March First-Remembering my first real prescription pain killers

Monday March 1, 2010 starts at 4 AM, now we go back to work for a while. Sleep was a little tough but a few hours were captured. Today we met with another Ologist, this one the chemical guy. Now the next step is a biopsy of the lymph nodes that are not looking good in the scan. If they are cancerous then surgery is likely off the table and clinical trials on. Who knows, now with 3 Ologists and 3 different takes. But as the day passed I resigned to the idea. Why after all should I go through major surgery and not be cured? After all, I could be a research project. I pondered about the pain. Already a persistent back ache lurks nightly, always just at the edge. When it flares it is like sitting in the wrong way for way too many hours. Take a pill. Vance might not find it manly, after all why would you have yourself numbed for a tooth filling? If the dentist hits a nerve the numbing ain’t worth a damn he would say. Not I. I will take the drugs. I learned this with the TUR surgery. For the first time in my life, at age 58 and almost 11 months I carefully repositioned myself on my hospital bed and offered my hind quarter for the insertion of the magic black torpedo, swathed in KY jelly, loaded with opium and driven through my back door on the end of a gentle nurses finger until I could have no more or I would be seeking out dens to hang out in. The impact was immediate nearly, and suddenly I could feel everything, except for that general area below the navel and above the knees. Lasting only 2 hours and administered every 4, I certainly looked forward to the application and always beeped on the scheduled 4 based on the last dose. Nor was I shy to call for morphine shots through the IV at every allowed interval until I could have no more. Again, I was assured that it really hurt and the pain killers where justified. Sure seemed real to me. And by all accounts a TUR is a minor and regular process. A radical cystectomy is a major. I just like the idea of not doing it if it won’t fix it. Plus my first really in pain and dependent hospital stay was not all peaches and cream, in spite of the ten plus thousand dollar bill. The nurses made me suffer. I kept my own notes on the pain management which was supposed to be so important.

The Last of February 2010

Saturday 2-27-10
Thought it was Sunday until about 2 pm when Van put me right. Reached out to a former coworker and survivor by e mail and made a connection. Reading of his accomplishments and his comforting words for me brought a tear. Set around all day, with a visit from John to cheer me, and a talk with Rex. Suffering a little, but likely it is a result of medicines for pain and comfort, and not the cancer. Cold most of the day, probably due to lack of motion. More research on chemo, and the more I research the more futile it all seems. I fight to not succumb to those feelings, must stay upbeat and must keep working.
Sunday February 28, 2010
I sense the healing process from the surgery is finally kicking in. While still interrupted three times in the night, with the help of one Lortab I gained some real rest. Adjusting to this routine. Jenny returns home today to the big city, where the pace of life and work are weighing on her psyche with ever more stress. I wish I could comfort her in some way but I can only be sympathetic to her situation. The sense of responsibility that our Parents instilled in us was passed on to our Daughters. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Visited with the boys tonight, Joe and Gerald. Had Van up there last week. My Dad hung out with Merle and some others at the Texaco after hours at least once a week. As we chatted around the table with Linda on the floor (she would not have it any other way) it so reminded me of those glimpses of memory from a bygone day. Old men acting like old ladies I thought to myself, as they doted over me and bled from me the details of my medical update. We laughed and covered their issues as well, from Joe’s ongoing battle with the vicious dog owners to Gerald’s spaghetti recipe.
Have a rash, on a finger, irritating; just what the hell I need may have picked my nose with that finger. Vanessa keeps me in balance. Renee showed up this morning, seen and heard more of her in 2 weeks than in the previous few months I think. Another unintended consequence of the big C is reuniting with loved ones whom you naturally drifted away from over the years. Many species and even some past and present governments cast out their sick and dying or hasten death in some fashion. At the end of the day family is what really counts. I know another cliché. Speedbump, the neighbor dog, has been keeping Tucker’s litter pan clean and helping herself to any food in Tucker’s bowl I suspect. Appreciate the pan service, but not sure it is worth the food, or if the food is even good for little the little booger.

February 21 and a New Week

February 21-2010
Starting a new week, listening to Mike Pence spew forth his neoright gas that passes of as his speech but smells like shit. Got an interesting DVD summarizing the history of the Messiah, Moses, astrology and recent events, trying to digest it well, takes small bites.
Still a straight through animal but much better. Using the pain killers instead of living with it. Gave in. A quiet day. Wondering about crossing over. Taking the drugs, except the antibiotic-gut can’t take it. Sore ass, sore business. What can you say? Suck it up.
My cancer causes problems my Ologist says. ‘Like pissing fire and other grievous conditions?’ ‘Here’s three weeks worth of something to try, piss in the bottle and I will call you Monday.’ And with each passing day the time draws ever nearer. Struggling to be better, have control, no more painful urgency. Must work, justify my existence for one more week. Adjusting last week and did have some great calls, got some quotes out, some follow-ups. Went well. Should be money for the shop. I am not sure I have been able to get my message through. Change is so hard. I find us sometimes so close to sitcom material it is scary.
Soon the new regimen will begin. With the spring comes the hoped for cure.
Monday-a new week 2-22
Cancer, I still cannot get my arms around it. I have a cancer, and not a good kind. Seems impossible. Is overwhelming. Went to the office today, year to date sales report and I am below 25% I think. Not sure how much longer he can keep me on. Cannot let on about it. Did not work this morning, have to suck it up and do it. No matter. Going to use more of the pain stuff to make sure I get some real work done. Seeing another doc Friday, and only worried about how to get down there and back comfortably. The constant yes I am here and I will not let you forget it signals I get are a pain in the ass, literally.
One wire. Imagine the power of one wire. With each advance in technology we find even more power in one wire. One wire to talk, then watch. One wire to heat and light. Wires of glass to move the amassed knowledge of all mankind. Wires of gas, no wire at all, technology leaps, and then once again stalls.
The wonder of endocet is a joy to me. Nice drug. For just my kind of problem. I find if I take 3 a day properly timed I can sleep for 2 hours at a time at night, and work at least ½ day away from the comfort station. Tuesday will be a fine day for me. I must make it so.
I remind myself of those even close to me whose suffering and pain far exceeds my discomfort and pray for their relief, and as for me, let me pee.
As for me,
Let me pee,
And if you like,
You may say a prayer for me.
A cancer has come, and made home in me,
Do not grieve; I do not want to make you sad you see,
But as for me,
Let me pee.
It is nearly 6 AM, and I wish I was at the gym. It was a great routine, although it only lasted 6 short weeks. 30 minutes cardio, 30 minutes strength. My body responded well, dropped 5 pounds then my Ologist said no more. That was a sad day indeed. I will need it on the other end, so optimistically we are taking leave and not resigning membership. It is possible that Jocelyn’s will alone will carry me through. Jennifer will be home soon. I cry a little missing her. Although it has been just a short time, I measure my time a little differently of late, and it seems like ages. My Women are my blessing. An expression of God’s love for me. Of all the things in my life the one constant has always been my marriage and family, and my understanding that it must survive no matter what. A constant even in turmoil and trouble. It is bigger than me. It is the power of My Women, my pride and my strength.
I hate it when the damn computer goes duh duh at high volume because I messed with buttons early in the morning.
I have allowed myself a cry when needed. At present I am an outburster. Or to put it another way, I am the guy that does not do well at funerals. A sudden overwhelming flash of raw emotion, of loss, of foreverness manifesting itself in a blast of heavy sobs and flowing tears, deep draws to catch breath, perhaps another dive into the pool, throw in a little self pity, get it all out. Take a pill.
Strange pains pass through, a throb, an ache hitting hard and out of the blue, sometimes throbbing, sometimes lingering, sometimes fading away. Creaks I call them from my body rejecting this interloper’s intrusion. Much will be gone, lymph glands, prostate, bladder, maybe they could suck some fat out too. Shorten my small intestine. Still I doubt I will be able to play the violin. I am told there will be no feeling where now there is some and it will change my life. Well change is a way of life that we would all do well to embrace. Bring it on, just put the fire out in my penis while you are at it and we will all be tickled.

Waking Up After Surgery

I woke up, easy to focus, as when my conscious mind awoke from it’s trip to whoknowswhere I immediately hit the ceiling. I think literally. The pain was exquisite and excruciating. What the hell kind of pain is that anyway? Throbbing, burning, in waves, constant, debilitating, all of the above, ah yes, that’s it and more. With my toes and fingers dug deep in the ceiling a kind nurse came to my aid. Holy cow. We can give you something….delirium…..we are moving you to a room….please don’t touch me. Can anyone put the fire in my penis out? The tired old vet has been beatin’ like a junk yard dog. We have something, ok, let’s break it out and apply it.
‘Oh my’ she said, ‘that’s the biggest catheter I have ever seen!’ ‘Inspiring’ I panned. Positioned now in a room and in bed I put all my Lamaze training to the test, panting and blowing through waves of pain that now filled my mid section from tits to knees.
With his comforting tone, Dr. El let me know the pain was not in my head, it was real, and was caused by an infrequently encountered condition called catheter intolerance, or to put it another way, that garden hose I stuffed up your Business not only ripped the shit out of the upholstery, but was also rejected by all the related tissue of the body in the general area. The nurse stressed that I keep on top of the pain. If I needed anything just push the call button. I did, and it did not work. She said she called maintenance, and later they brought me a large box that plugged into a wall socket designed for it; giving me a call button and making the TV work. Maintenance showed up the next morning, but I sent them away. As I lay there passing the time I found the need to call for pain every 2 hours, regular as clockwork. My first response would come 45 minutes after my first energizing the call light. Medication would follow within the next 45 minutes.
Afraid to sleep, for fear of the pain and ever so sad for being such a burden but so thankful for My Women. With health care you need an advocate.
I got this catheter routine. Mom’s final days included maintenance I was somewhat adequate help with but mercifully Vanessa would take charge when we were on watch. I shall have one for two or three weeks they say.
If I end up in Heaven, I hope I get a house with high ceilings.