Simon Cancer Center Indianapolis Day 4
The mornings are filled with doctors and family in the afternoon. I am increasing my work load. Now on an IV for a minimum of 4 hours each day to deal with the complications and concerns I can’t imagine how those who are connected 24/7 can cope. The rolling stand and tubing infusing various chemicals represent the miracle of today’s medicine. While devices evolve to new configurations almost daily, our bodies remain the same, generation after generation. Perhaps if they cannot cure cancer, they can add to the uncontrolled cell growth a way to connect to life saving medications forever painless and even fashionably attractive.
The Art of the Stick
Apparently medical schools treat inserting needles with a variety of options. Here at Simon the methods run the gambit. Some draw through the available IV everyone has. This is a restricted method, not allowed on other parts of the hospital. No new holes and fast delivery are certainly advantages. I learned to drink water and other liquids continuously. At 59 I dehydrate very quickly. Without a lot of water in you veins are hard to find. Having never been in a Hospital for more than relatively few hours, during my extended stay I found the removal of blood from veins is as much art as science. Just as I now know never let an angry woman set an IV, I know that there is no apparent established routine for the actual penetration. The build up is always the same. Doododededahdah, the key noise rattles out of the board and the cabinet opens. Packets are gathered. The bar code reader comes out of it’s holder, numbers are punched in. This phase appears to require a lot of concentration. Clearly the profession has been brow beat to death about making errors. OK by me. A small plastic pan or just the hands and pockets are used to convey the needed materials to me, in bed, and placed on my stomach, leg or adjacent to. A survey of vein locations is done. Some look for the crease between fore and upper arm, classic junkie entry point. My left arm crease looks like a small spot of measles. Some like the back of the hand or forearm, chief among them a Caribbean nurse who raised the state of the art Hill Rom air bed to tit level, applied a liberal swath of alcohol that immediately chilled the site, did a patterned rub and likely cited a silent chant and stuck me without my feeling. I always thought they filled syringes, but in the modern era they set a fine needle on a fixture that is butterfly bandaged to you and accommodates mounting an empty cylinder that fills under my blood pressure. Done well there is nothing, done not so well and it amounts to a bee sting. Some took blood from my IV port, as the cancer center was one of the few places you could. While that is no stick, I sensed messing with the IV had some risk that most nurses preferred not to incur.
4.8.10
3.8.10
Hospital Life April 24, 2010 - A Typical Day On The Floor - Not With Me Around
She turned pail as a sheet, her expression from joy to glum in a moment. Suddenly she was not quite so attractive. ‘Oh oh’ she said. ‘What’s up?’ I asked. ‘I’m afraid we have infiltration’ was her reply. ‘Is that bad?’. ‘Very bad, the Vancomycin destroys tissue. Keep it elevated, I have to get some gauze. I will be right back.’ What followed late Saturday under the harshness of all the room lights, a Chinese fire drill. The IV was set by a nurse in a very bad mood, and when she flushed some of it got into the tissue. A doctor later recommended that I never allow an angry nurse to set an IV. Good advise for all to follow. At the end of the evening I received 5 shallow injections around the site of a reversal agent, and kept the arm elevated for the next 24 hours with heat packs constantly applied. It now appears I am out of the woods and plastic surgery will not be required. A very close call and disaster averted. How a chemical agent can help me in the blood and kill me in a spill is paradoxical to say the least.
Monday April 25 started with a visit from a woman doctor. She congratulated me on getting my stints put in today. My reaction was a dumbfounded look. ‘Didn’t anyone talk to you this weekend?’ she asked. ‘No, what kind of stints?’ She then started to explain two stints that would be installed and pausing for a moment said ‘I have the wrong patient, I am sorry.’ ‘Quite alright’ was my response. She then asked about the infiltration and exited as gracefully as possible. Moments later a male nurse with an obvious limp came in. ‘My job is to help you with continuing your treatment after release’ he said. But he could not tell me when I would get released, only he was there because ‘this piece of paper told me to.’ He too left in short order. Then the equivalent of House and his team appeared. Dr. L examined me and many medical terms were tossed about, a language I did not understand. Shortly after Dr. A from infectious disease came in for a full examination. Promising to come back, he did later with his boss Doctor G, who repeated the exam and repeated exactly what Dr A had said. ‘That is exactly what he said’ I told him. ‘Oh no’ Dr. G said, I have to give him a grade this month, are you telling me I have to pass him?’ I smiled and nodded affirmation. At 10:30 P Dr. E showed up from urology and the inspection was repeated again. ‘We concur and agree with this treatment’ he said. Tonight I visited with Paul, Rex and Dan. Now it is 11:30P. My next IV will be 1 AM. I am able to extend my pain medicine interval to 5 hours with minimal discomfort.
Monday April 25 started with a visit from a woman doctor. She congratulated me on getting my stints put in today. My reaction was a dumbfounded look. ‘Didn’t anyone talk to you this weekend?’ she asked. ‘No, what kind of stints?’ She then started to explain two stints that would be installed and pausing for a moment said ‘I have the wrong patient, I am sorry.’ ‘Quite alright’ was my response. She then asked about the infiltration and exited as gracefully as possible. Moments later a male nurse with an obvious limp came in. ‘My job is to help you with continuing your treatment after release’ he said. But he could not tell me when I would get released, only he was there because ‘this piece of paper told me to.’ He too left in short order. Then the equivalent of House and his team appeared. Dr. L examined me and many medical terms were tossed about, a language I did not understand. Shortly after Dr. A from infectious disease came in for a full examination. Promising to come back, he did later with his boss Doctor G, who repeated the exam and repeated exactly what Dr A had said. ‘That is exactly what he said’ I told him. ‘Oh no’ Dr. G said, I have to give him a grade this month, are you telling me I have to pass him?’ I smiled and nodded affirmation. At 10:30 P Dr. E showed up from urology and the inspection was repeated again. ‘We concur and agree with this treatment’ he said. Tonight I visited with Paul, Rex and Dan. Now it is 11:30P. My next IV will be 1 AM. I am able to extend my pain medicine interval to 5 hours with minimal discomfort.
The Cancer Center - Won't You Be Our Guest?
Lymphedema will be with me for the rest of my life, a chronic condition that I must now learn to manage. On April 20 it is now the primary source of my discomfort. The lymph system is another miraculous component of the human physique. Comprised of hundreds of nodes, it moves the lymph (fluid) through your body. It is a highway system that moves lymphecites and white blood cells throughout your body, guaranteeing all parts get your immunity. On April 23 it lands me in the cancer center.
Simon Cancer Center-IU-Indianapolis
‘Part of it’ became a chronic problem when a hot rash developed on my legs. Dreaded cellulitis was the diagnosis. Consistent with my short history of cancer, which seems to guarantee that I will experience every complication no matter how remote the odds, I found I was not surprised. So I was admitted into the cancer center for treatment on the spot from a visit with Dr. Noah.
The land of tranquility, bamboo trees, sculpture, meditation and caring, the Center represents the cutting edge in cancer treatment. It is more than a tumor, runaway cells and physical symptoms. The Center is designed to help the soul as well as the body. My room rivals a fine hotel room with it’s ceramic tile bath and fine cabinets. The room is furnished in traditional style with a Hill-Rom bed that every feature worked on, a fake leather sofa that could serve as a single bed and a strange recliner to kick back in.
Nurses are amazing here. A special breed of caring is evident. I have been here now for the third night, getting an evening injection via IV of an atomic antibiotic. Of course, consistent with the course of this disease the terrible unforeseen event this time was a leak in the IV, resulting in invasion of tissue surrounding the point of entry. For a little while there was urgency and a little panic. The solution to the lymphedema will not be here, but hopefully I will be well enough to return to manual draining next week. My office is now the hospital room, and I am prepared to work from here next week, but I certainly hope I get to go home tomorrow. Skype allows me to see and visit with my Brothers, a great comfort. Still my being here reinforces the reality of my dire situation. And yet I could have a 1.5 hour visit with Paul in Oregon without interruption. Again, a blessing in every dark cloud is a gift from God.
Simon Cancer Center-IU-Indianapolis
‘Part of it’ became a chronic problem when a hot rash developed on my legs. Dreaded cellulitis was the diagnosis. Consistent with my short history of cancer, which seems to guarantee that I will experience every complication no matter how remote the odds, I found I was not surprised. So I was admitted into the cancer center for treatment on the spot from a visit with Dr. Noah.
The land of tranquility, bamboo trees, sculpture, meditation and caring, the Center represents the cutting edge in cancer treatment. It is more than a tumor, runaway cells and physical symptoms. The Center is designed to help the soul as well as the body. My room rivals a fine hotel room with it’s ceramic tile bath and fine cabinets. The room is furnished in traditional style with a Hill-Rom bed that every feature worked on, a fake leather sofa that could serve as a single bed and a strange recliner to kick back in.
Nurses are amazing here. A special breed of caring is evident. I have been here now for the third night, getting an evening injection via IV of an atomic antibiotic. Of course, consistent with the course of this disease the terrible unforeseen event this time was a leak in the IV, resulting in invasion of tissue surrounding the point of entry. For a little while there was urgency and a little panic. The solution to the lymphedema will not be here, but hopefully I will be well enough to return to manual draining next week. My office is now the hospital room, and I am prepared to work from here next week, but I certainly hope I get to go home tomorrow. Skype allows me to see and visit with my Brothers, a great comfort. Still my being here reinforces the reality of my dire situation. And yet I could have a 1.5 hour visit with Paul in Oregon without interruption. Again, a blessing in every dark cloud is a gift from God.
Give the Nurses Strength To Endure
Sunday and I just finished my MLD session (manual lymph drainage). No doubt I am experiencing some changes. I can lie on my back a little longer now. My stones feel like someone has kicked the yahoo out of them. That unique ache/throb only a man can appreciate. They look like a flesh balloon swollen together as they are. Nevertheless, we must take this as just another week and an expected new issue that will be unpleasant. Even when Mom was in hospice and we spent a few nights with her I did not grasp the scope of her disease. I just never thought of cancer in holistic terms, as a disease that controls both directly and indirectly every behavior I have. The cold nights have returned. Bought new toilet seats today and wondered as I did how many toilet seats are sold to cancer victims, and for long term sufferers how many are involved. A sure sign of sickness in the house is wearing out the toilet seats.
BAM, like an electric shock Nurse Van touched a place on my leg with her nail. BAM, she did it again.
In the darkness of morning the lights in the bedroom seem harsh and the air cold. Van was making buckets and digging trenches to kick start the lymphatic system and get some draining going. This was her 3rd time. BAM ‘Please no more’, I cried out. Although there was nothing but a nail, the nail was enough. ‘You missed some spots” she said, noting after I lifted my shirt that some marker from the previous day’s therapy was still on my body. ‘I don’t care’ was my response, but I knew from her look that was unacceptable. ‘But if you are self conscious about it we can wash it off ‘, I said. She smiled and said ‘I will get a cloth ready.’ ‘AHHHHHHHEEE, holy sh.., oh my’, proves that we can have differing concepts of what warm is in a wet cloth on skin.
We laughed and I cried. Nursing is a gift, but there is certainly a learning curve. So off we go for my second chemo infusion. The nurses commented on my apparent improvement from last time. Sitting there I assessed my situation. On one side sat a man born in 1934 with his loving wife faithfully attending him. She struggled with the ice dispenser, with much more on the floor than in her cup. ‘Nearly blind’, she confessed, and I hoped she wasn’t the designated driver. On the other a tall slender woman, wearing an expensive wig and dressed in high fashion slacks, sweater and heels. She came alone, knew all the nurses on a first name basis and had a port. When another nurse came in to visit she stood and broke a tear. Up the way a youngster, devoid of color and hair but talking up a storm with her company. And my dear Vanessa, focused on me, caring for me. What a blessing she is. Chemo knocked me down this afternoon. A strange feeling of malaise, an emptiness, a pain but not a pain.
BAM, like an electric shock Nurse Van touched a place on my leg with her nail. BAM, she did it again.
In the darkness of morning the lights in the bedroom seem harsh and the air cold. Van was making buckets and digging trenches to kick start the lymphatic system and get some draining going. This was her 3rd time. BAM ‘Please no more’, I cried out. Although there was nothing but a nail, the nail was enough. ‘You missed some spots” she said, noting after I lifted my shirt that some marker from the previous day’s therapy was still on my body. ‘I don’t care’ was my response, but I knew from her look that was unacceptable. ‘But if you are self conscious about it we can wash it off ‘, I said. She smiled and said ‘I will get a cloth ready.’ ‘AHHHHHHHEEE, holy sh.., oh my’, proves that we can have differing concepts of what warm is in a wet cloth on skin.
We laughed and I cried. Nursing is a gift, but there is certainly a learning curve. So off we go for my second chemo infusion. The nurses commented on my apparent improvement from last time. Sitting there I assessed my situation. On one side sat a man born in 1934 with his loving wife faithfully attending him. She struggled with the ice dispenser, with much more on the floor than in her cup. ‘Nearly blind’, she confessed, and I hoped she wasn’t the designated driver. On the other a tall slender woman, wearing an expensive wig and dressed in high fashion slacks, sweater and heels. She came alone, knew all the nurses on a first name basis and had a port. When another nurse came in to visit she stood and broke a tear. Up the way a youngster, devoid of color and hair but talking up a storm with her company. And my dear Vanessa, focused on me, caring for me. What a blessing she is. Chemo knocked me down this afternoon. A strange feeling of malaise, an emptiness, a pain but not a pain.
2.8.10
Obstruction, Poop Dust, Mussolini and the Nuclear Option
Day After Chemo April 14
What amazes me is the amount of logic that fills your streaming responses to life’s givings.
Rex
Hi Rex,
No fear Brother-am ok this AM. My regimen today is:
Hang upside down in some configuration from 5-15 minutes at regular intervals to build strength and ability and promote draining.
Allow 45 minutes every 4 hours for drug interaction with pain meds.
Drink 2 quarts of water.
Pee.
Work at my desk as I can-time limited due to ergonomic incompatibility of furnishings with two sacks full of fluid and a flooded shaft.
Buy a large jock strap.
We are starting chemo with a less an aggressive regimen that originally specified and will monitor kidney function, becoming more aggressive over time until the disease is dead.
Remember, trenches and buckets drain the shaft and empty the bags. See you soon.
Your dedicated and unworthy sibling,
M
As the week progressed my frustration and suffering reached a pinnacle. Just as in each of the past few weeks, the disease presents new frustrations each week. So it was the night of the fourteenth. Abdominal pain increased by the hour. I too conservatively administered laxative and was up through the night. Around 2 am I stationed myself in the bathroom. I attempted to shit in the tub and sink; I stood over the stool, set backwards on the stool, sideways. I made a pad out of towel and masking tape. I attempted a gymnast’s move, balancing on my hands. I tried spreading. By the early am I was delirious. Using the Childs ear syringe buried in the back of the cabinet for these past decades became a shallow deliverer of tap water enemas and a gentle probe until Vanessa caught me with it.
In the still of the early morning, excruciating pain that went through all of the drugs at reasonable dose like they were nothing, I again found myself struggling with the Nissan factor. The pallets were backing up again, must be that Mussolini thing in the back of my head that has made me timid on this matter. I remember reading of Mussolini enjoying watch men die from drinking too much laxative, pumped down them by the dictator’s goons, and the victims subsequently shatting themselves to death in horrible fashion. I thought all those years Mom was addicted to exlax and what a strange addition that had to be. I couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps she was like me, obligated to take them daily. Now it was clear, I had a bowel obstruction and so it was I turned to the nuclear option. While my previous experience with this chemical magnesium citrate had been a mild encounter now it would earn its name.
While waiting for its effects to become evident, pacing my 6x3 foot cell I tried to understand how this could happen. I concluded that the narcotics for pain react with waste product and deliver a very dry product. Often I have made it to the loo only to cut forth with a gaseous blast of poop dust. Prior to cancer poop dust was not in my vernacular. With the narcotics often deadening the longest passings, I was truly surprised the first time I saw the dark chocolate covered chips and specs about the bowl. After 58 years of nothing strange on that end here was another anomaly. ‘So’ I thought, ‘I really am getting old.’
The nuclear option must be taken with copious amounts of water. I thought 48 ounces were enough, and for me it was woefully short. I passed the blockage about 24 hours after first signs. It was painful. Within two hours a couple of follow up events gave me new respect for the concoction. This would be the last time I would chance a BO. No more gambling or delaying the Nuclear Option (NO). No action in 24-the NO, not enough action, the NO. In retrospect, I wonder if I had simply prevented the constipation pain to begin with I might have had a lot more rest these past 160 odd days.
Saturday and I look back at the worst week yet, typically so at my own hand. However we now are amending routines. The suffering led me to a better understanding of the signs my body puts up, warnings to guide me. Going into the new week I will have a strong, regular laxative regimen to keep things moving. This alone alleviates a lot of pain that is so severe and generalized it is difficult to describe or isolate.
What amazes me is the amount of logic that fills your streaming responses to life’s givings.
Rex
Hi Rex,
No fear Brother-am ok this AM. My regimen today is:
Hang upside down in some configuration from 5-15 minutes at regular intervals to build strength and ability and promote draining.
Allow 45 minutes every 4 hours for drug interaction with pain meds.
Drink 2 quarts of water.
Pee.
Work at my desk as I can-time limited due to ergonomic incompatibility of furnishings with two sacks full of fluid and a flooded shaft.
Buy a large jock strap.
We are starting chemo with a less an aggressive regimen that originally specified and will monitor kidney function, becoming more aggressive over time until the disease is dead.
Remember, trenches and buckets drain the shaft and empty the bags. See you soon.
Your dedicated and unworthy sibling,
M
As the week progressed my frustration and suffering reached a pinnacle. Just as in each of the past few weeks, the disease presents new frustrations each week. So it was the night of the fourteenth. Abdominal pain increased by the hour. I too conservatively administered laxative and was up through the night. Around 2 am I stationed myself in the bathroom. I attempted to shit in the tub and sink; I stood over the stool, set backwards on the stool, sideways. I made a pad out of towel and masking tape. I attempted a gymnast’s move, balancing on my hands. I tried spreading. By the early am I was delirious. Using the Childs ear syringe buried in the back of the cabinet for these past decades became a shallow deliverer of tap water enemas and a gentle probe until Vanessa caught me with it.
In the still of the early morning, excruciating pain that went through all of the drugs at reasonable dose like they were nothing, I again found myself struggling with the Nissan factor. The pallets were backing up again, must be that Mussolini thing in the back of my head that has made me timid on this matter. I remember reading of Mussolini enjoying watch men die from drinking too much laxative, pumped down them by the dictator’s goons, and the victims subsequently shatting themselves to death in horrible fashion. I thought all those years Mom was addicted to exlax and what a strange addition that had to be. I couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps she was like me, obligated to take them daily. Now it was clear, I had a bowel obstruction and so it was I turned to the nuclear option. While my previous experience with this chemical magnesium citrate had been a mild encounter now it would earn its name.
While waiting for its effects to become evident, pacing my 6x3 foot cell I tried to understand how this could happen. I concluded that the narcotics for pain react with waste product and deliver a very dry product. Often I have made it to the loo only to cut forth with a gaseous blast of poop dust. Prior to cancer poop dust was not in my vernacular. With the narcotics often deadening the longest passings, I was truly surprised the first time I saw the dark chocolate covered chips and specs about the bowl. After 58 years of nothing strange on that end here was another anomaly. ‘So’ I thought, ‘I really am getting old.’
The nuclear option must be taken with copious amounts of water. I thought 48 ounces were enough, and for me it was woefully short. I passed the blockage about 24 hours after first signs. It was painful. Within two hours a couple of follow up events gave me new respect for the concoction. This would be the last time I would chance a BO. No more gambling or delaying the Nuclear Option (NO). No action in 24-the NO, not enough action, the NO. In retrospect, I wonder if I had simply prevented the constipation pain to begin with I might have had a lot more rest these past 160 odd days.
Saturday and I look back at the worst week yet, typically so at my own hand. However we now are amending routines. The suffering led me to a better understanding of the signs my body puts up, warnings to guide me. Going into the new week I will have a strong, regular laxative regimen to keep things moving. This alone alleviates a lot of pain that is so severe and generalized it is difficult to describe or isolate.
April 13 I Never Thought I Would Want Chemo
Chemo day. One month past when Dr. E. said I should do something. With a kidney creatinine number of 1.6 I could not qualify for the clinical study. I never heard of creatinine before. Instead my first chemo was a milder recipe that took only 3 hours or so to take. Here, at a clinic closer to home the décor was spartan and clinical. Windows behind the chairs, and the strange alien looking recliners, the infusion chairs lining the wall, each with it’s 6 wheeled tower of chrome and hooks and LCD’s at the ready. Facing each chair a single clinic chair. The view was a good one, looking into the nurse station and mixing room. Special deliveries came, papers delivered.
‘Mr. Courtney, follow me please. We are going to get some blood’. Small with dark hair and a fast gate she led me to an examination room for weight and blood. With cancer you get weighed a lot and you get pierced a lot, part of it. As she rummaged through her drawer carefully laying out the items she needed, needle, bottles, each bottle carefully labeled with bar code she says, ‘Can you give me your birth date?’. I snapped back in military fashion with name and birth date, and gave her a grin. Her skill with the needle was beyond compare, she carefully prepped the vein, punched the hole and secured to outlet and was filling vials all while asking me a few questions. I put her at ease, remaining relaxed, joking with the questions she asked as I told her how I got this far. Later, with Vanessa reading her book I looked over her shoulder at the nurses, each hunkered over a monitor, entering data, looking for data, assembling data while delivering extraordinary care and compassion to their clients. ‘Look’, she said, ‘he’s watching us’. She of all of them paid the closest attention, like clockwork looking away from the computer and scanning the floor caught my apparent gaze. ‘You guys are like a well oiled machine’ I responded. They all laughed and joked among themselves, for it was actually a near chaos always at the precipice job they have and I had no idea.
Yet I and they know this is a desperate life saving service being performed.
‘Mr. Courtney, follow me please. We are going to get some blood’. Small with dark hair and a fast gate she led me to an examination room for weight and blood. With cancer you get weighed a lot and you get pierced a lot, part of it. As she rummaged through her drawer carefully laying out the items she needed, needle, bottles, each bottle carefully labeled with bar code she says, ‘Can you give me your birth date?’. I snapped back in military fashion with name and birth date, and gave her a grin. Her skill with the needle was beyond compare, she carefully prepped the vein, punched the hole and secured to outlet and was filling vials all while asking me a few questions. I put her at ease, remaining relaxed, joking with the questions she asked as I told her how I got this far. Later, with Vanessa reading her book I looked over her shoulder at the nurses, each hunkered over a monitor, entering data, looking for data, assembling data while delivering extraordinary care and compassion to their clients. ‘Look’, she said, ‘he’s watching us’. She of all of them paid the closest attention, like clockwork looking away from the computer and scanning the floor caught my apparent gaze. ‘You guys are like a well oiled machine’ I responded. They all laughed and joked among themselves, for it was actually a near chaos always at the precipice job they have and I had no idea.
Yet I and they know this is a desperate life saving service being performed.
Oh Swell We're Swelling
The Swelling
Hi Marietta,
I had my first appointment to treat the Lymphedema this morning. Apparently, contrary to the Ologists and others, this is not 'just part of it' but in fact something that is treatable. Going on the premise that it was 'just part of it' I may have waited too long for treatment to avert some nasty complications. In any event we have a handle on it now and will flex those treatments around the chemo. We can discuss the clinical tomorrow.
Thanks,
Michael Courtney
I have found that Ologists are not all on the same page. We know that 3 or 5 urologists in the same room will have 3 or 5 differing opinions on treatment options for the same condition. When I questioned my primary about the swelling he explained the mechanics of it, which I understood from self study. What to do and the answer is live with it because it is ‘part of it.’ On the face of it, an unacceptable option.
Now a veteran of this process, I hobbled to the nearest wheelchair and headed for the restroom while Van parked the car. I have mastered every step of the hospital entry process except where to wave to get your restroom hand towel to roll out. As the cancer goes we know we can count on some new event or discomfort each week. This week the swelling in my leg has turned by scrotum into one large mass of the kind you might find hanging inside a bell waiting to be rung. Our new game, digging for the urethra involves digging into masses of fluid filled flesh to find the outlet to get the job done. Too bad as much as cancer grows it cannot grow a third hand which would be handy I suspect for most cancer patients. It was a long road to get here. .
Lymphedema of the in the lower half is the diagnosis. Contrary to the Ologists it is highly treatable, as I learned in my first session of buckets and trenches.
Hi Marietta,
I had my first appointment to treat the Lymphedema this morning. Apparently, contrary to the Ologists and others, this is not 'just part of it' but in fact something that is treatable. Going on the premise that it was 'just part of it' I may have waited too long for treatment to avert some nasty complications. In any event we have a handle on it now and will flex those treatments around the chemo. We can discuss the clinical tomorrow.
Thanks,
Michael Courtney
I have found that Ologists are not all on the same page. We know that 3 or 5 urologists in the same room will have 3 or 5 differing opinions on treatment options for the same condition. When I questioned my primary about the swelling he explained the mechanics of it, which I understood from self study. What to do and the answer is live with it because it is ‘part of it.’ On the face of it, an unacceptable option.
Now a veteran of this process, I hobbled to the nearest wheelchair and headed for the restroom while Van parked the car. I have mastered every step of the hospital entry process except where to wave to get your restroom hand towel to roll out. As the cancer goes we know we can count on some new event or discomfort each week. This week the swelling in my leg has turned by scrotum into one large mass of the kind you might find hanging inside a bell waiting to be rung. Our new game, digging for the urethra involves digging into masses of fluid filled flesh to find the outlet to get the job done. Too bad as much as cancer grows it cannot grow a third hand which would be handy I suspect for most cancer patients. It was a long road to get here. .
Lymphedema of the in the lower half is the diagnosis. Contrary to the Ologists it is highly treatable, as I learned in my first session of buckets and trenches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)