hypertension (PHT), the heart has to work harder than normal to push "tired" blood into the lungs to receive oxygen. The lungs then have to work harder to get the "fresh" oxygen back out to the heart for delivery to the body. In my case, my heart is having to work about seven times harder to get the tired blood to the lungs, which have only 30% of their function to make fresh blood. Then, they have only 30% as much pushing power to get the fresh blood back to the heart. How hard the heart and lungs work over normal is called Pulmonary (lungs) Hypertension (working just wayyyy too hard). This number has been, from the beginning, above the critical stage--and still is today. The damage is permanent. The only viable alternative at this point (so far, anyway) is a complete lung transplant. Several attempts were made by all kinds of specialists to alter, change, lessen, and even remove the mother of all blood clots, without success. Have you heard of those amazing new drugs, called "Clot Busters"? They are the ones the EMT guys and gals give you when you are having a heart attack to help stop it by breaking up blood clots really fast? There are three major types. All three types were given to me in amazingly large doses during my stay in the ICU. The idea was not to move them, but to take the edges off of them--to kind of liquify the boundaries so the clot, if it broke apart, wouldn't go anywhere stupid like my heart, or my brain. They failed to have any effect whatsoever on the Saddleback Clot. The biggest gun they had was a drug called ATP. That ole clot just laughed at it! My job in ICU was to not move if possible, and not to get out of bed for any reason whatsoever, NO! Try, oh please, try to imagine my joy. I still did not fully understand that this clot began somewhere else, and just happened to travel into my lungs instead of my heart, or my brain. Scans showed many clots, called DVT's (Deep Vein Thromboses) in my legs that were freely moving around, and forming at will. If another one decided to go North... So a procedure was done. I had a surgical procedure which introduced FIVE clot filters into my body. They are metal, and they are permanent! I have a cool new pendant that says so. Located throughout my body, these filters are designed to catch clots before they can raise a ruckus in my lungs (Yeah, NOW ya put in a freakin' filter!), or my heart, or my (pardon the expression) Brain. Blood thinning medication was introduced to hopefully reduce the possibility of new clots forming. I was, systematically, being "heparinized", to reduce my blood clotting factor to zero! (I beat it at its own game later. I got to a blood clotting factor in negative numbers, with a PT/INR of 8.7! They say at 7.0, you can begin simultaneously bleeding inside your body and they can do nothing to stop it. But, HA! I'm goin' for the Gold, Ma!) I also had been diagnosed as a Type I Diabetic. My meals were Diabetic meals. (2000 ADA diet) Oh, MY! We will, most assuredly deal with the savagery of the Hospital Dietician in these writings!! The people have to know! On top of all the other sticks from Lab Techs and Nurses, Doctors et al (I think a Janitor got me a few times, but I can't be sure), now we had to prick our fingers (Don't--just don't!) every four hours as well to find out how the raging blood sugar numbers were coming along. Think of a graphical outline of Mt. Hood, and you begin to have an idea! Insulin was being all but continuously pumped into my body. Meals were measured, along with every other consumable (and necessary by-product thereof) and liquid. My Intake and Output was severely monitored on an on-going basis. (In this particular regard, Nurses have some really amazing words of motivation for the indolent patient. Can YOU say "Enema"?) I'll betcha a serving of Green Jello, with the white stuff pieces in it you can't say it like my Nurse said it. If you hear it and you break out in a sweat, then you've got it! As my Doctor explained to me the clot was the primary factor, at the moment, because that was a direct threat to my life. The pulmonary damage was done. "Besides this really hubungous clot, Bud, your lungs are in perfect shape!" Man, how that puffs out the chest of a 42 year smoker!! "No, dude. You have (had) the lungs of an 18 year old!" When she learned of my habit, she replied with the expected "NO Way!". I explained to her that I had also been a professional singer for 40 years, as well. She said that the training had spared (so far--they always do the "so-far" on ya.) my lungs of obvious damage. The PHT was, and is, the primary concern. Over the course of my Hospital stay, PHT would become my closest companion. The drugs kept the anxiety back, but not away. I caught myself at virtually every turn checking to see if my heart was beating. I made sure I could breathe at every moment. I noticed. Patients notice these things. As my awareness and acuity of the situation increased, so did my anxiety. Before "the event", I had ordered in some really wonderful Chinese food. Broccoli Chicken was the treat of the week for me. About every third day in the Hospital, would you just care to guess what the meal was? Broccoli and Chicken. Funny how such things take on new meaning at times such as this, isn't it? I'd never really been afraid to eat lunch or dinner before! Yeah, but see? It was all part of this amazing chain of totally wierd events! Eleven days in ICU were spent working very hard to keep me alive. I did what I could to help (The bed races idea was nixed--almost immediately, however.) make it better where I could. This was the first ICU I had ever seen where each patient was in a private room. When I first "woke up", I asked where I was. When they told me that I was in ICU, I didn't believe them because I could plainly see that I was in a private room! It took some convincing but I finally did get to walk to the door, and see the unit before me, like spokes of a wheel--with the Nurse's Station in the center. No wonder she seemed so durned close all the time! Learning new words has never been more difficult. But, it is my view that the one weapon I have to use in my arsenal for this battle in knowledge. Some people, quite frankly, do not want to know anything about their disease, or the process of it. I understand that; I disagree with it. For as long as possible, I want to "drive the boat". I want to know the truth at every moment. I want to make the best choice for me and I want the world to accept it--not necessarily agree with it. I want to keep my dignity, and my respect for as long as possible. If I have to give up things like the future, and independence, there should be some sort of fair trade. Don't ask my family what I want as long as I can answer you. Give me the truth, and as many facts as you can muster. I will make the call. These ARE the facts. And, there are many more to come. My Doc has told me that I have serious damage to two of the core components of my body. Danger lurks within every beat of my heart! Did I breathe well just now? My Doc has told me that I am permanently disabled! I knew with the first shot of Insulin that my trucking career is finished. We'll worry about all that later! Can I pee? I have nine IV's (not counting "Piggybacks") in my two arms. Will I live? Will I want to? Things ain't lookin' really spiffy at the moment, and this boy is gettin' just a tad nervous. There's just no polite way to tell you just what having someone ask you "Do you have an Advanced Directive?" does to the taste of Hospital food, friend. And, we have only begun this journey. Information is coming to me in pieces. People are being just way too nice, ya know? Patients notice these things. But, we know the enemy, and we know how to do battle! But, as the days wear on, and even more tests are done, my Doc's words seem to take on new life, new meaning, and a new focus. "Why did this happen? We know what happened. Now, what triggered the damn thing?" No one has ever seen a clot like this before in a living human being. Where did it come from? What caused it to just up and travel? Was there a triggering event other than this? If so, what? We would test our way to the answer. When it came, it was a doozy! |
| There's worse, and then there is unbelievably bad. I went from one to the other in one breath. I must admit here that these events which are mostly contained in this entry were related to me by others. Because I completely trust their veracity, I relate them to you, as well. This is how the story is in my mind. If, over time, I discover error, I will correct it as it becomes known to me. There, that is, as they say, that. (Who, exactly is they?) Hang on a second, I'll be right back. I've got a low blood sugar, and I have to attend to it. Funny the things you learn about yourself--and at the strangest times, too. Evidently, between the time I rang my friend's phone, and the time he got all the way across the street to me, he had called 911. When he came through the door, I was sitting, splayed out, in my desk chair. I was, umm, not breathing. The sirens were already wailing in the background, he said, when he came through the door. I live about two minutes from our local fire station. Now, I know why! The EMS guys found me (they say) in full respiratory arrest. I had a pulse, just no breathing. That can really make a good EMS job go bad quickly, I am told. Interestingly enough (to me, anyway) it only took a few squeezes on the ole Ambu-Bag, and I picked right up breathing right where I left off. They did a "Load And Go!" on me, flingin' me all willy AND nilly (My apologies to both!) into this really cool limo, with lights...and sirens...and a profound sense of urgency. Off we go towards the local Hospital, some three minutes car ride away. I learned much later that the actual time from me being loaded into the Ambulance to arrival at the Hospital took over eleven minutes!! When asked why, I was told that I wasn't quite through surprising everyone, and stopped breathing again. (Ain't that just like lil ole me?) I mean, I WAS a trucker for all those years. How could I possibly pass up an opportunity to fowl the afternoon traffic, and all? The EMS guys evidently stopped in the middle of the street, and reminded my lungs how to work, and off we went. We arrived, a happy lot, at the Hospital. I was unceremoniously dumped on the curb, and the EMS guys took off for yet another adv.....well, okay. They carefully propelled my gourney (at full speed!) into the ER where a complete team, previously advised of my very own pending arrival, was waiting for me to make my official appearance. (Come to think of it, I never really did thank that limo driver for the fun ride! Personally, I thought the lights and sireen wuz a nice touch for just lil ole me!) Numbers play a really important role in the lives of Emergency Medical Teams. I know today much about the condition of my arrival because of numbers. Numbers (as we have already seen in even this post!) play a most important role in my everyday activity, and will for the rest of my life. In the ER, numbers can tell you a lot about someone in a very short time. And, evidently, I still had a number for 'em, because it seems that I decided to stop breathing just one more time for all the people! Cool! The hat trick! Alas, it seems that to this particular audience, that was one time too many. Impressed, they most surely were; amused, they were not. When THEY reminded my lungs that duty called, and got me breathing yet one more time, things kind of seem to have gotten busy in the ER. I was the number one patient for about an hour, with IV's and pictures and tests and Doctors of just about every possible description suddenly wanting to meet me. I, quite honestly, remember none of this. But, the ER team sure did when I talked to them much later about that time. My "presenting" numbers were, to say the least, quite impressive--in the worst way. My oxygen saturation level when I arrived, according to the reports, was at about 55%. (Many days later, up in the ICU, I would take off my oxygen mask just for the fun of watching the numbers spiral downward, setting off alarms. I could watch my oxygen saturation % drop from the mid-nineties to below 80 in less than one minute. It only took a couple of "Code" calls for the ICU Nurse to just holler at me from the Nurses Station, "Bud! Put your mask back on or I will staple it to your head!!" (She couldn't help it; she didn't know that there is no staple strong enough to pierce my skull!) Just so you know, a level of 80% is considered dangerously low. I was goin' for the record til those Nazi Nurses took my saturation monitor and moved it out of my line of sight!! I also presented with a glucose level (Blood Sugar) of 697. When I was later told of this fact, I responded dourly. "But, that can't be right! If that were true, I would be a Diabetic!" Out of the mouths of babes.... And, I evidently had been for some time. I didn't realize it then, but I do now. Looking back on things for a few weeks previous to "the event", in light of recent days when my sugar has been either high or low, there are ways I can tell. I just didn't know then that I was being told! And, did I happen to mention that I wasn't really doing a good job at the involuntary stuff, like breathin'? So they decided to help me breath, and put me on a respirator. Off to the ICU this very sick liddle boyee went, machinery, contraptions, IV's and all! That I was critically ill was not in question. But, virtually everything else WAS in question. Why? What is causing this? What happened? We would discover, shortly, just precisely what had happened. When it became known, my sterling reputation would become even more sullied amongst the Hospital staff, and my personal Medical Care Team which would, at its peak, top 15 different Medical Specialists (Doctors). My body had completely betrayed me, and the result very nearly ended my life. I am glad that I do not remember that day in the ER, or the first day in ICU. I would spend 16 days under the care of some of the most talented, caring, and dedicated Healthcare professionals I have ever had the privilege to be near. They would smile at me, laugh with me, cry for me, pray with me, scream at me, and care for me in ways that I just do not still fully comprehend. There is not enough space in the world for me to adequately speak, write, or tell of my admiration, respect, and eternal gratitude to these most amazing people. But, I am going to try. I am going to try very hard to let them know that I know that, if not for them, these words would never have been written. So take it up with them! |
| On Sunday, October 29th, 2006, I awoke peacefully. As I did the "old folks roll" to get out of bed, I felt a sharp pain in my right rear back, near my kidneys. It was the kind of pain you have when you, say, crack a rib. You know, pain you notice pretty much right away. This is the event which marks the beginning of my journey. Prior to this event, I had no symptoms, no warning, and no idea that my life was about to take a sharp turn directly into the fast lane of a superhighway which seemed to have no exits. I rolled to a sitting position, wondering where that pain came from. Did I have an errant spring in my bed? Had my elbow been tucked under my chest during the night? I sleep best on my right side, and sometimes my razor-sharp elbow hides under my side while I sleep. As I pushed myself up, I leaned forward, and felt another really sharp pain. "Owie, dammit that hurt!" Well, not brilliant, perhaps, but if you knew me you would appreciate the statement for what it said. I never hurt. I have been blessed with what they call an "extremely high pain threshhold". The pain subsided momentarily, and my brain accounted for it as perhaps a cracked rib nicking a lung, or kidney, or whatever other organ is located in that area. As the day wore on, I noticed the day was wearing on, and wearing on me! It seemed as if every time I moved, I would get winded. "Must be smoking!" I said to myself. After inhaling tobacco for 42 years, you get used to untimely events such as this. From the intermittent hacking cough to the point where you just can't start your day (or end it) without a good hack, there are things with being a smoker that you get used to. Late in the day, after sitting at my computer for several hours, I got up to get, of all things, a Coke. Again, this sharp pain showed up in what seemed to be a rage, and it was what felt like to me at least, worse. My beverage refrigerator is no more then 20 feet from my desk. I believe in keeping my tools handy! I got the Coke, came back and sat down, and was completely winded. This was, as they say, not good! I retired early Sunday evening, thinking (don't we all?) that a good night's sleep would solve the problem (Doesn't it always?). It wasn't bad enough to require the ministrations of a Shower as yet, but it could have been called on a technicality, if you know what I mean. Monday morning, I woke up peacefully. As I did the "old folks roll" to sit on the side of the bed, I felt an extremely sharp pain in the same place as yesterday morning. This pain, however, had colors attached to it, and I was suddenly seeing pretty reds and whites behind my eyes that I had never seen before. Again, as I stood, I felt the "nicking" pain of the previous day. In my early morning reverie, however, I really didn't notice that not only were these pains worse than yesterday, but they were not going away after a few moments. And, I was winded when I awoke. I do remember thinking that this very definitely was NOT a good thing, but I would slow down and it would go away. Yeah, right. It was now serious enough to consider a nice, warm, luxurious shower. Well, my shower only does warm for about 10 minutes, but I used every one of them. Still winded, it did not get any better. I am one of those people who, if a shower doesn't fix it, you are in serious kim-chee, Papasan. My first thought coming out of the shower was "This is NOT good! You are in trouble!" It wasn't, and I was; I just had no idea how much. But, before long my body would give me undeniable proof that something was terribly wrong. About 2 PM, I had spent enough time wondering about this malady to the point that I was ready for a second opinion. I walked about 100 yards, and 100 years, across the street to visit my best friend, Tom. In about 10 minutes, I made it to his back porch, where I sat down and just, you know, hyperventilated for a while! My friend comes out, takes a look at me, and says: "What's the matter, Bud? You don't look good, man. I mean, you don't look just not good, Bud, you look BAD!" My first thought was "I KNOW I'm ugly Tom, we've already determined that!" But, my second thought was given a voice, and I said "What do you mean, bad?" He told me it looked like my face was gray, or ashen-colored, and my lips were kinda blue. He said to me "Let's get you to the hospital, okay?" I said "Not yet, Tommie. I'll holler when I need help, okay?" He agreed, and I sauntered back over to my house, and couldn't hardly catch my breath-at all! Earlier in the day, we had talked together about needing a couple of items from our little neighborhood market. Tom hadn't gone, and I was out of toilet paper. Hey, priorities! ya know? I decided I would amble on up to the store and back, get my TP, and relax for a while and let this whatever-it-is get back under control. My little trip to the market took over 45 minutes! I had to stop every few feet, gasping for breath just like a fish out of water! I was at about the half-way point in the trip to the store when I realized this was a very bad thing, indeed. Stopping at every telephone pole, garbage can, or vehicle I could grab hold of, I tried like crazy to get my breathing under control. I then had this calm realization that I was not hyperventilating, I just couldn't breathe. I made it to the store, got a carton of cigarettes, a 12 pack of coke, 5 pounds of Sugar, and my TP. I knew that, if I made it home, I could call Tom and help would come. I had to make it home. The corner store is less than a short city block from my house, you see. It's called "Save-A-Step!", and on that trip home I was begging for the name to be accurate. I needed nary the first extra step on this trip. I finally made it home, to my front porch. I sat down, dropping the groceries, in a chair on my porch. I just couldn't breathe. I was praying that Tom would look out his window and see me flailing around, and come running. That was, however not quite the case. I knew that, if I could make it inside the house, I would be alright. I wasn't. I dropped the groceries on the floor of my living room, and somehow made it to my desk. I hit the speed dial for my friend, and his phone rang. The next thing I know, I am in the Intensive Care Ward of our local hospital, getting help breathing from a machine! There have been very few times in my life when I have actually been scared. I can testify to you that, when this event began, I was indeed scared. But, as things developed into the emergent situation they evidently became, I became completely calm. I very clearly remember saying to myself "This ain't no good at all!", which has always been my personal statement that things are about as bad as they can get. I was wrong. They could, and did, get much worse. Write Well! M. B. "Bud" Fields, Jr. Clarksville, Indiana USA ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Nothing spoils a good dinner party quite so quickly as the mere mention of the word. "Cancer!" See? It even caused you to flinch, now tell the truth. I know for sure it did me, when I heard it in the only way that truly causes white-lightening terror in your ears: when your Physician says it to you, discussing your medical condition! So why in the world write publicly about it? I have pondered that for a few days, myself. I even just began creating the folder, and the blog itself when suddenly the reason began to become very clear. How do you classify such a work as this? Is it writing? Is it non-fiction? Who should be allowed to read such a writing as this? Should ratings, reviews, and/or comments be allowed? This Blog concerns a topic of the deepest personal nature. It is not designed to be an example of good writing, good blogging, or good anything else. It is designed as a personal therapy for me--and nothing more. It will be linked to several other sites, so that my friends from around the world can follow the process, the progress, and the steps taken on a new journey. I hope there are a lot of readers, with just tons of comments. You see, I want it to teach, too. I hope it will inform, and perhaps explain. Heck, I must admit I hope it will entertain! Mostly, I just hope it will help. When I hear "How is it going, Bud?", or when I read "Tell me how you are really doing with this thing, Bud!", I want to merely copy a URL. If they are interested enough to ask, perhaps those who know and care best about me will take a moment to read. I want them to read the reality of the answer. Some will be learning of the disease, the progress, and the process for the first time. Should a child read these words? Well, in my own personal view, they should. I know that, for myself, the very word "Cancer" was the cause of fear when I was but a child. For the entirety of my fifty years on Earth, Cancer has been a constant companion in my life, and the lives of my family and friends. Can you say otherwise? To assuage, however, the editors of WDC, I chose to rate this Blog as "18+" to avoid any hand-slapping. And, already, I begin to understand the purpose of this Blog more clearly. Should it be available for rating? Well, it IS writing, and I AM a writer, after all. It is nothing more than a new subject of research and discovery. That is, in and of itself, nothing new, or different for me. I have been a learner all my life, and I really do not intend to stop now. And, I really DO hope to have comments, questions and other input from those who would dare peruse these pages. Can that be done without attaching the whole "ratings" thing to it? Perhaps, I frankly do not know. I would suppose the other option is to send an email to my box (always permitted), but why not keep it "local"? Besides, keeping it attached to the entry to which it pertains also keeps the comments, etc. relevant. Why write about such a purely horrid topic? Well, you might consider it as my first attempt at horror. You might consider it therapy like I do. The way I learn is through information. The way I process information is through writing. This Blog is about understanding the disease, the process of it, and my progress through it. It is terribly difficult for me to "understand" my feelings. That is why I have been journaling since the age of eight years. I must understand ME in all of this. I choose to do that through a Blog on WDC because, more than any other site, most of my time online is spent here. I love surprise endings, don't you? Even in the writing of this inaugural entry, I have discovered at least seven topics to discuss here that I had not even considered. So, I guess it is a good idea, after all. We will see what we shall see, shall we? We shall, indeed! Write Well! M. B. "Bud" Fields, Jr. Clarksville, Indiana USA ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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