Category: Interesting Stuff

Lemonaid

Back to the old saw, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.”

Yes, I realize that I misspelled lemonade in the title, but that was deliberate as it has to do with my previous post.

I left you, the reader, with the better half and me poised to head up to southern Illinois to look at homes where we could retire.

Thursday evening of the weekend before Labor Day weekend, the dog Filbrix was due at “Doggie Camp” the next morning, our hotel room was booked, and we were nearly packed for our trip when my daughter called in a panic. It appears that at the last possible moment, she and her significant other were told to vacate their premises because they were “Out of Control.” It sounded to the better half and me that my daughter and her significant other were deemed “Out of Control” because they were in a same-sex relationship.

Relationships aside, they needed a place to go. I didn’t hesitate, nor did my better half. Life had handed my daughter a lemon. I was going to aid them by offering our hospitality… hence, the term “Lemonaid” in the title.

A few back and forths later, it was determined that my daughter would make her way from Georgia to Texas at the same time the better half and I were on our way to house-hunt in Illinois. Since she would arrive in Texas in our absence, we arranged for a key to be held by a mutual friend so my daughter could gain access to the house.

Crisis averted, for her. More lemons to come for us.

When we went to Illinois, we had a specific house in mind to look at and/or to make an offer for. In-town, close to a dog park (one of the dog Filbrix’s favorite things), nicely done back yard, and solar panels already installed and running. The better half was sold when she saw the solar panels. Two-thirds of the way to our destination, our Realtor called and told us that the house had been taken off the market. Sold. Dang!

Fortunately, we were forearmed of the possibility that the house we wanted would be unavailable, so, we had three other places we would look at.

The first was an older grey stucco in an historic district with a detached garage which looked like there would be a Studebaker hidden inside once the garage door was opened. It looked lovely until we went inside. Apparently, the previous owner had passed on to his reward and the house was being sold as part of his estate. There was trash (neatly bagged) in the living room and other indications that nothing had been done to make the house more saleable. Not only that, but the garage was empty. No Studebaker.

We then moved on to a newer place, a ranch house, with what could charitably be called a pie-shaped backyard. There were signs that the neighbors were potentially noisy and the house had a weird layout. We passed.

The third place was perfect. Large, fenced-in yard, fantastic master suite, well laid out, and a sunroom where we could install a hot tub!

We made an offer, but someone beat us to it.

Back to the drawing board.

We had a chat with the finance guy and a chat with the Realtor. The upshot was that while our credit was swell and we could pull the money together for a down payment and closing costs, we needed to sell our house in Texas before we could buy a house in Illinois.

Now, our trip wasn’t a total wash… we did manage to connect with the other half’s children (and the grandchild) while we were there. We also found a decent place to get barbecue. The trip back was scenic (although it involved a few more hours of travel than we would have liked), and we got a few ideas of places we’d like to visit once we relocated.

Once we got back, though, we knew what needed to be done. We were determined to make the move, but now we had a clearer vision of what needed to be done and in what order. And then there was the task of getting the house in order with two more humans to either help or hinder.

But that’s a tale for another time.

Be Seeing You!

Who Needs a Gym Membership When They Have a Dog?

This morning, I took the dog Filbrix out for an extended walk on the Chaparral Trail from the Farmersville trailhead while strangers came to look at my house.

The strangers were there for a good reason. The better half and I have put the house up for sale so we can move ourselves and the dog Filbrix to southern Illinois. Our hope is that the strangers who came to look at our house will find it at least tolerable and will want to move in straight away.

Or at least after the fifth of November.

Why the move is because of several factors… among them being two stepchildren and one and two-thirds of a grandchild already living in southern Illinois. After making several trips up there over the past few years, we have found less expensive housing (some of that actually “cheaper” as you will find out as you continue to read this essay), the people are generally friendly, and there are actual hills and forested areas nearby.

Shades of southern Ohio!

After having suffered through Chemotherapy in the past twelve months, both the better half and I decided it was time for a change. Except for one stepdaughter, we no longer have a good reason to stay here in what I have called, “My own little corner of the DFW Metromess.” The strongest tie we had was my Mother-in-Law, until recently, living in San Antonio. My wife drove there once a month or so over most of the past year while the M-I-L wasted away due to Parkinson’s. She passed in May. Her ashes, as well as the ashes of her late husband, are in what the better half calls our “Conservatory.”

One other reason for us to “Head for the Hills” is that the better half’s job will come to an end in early November. She is a day nurse for a juvenile with physical “issues”. Her patient will age out of the system, meaning he will turn 18, meaning she will no longer have a patient to attend to. So, she has decided that she will retire at about the same time the two-thirds of a grandchild will make his appearance among the living.

Two-third’s older brother can hardly wait. A brother, Nana, and The Colonel (an inside joke) will all be in Illinois along with much of the rest of the family.

The decision to move was made in early July. I started perusing Zillow and found several houses available in what I thought would be an attractive price range. That in mind, I girded my loins and made a solo trip to look at a couple of candidates in a town once known for producing washing machines.

I made an appointment with a Realtor to look at what I thought was the best candidate for the money. The appointment ended up being a total bust. The neighborhood was nice, the house looked nice from the outside, but once inside, it was a total disaster. It seems that the house had been repossessed and that the lein holder was anxious to get at least some money for the money he or she was about to lose. If someone would have left the electricity on, the basement would not have gotten wet, leading to several other problems.

One of the other homes I was half interested in viewing was a rambling place on the other side of town, again at a bargain price. I had a quick glance and that was all I needed to convince myself that I didn’t want to even think about the place. There was a four to six foot ditch in front of the house. Seriously. Evidently, it was on the wrong side of the tracks.

My trip in July wasn’t a total wash, though. I left with a favorable impression and was able to touch base with the kiddos. It became a further win-win on the way back to Texas when I concluded that there were certain stretches of road in Oklahoma I didn’t really want to drive on.

I returned with a determination that I wanted to relocate. Plans for a second trip in August, this time with the better half, started to come together. We made reservations, found a place to park the dog, worked on getting pre-approval for a mortgage, had a handful of houses we thought we might be interested in viewing, and were practically on the road when something came up.

More later. The story will get interesting, I promise.

Be Seeing You!

Past Due for an Update

This one may take a while.

For those of you who follow me solely on WordPress, I’m still here and I’m relatively healthy. Chemotherapy is now four months behind me. From the looks of it, I’m thriving. I had a CAT scan, a visit with my Oncologist’s Physician’s Assistant, and a session with the nurse in the infusion room to clear my port. The only lingering effect has been the neuropathy in my fingers and my feet. My Primary Care Physician put me on a drug that was supposed to help… two months (and $120) into the recommended therapy and I don’t feel as if there has been any difference. The PA at the Oncologist’s office told me that healing takes time. (Lord give me patience… RIGHT NOW!!!)

Part of my tardiness on this platform was due to my Mother-In-Law’s illness and eventual passing back in May. She had been having a tough time with her health, exacerbated by the death of my Father-In-Law just before Christmas last year. My wife, with my blessing, drove down to see her mother in San Antonio on average once per month. I pointed out to her that while the distance was daunting, she would appreciate having time to spend with her mother before her eventual demise. Not to pat myself on the back too hard, but I was right in my assessment. My wife returned to the house from her last trip to see her mother less than 48 hours before her mother died. My wife was grateful that she went on my insistence.

With death comes responsibility. We have spent more than a little time attending to details involving my M-I-L’s estate and planning a get-together for a memorial service in San Antonio. We were able to gather for the memorial service with little or no problem. I arranged for hotels and a couple of meals for an assortment of family from as far away as Southern Illinois. It was good to see the grands and to marvel at how much they had grown in the past two years or so since we last saw them. The service was on Saturday and some of us deliberately took time on Sunday to go down to the Riverwalk in Downtown San Antonio. It had been a while since I last went there, and it will likely be a while before I head back down there.

Now I could say something to the point that life returned to normal after we returned to our home base in our little corner of the DFW Metromess… but that would be less than truthful.

During the last of my Chemotherapy sessions, I started taking a look at our family’s fiscal position in anticipation of my wife’s retirement. Not long before losing her mother, my wife’s hours as a nurse for a patient in the next town over were cut to accommodate a situation with her patient’s care. Her patient was allocated so many hours of care per week. She had been working overtime – a situation not appreciated by the agency she worked for. After doing some calculations it was decided that she would continue with fewer hours with her income supplemented by Social Security. In the short term, we would be a bit better off. In the long term, we came to the realization that since her patient turned 18 in the first part of November, her job would go away. Since she turned 67 in March, she decided that enough was enough and that she would just go ahead and retire at that time.

So the question came up – “What comes next?”

Three years ago, my stepdaughter and her husband moved to Southern Illinois. Her brother, my stepson, joined her about a year later. The attraction was a lower cost of living (as compared to the DFW Metromess). Both of the stepchildren were able to purchase homes of their own for considerably less than what they would have to pay here in the Metromess. I did some prowling on the internet and found more than an ample supply of housing we could purchase, again at a reasonable price, leaving us with a considerable nest egg after selling the house we are living in now. I started prowling on the internet well before the demise of my Mother-In-Law, keeping it mostly to myself until a few weeks after the memorial service. My wife warmed up to the idea after I took a solo trip to the area to get a feel for it… well, that and the presence of a grandchild (soon-to-be grandchildren).

I’m still running the numbers, but it looks as if a move could be likely in a few months. Allow me to expand on the idea at a later date.

Be Seeing You!

Continuing the Journey – 8 Weeks Later

Eight Weeks

May 9, 2020

Taking Care of Business

Eight weeks ago today, I had the needle going into the port feeding me chemotherapy drugs removed for the last time. Today, I am in a bit of a daze, coming off anesthesia administered while I was undergoing a Colonoscopy. The good news – nothing was found in my colon. The bad news – I still have 44 weeks of being monitored by the Oncologist before she will declare me free of the dreaded cancer. In the meantime, I am taking care of business.

It was a Colonoscopy done three years ago that made me a cancer patient to begin with. It was a small mass in my rectum noted by the Gastroenterologist when I had my first Colonoscopy. For a few months, there was quite a bit of hand-wringing going on as to how much damage was done and where, and what to do about it.

I was referred to a surgeon who did a resection with the help of a robot nicknamed “Karen”. After consultation with the Oncologist, it was thought that I was out of the woods, but the Oncologist insisted on watching me for the next five years just to make sure that there was no problem.

I was scheduled for a follow-up Colonoscopy a year after the first one. Nothing was found and I was told to come back in two years.

A little past the one-year mark, or a little less than a year ago, the Rectal Cancer had popped up on my liver. Surgery, Chemotherapy (as a preventative measure) and more hand-wringing later, I found myself sitting with my laptop recalling all that had happened in the three years since my first Colonoscopy.

Quite the journey, but it’s not the last of it.

As I mentioned, I have 44 weeks, four visits with my Oncologist, at least one extra visit to have the port removed, four CAT scans, two visits with my primary care physician, and a partridge in a pear tree. There are a couple of financial details needing my attention (due to an office failing to pay attention to changes in my insurance) and other visits concerning my eyesight.

For the most part, though, I am healthy and wise. Never really wealthy, but two out of three ain’t bad.

Be Seeing You!

Continuing the Journey – Four weeks later

Continuing the Journey – Four weeks later

Four Weeks

April 12, 2024

I’ve had normal days for four weeks, now. Just a couple of minor complaints at this point in my recovery. Still some tingling in my feet and fingers – not bad enough to complain about. Yet. I still get tired somewhat easily, but not as easily as I did a couple of weeks ago. There is the occasional slight feeling of vertigo – the feeling is fleeting. Most of my other bodily functions seem to be working well. One small victory noted this evening – my sense of taste is back. It’s nice to sit down to a meal and be able to taste it. What I need to do, though, is to watch what I eat so I don’t gain back the 30+ pounds that I lost in the past six months.

The visit with the Physician’s Assistant (almost typed Apprentice) went well. I was spared an exam of the problem mentioned in my previous update. Not that I was against the exam. I’ve been probed by female doctors in my nether area enough to not let it bother me. The only inhibition came about from the fellow suspended by a rope and washing the third floor window while I was talking with the PA. We had a nice conversation about my condition and she was able to provide advice as how to alleviate the problem until the colonoscopy next month. It was intimated that there was something that could be done during the colonoscopy. I may ask later, or when I’m about to be put under.

Her hint that there might be a stitch or two involved reminded me of the story told by the boy’s health class I had in my sophomore year in high school. The teacher was a colorful character who peppered his language in relatively crude terms. Seeing as how he was teaching tenth-grade boys, he did well by using the language he did as most of our minds were in the gutter at that point in our lives. Anyhoo, the instructor told the story of going to the local VA Hospital to have his hemorrhoids surgically removed. It went well until he got home, telling us that he felt as if “A wildcat was loose in my ass!”

Naturally, his description was well-received.

Later that year, I was walking with a female upperclassman to the student parking lot where her boyfriend (and still a friend to this day) was waiting to give me a ride somewhere. As we passed the classroom where another group of tenth-grade boys were being instructed in matters of health, my escort shook her head at the open door and declared that she wondered why the man would keep the door to his classroom open, considering his language.

My visit with the PA ended with a scrip, instructions, and confirmation of my date with the person doing the colonoscopy.

More immediately, I am less than three weeks from seeing my Doctor for the first time since becoming the human chemistry set. I do look forward to seeing my Doctor. He is usually in good humor. Aside from the story I’ve passed on about one of my teachers, there’s little else to tell. I’ll probably catch up after the colonoscopy coming in May.

 Be Seeing You!

My Cancer Journey XII

My Cancer Journey XII

I spent most of yesterday celebrating a “Normal” day with lots and lots of sunshine. Because of the President’s Day holiday, my mindset and the garbage collectors think this is Tuesday.

Normal Days

Cycle 3, Day 9

Since Day 7 of this cycle, I have been experiencing what I am going to call “Normal Days.” Most of the immediate ill effects of Chemotherapy have worn off. No bandages, no “football” to carry around, no constipation, and nearly normal sleep patterns.

There are some effects I need to realize won’t be going away.

Cold, for instance.

I’m writing this wearing a long-sleeved undershirt, a short-sleeved golf shirt, and topped off with a sweatshirt. And I am cold still cold.

Admittedly it’s partly my fault.

One of the benefits of Normal Days is that I can indulge again in cold orange juice and “Dad Tea.” For the uninitiated, “Dad Tea” is my own variation of that syrupy (in my opinion) concoction known as “Sweet Tea” served here in the south. My variation uses decaffeinated tea, and only a slight hint of sugar. Since starting chemo, “Dad Tea” is more of a luxury than a basic element of living. Of course, served over ice, so I expect to be cold.

I’ve also set the thermostat down to 68 degrees.

Part of my problem with chemo is that I have developed sensitivity to cold, especially in my fingers. If I lunge into the freezer, or for that matter even the refrigerator, my fingertips let me believe that even a quick delve into said appliance puts me in immediate danger of frostbite. And I am wondering if maybe that feeling will continue after I’ve finished with chemo. I had a chat with a friend of mine who had finished chemo a few months ago. He complained that since chemo he has had cold feet – even on the warmest days.

As I’ve continued this journey, I’ve looked forward to Normal Days. Sometimes my normal days are few (only one Normal Day during round 4), other cycles, most of the days between treatment are Normal Days. Sure, there are times I need to bundle up to avoid the cold. Other times, I am thankful that the meds are either better tolerated or there just weren’t as many meds on a cycle.

But today is a “Normal Day.”

I’ve done my normal rounds, walked the dog Filbrix, took the trash cans to the curb, filled and ran the dishwasher, checked my emails, and sparred with my insurance carrier.

It feels darn good to be able to do so.

I could complain, but I won’t.

It’s a “Normal Day.” May as well enjoy it while I have it.

Round 4

The day before Thanksgiving is no time to sit in the clinic to receive a dose of Chemo and the attendant medicines. The day after Thanksgiving I needed to have the needle pulled out of my port – something that I couldn’t have done at the infusion clinic due to the staff having the day off. Taking the needle out was all up to me.

I received the good news that I was approved to pull my own needle on the Monday before the infusion. Yes, I viewed the video on the internet and was briefed on the subject ahead of time. Just to be certain that I had the routine down pat, I was pulled into the infusion center ahead of the medications and was given a thorough set of instructions from the nurse in charge of giving instructions to us. A printed set of instructions was included in the package sent home with me, along with supplies and a pair of plastic bags containing the supplies.

The other reason the day before Thanksgiving is no time to sit in the clinic to receive a dose of Chemo and the attendant medicines is that the chemicals tended to kill my appetite, partially because the chemicals played hell with my taste buds.

Thanksgiving turned into a glum affair – Carol didn’t have to cook other than to heat up a package of Hormel Turkey and Gravy (four minutes in the microwave), slam together some mashed potatoes, and figure out what she was going to serve as a vegetable. The only happy creature in the house was the dog Filbrix. I was only able to choke down a little over half of what I was served. Filbrix did her duty by finishing up what I had on my plate. She’s good at that.

There were walks, there were naps, and there was lots of time cruising the internet and phoning the progeny to tell them Happy Thanksgiving.

The test came on Friday. In some senses, the operation was really simple. Daunting, but simple. Stripping the lines between the port and the pump – Injecting saline to clear the line – and then pulling the needle out with the assistance of the butterfly attachments built into the needle. Carol and I managed, got the pump and the needle placed into a “Sharps” bag, and went on with life over the long weekend.

When we were back to reality on Monday, I got in the car and delivered the plastic bags with the pump and the attendant tubing back to the infusion clinic. By the time I arrived, the place was swimming in Christmas decorations. Some of the work was done the day before Thanksgiving. The rest, later. Not unexpected, since nurses like to have a few days off, too.

Be Seeing You!

My Cancer Journey X

My Cancer Journey X

Again, a fortnight since my last entry. Some of it has to do with the cumulative effects the cavalcade of drugs has had on me. At this writing (February 6th), I am through three-quarters of my treatments with the last three treatments already scheduled. So, it is time to go over the drugs I will be taking in the next exciting episode…

A Walking Chemistry Set

Prior to my scheduled visits on October 9th, I had a look see at what my Oncologist will have injected into my body. The mix was developed specifically to target cells found in my rectum – the same cells found on my liver. After reading about the drugs, I spilled out the formula to those on my Facebook feed:

Still no word on when I start Chemotherapy. It’s one of those “Hurry up and wait” deals, I suppose.

My mail today contained the official approval of the drugs being used on me over a period of 24 weeks beginning whenever. I just did a Google search of the drugs being used. Quite the cocktail.

The list was headed with something called Oxaliplatin. Nothing to see here, that is, if you don’t mind a little nausea, vomiting, fever, fatigue, and hair loss. As a bonus, the Oxaliplatin contains Platinum – the same stuff used in Catalytic Converters. Probably not a good idea to let certain people know… I could find someone underneath me attempting to steal and sell the Platinum.

Some of the effects of Oxaliplatin are partially abated by a folic acid called Leucovarin. Side effects include skin rash, itching, and wheezing. I thought something was said about the drug causing an altered mental state. I wonder how I could tell.

Then there is Fluorouracil. I could find nothing about it on Google. I have concluded that no one really knows what the hell it is. Sort of like non-dairy coffee creamer.

Finally, there are a couple of drugs designed specifically to prevent nausea or vomiting. Well and fine until the last drug, something called Fosaprepitant. There was a whole raft of possible side effects connected with it – some of them I don’t wish to mention in mixed company.

And I have yet to ask about the possible effects of using CBD gummies in preventing nausea. I’ve heard that smoking cigarettes with no name on them does a cancer patient a lot of good – one of my neighbors indulges in the weed – but I quit smoking thirty years ago this weekend and I am not about to take up the habit again, even if it’s not tobacco this time.

All I have to do now is wait. I have enough drugs to qualify as a walking chemistry experiment. More when I get the word.

My immediate reaction after reading through the list was that I was about to become a walking chemistry set. As far as the aftereffects of the drug combination are concerned, they will be covered as this narrative continues.

I really don’t know if this treatment will cure me of my ills (or cure any stray cells residing in me) but I am positive that the regimen will do me better than some of the “cures” out there being offered by people lacking medical degrees.

Going back to 2016, the Food and Drug Administration listed no less than 187 fake cures for cancer. Not surprisingly, the fake cures gain attention from desperate people.

My father, for one, started taking Shark Cartilage pills, based on the premise that sharks don’t get cancer and that the pills would help to at least keep his Melanoma at bay.

It didn’t. He still had a bottle and a half of the shark pills when he passed.

Comedian Andy Kaufman was said to have traveled out of the country to someone who promised to remove Kaufman’s small-cell lung cancer – a miracle cure. Turns out that the cancer removed from Kaufman was chicken liver. The cure, ineffective. It did nothing but offer hope to people desperate enough to believe the cure would work.

Hope is what hooks people into believing in “Drugs” like “Laetrile” – derived from almond seeds, Laetrile had people in the United States driving down to Mexico after the FDA found that the drug didn’t work. In fact, Laetrile contained some of the building blocks of Cyanide. Cyanide may have killed the cancer cells, but at the same time, it would go on to kill the person taking the Cyanide as well.

And then there was a story of a Florida Man who, through his fake church, was convicted of selling bleach as a miracle cure for the dreaded disease. I feel sorry for those who bought into his scam.

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of legitimate purveyors of cancer treatments out there. Clinics abound with some degree of success. Places like “The James” at Ohio State University. The Mayo Clinic. Cleveland Clinic. M. D. Anderson here in the Lone Star State, as well as Texas Oncology. The cure, if you can call it that, ain’t easy. Writing this after just four cycles of Chemo, I can already attest to some of the difficulties I was told I might encounter.

For now, though, I plan to walk the reader through the process I’ve been going through as seen through my eyes… and through a little of my sense of humor.

Like when I described myself as a walking Chemistry Set.

As a side note to this chapter, I asked my Oncologist about taking Marinol for my decreased appetite. She prescribed something else and the request was denied. Something having to do with weight gain or weight loss medications not being allowed on Medicare. No big deal. At least for me…

My Cancer Journey VIII

My Cancer Journey VIII

Thrombosis

The Wednesday after Labor Day, I noted that my right leg was giving me trouble. Nothing that a few more Acetaminophen couldn’t handle.

Thursday, the pain was worse. I could barely get around the block with Filbrix. When Carol got home, she laid down the law. If I was still having trouble the next day, I was to call my Primary Care Physician.

The pain was worse. I called the PCP’s office and told them what was happening. After consulting with his nurse, I was instructed to go to an imaging center as soon as was practical and have them scan my leg.

I called the recommended imaging center and was told that the soonest they could see me was mid-afternoon. If I needed to see someone sooner, there was another center across the street from Baylor McKinney.

I needed to see someone sooner. An appointment was set, I secured Filbrix, and was on my way.

The imaging center appeared to be well run. I was in an exam room within five minutes of my arrival, having an amicable chat with a young woman who was in training. I was in good enough spirits to give my standard answer to my date of birth (If your sweetheart didn’t get you something for this day, he or she really doesn’t care for – followed by the year) and then telling the woman I was “Thirty-Nine.” Neither the technician or the observer had a clue that I was referring to Jack Benny, so I explained the connection and we discussed more recent comedians. The technician revealed that his birthday was on the same day (different year) while he was doing his job.

At the end of the session, I was told that it looked like I had a blood clot. I was given a disc to give to a doctor when I had the opportunity, or when I got to the Emergency Room. I left the center and sat in the car waiting to see what I needed to do next. My PCP’s office was a good half-hour drive from where I was parked. On the other hand, the Emergency Room at Baylor McKinney was across the street.

It took about ten minutes of waiting in the car to get the call from the PCP’s office to go to the Emergency Room. It took another ten minutes to drive to the ER, park the car, and hobble inside.

Just the little bit of walking I had to do from point A to point B caused a considerable amount of pain. Triage, if you could call it that, consisted of my giving them the information they already had, having my vitals checked and allowing them to do bloodwork. Never mind that I had a readout from the imaging center across the street. I needed to sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that a blood clot in the leg could break loose and head for my heart, putting it out of commission. The clot could have bypassed the heart and headed to my brain, giving me a stroke.

Still waiting.

Carol came by with a friend to give me aid and comfort. She was there for a couple of hours before going home to relieve Filbrix.

Finally, after a shift change, I was seen by a doctor. After what seemed like another hour or so of back and forth with more imaging, I was told that I indeed had blood clots, but the solution would be to put myself on a blood thinner until the problem went away… hopefully within a few months.

I got an initial dose of Eliquis and was told that I should have a prescription to pick up later the next day. With the drug came the instruction that I could no longer shave using a blade and shaving cream. (Sorry, Harry’s. You had to be sidelined.) I also had to be careful not to cut myself. This was, indeed serious.

I made it home nearly twelve hours after leaving the house. Much of that time spent waiting in the ER waiting area for them to call me in to see a doctor. I hate to think about what might have happened if one of the clots broke loose while I was there. Nearly a week later, a friend of mine had a bout of acute appendicitis. Went to the same ER and waited. And waited. And waited, until he passed out and hit his head on the floor.

Passing out and hitting his head got him sent to the head of the queue. Could have killed him. Thrombosis could have killed me.

I thought that I would be out of the woods once I got home. After another night of pain and restlessness I looked forward to Carol going over to the local chain drugstore to get Eliquis.

Once again, the chain had nothing available.

Time for plan “B”.

A call was made to the locally owned and operated apothecary in what passes for Downtown Princeton Texas. They didn’t have the full prescription available, but the pharmacist had enough to get me through the weekend until he could restock.

Guess where I am telling my doctors to send any future prescriptions!

There were a couple of other considerations having to do with my leg. Carol decided that I could get around a little better if I were to have a wheelchair at my disposal. Next day delivery from Wallyworld.[1]

I decided not to risk cutting myself with the Harry’s razors I had been using, so, I ordered a Norelco rotary shaver through Amazon. It came overnight.

I was in pretty good spirits when the wheelchair arrived, and I adapted to it relatively easily. By the time Sunday rolled around, I was confident enough to go to worship with Carol… telling people that I was only using the wheelchair to garner sympathy.[2] By the following week, the wheelchair mostly sat idle. Crutches were available, I was adept with the things to the point that I was able to go most places with little problem.

Two weeks after surgery and three days after my little trip to the Emergency Room, I had my follow-up with my Oncologist to find out about the next step in my journey.

[1] My term for Wal*Mart, even though two of my stepchildren are employed there.

[2] The line about using the wheelchair to garner sympathy was recycled from the Canadian TV series SCTV. The “Station Manager” used a wheelchair to get around, even though he could walk perfectly well – telling people that the reason he used the wheelchair was to garner sympathy.

Fast Food

Fast Food

I’ve had an interesting week – one bookended by a couple of fast food tales. On one end, there was a question about Cincinnati Chili, on the other, I was doing drugs in a Whataburger drive-through line.

It’s not quite as bad as it sounds. Allow me to explain.

Monday morning, my alarm clock rang at the gawdawful hour of 4:19 to allow me enough time to walk the dog, shower, get dressed, and headed to the hospital for a bit of surgery. Had to be there at 6:00 to be put under at 7:30.

I met the surgeon three weeks earlier. We discussed what he intended to do to me (remove a small, suspicious growth from my liver), how he was going to do it (laparoscopic surgery), and where we would be doing it (at the hospital ten miles from my little corner of the DFW Metromess). Before I met the man, I noted from the CV he provided on the internet that he had spent time in Cincinnati.

I wanted to ask him Gold Star, or Skyline.

As a point of information for the uninitiated, Gold Star and Skyline are a couple of chain chili parlors doing business mostly in Cincinnati and Hamilton County Ohio selling “Cincinnati-Style” chili to the masses. (For more information about Cincinnati Chili, look here.

Well, I didn’t get to ask the good doctor about his favorite Cincinnati Chili on my initial visit, so, I determined to ask when I saw him just prior to surgery.

Well, here I was getting prepped for surgery and the nurse asked if I had any questions. She answered most of them already, so I told her that since the doctor spent time in Cincinnati, I was wondering…

“Which do you prefer? Gold Star or Skyline?” The nurse came out of left field to ask the question I was about to ask. She told me that she was from Northern Kentucky and her preference was Skyline! Her interruption broke a bit of ice and put me in a better mood.

And yes, when the doctor came in for his last visit with me before I went under, I asked the question. “Skyline!” We talked a moment or two about the Queen City before he left and I was given some happy medicine to put me under the knife.

I woke up about 3 hours later (or was it four?) not a bit hungry despite having been fasting since nine the previous evening.

Pain? There was plenty. Tylenol, some other pill I had no idea what it was was fed to me over the next 24 hours while I was itching to get back home.

When I was discharged just after lunchtime Tuesday, the doctor prescribed a nausea medicine to go along with something called Oxycodone for me to pick up at the local CVS. Well, not me, but my wife. There was no way I was going to drive for at least a week… even if a doctor had put no restrictions on me. Married to a nurse, I know exactly what I didn’t need to be doing.

After getting home and getting settled, my wife drove to the CVS here in our little burg since my phone told me that the prescriptions were ready to be picked up.

One little hiccup.

The message sent by CVS said that the nausea medicine was ready, but that the Oxycodone was “On Special Order”, meaning they didn’t have it. When my wife returned, she explained the situation. I thought it wise to go ahead and wait. After all, I wasn’t too anxious to be taking a narcotic, despite the pain.

That was Tuesday.

I managed to control my pain with double doses of Tylenol interspersed with double doses of Ibuprofen.

It worked, despite the fact that I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV.

My only problem was a cough, caused in part by difficulty in getting fluids out of my chest. For a few days, I was chugging down cough drops almost as quickly as I could unwrap the things. Tired of that, I decided that the best thing I could do would be to go to Wally World, to get a bottle of cough syrup.

Since it was Saturday, and since I was feeling good, I convinced my wife to drive me to Wally-World to get cough syrup, suggesting getting sandwiches at Whataburger on the way back to the house. I went into WW, came out with the cough syrup, and struggled to open the bottle while my wife drove us to Whataburger for our sandwiches.

I finally got the bottle opened after we placed our order – dosing myself while we waited to get to the drive-up window. It was then that I observed that I was doing drugs in the Whataburger drive-through lane!

See? It wasn’t all that bad, now was it?

Our order arrived.

While I was securing our sandwiches for the ride home, my phone buzzed with the news from CVS that my Oxycodone had arrived.

Four days later.

I have other thoughts about CVS, but I’m not here to gripe, I’m here to exude happy thoughts.

Be Seeing You!