Walter Pulled Through

Oh yes! He made it through surgery. He made it through post-op. Through a night in Cardiac ICU, CICU. Back upstairs to Telemetry, the heart unit. Slowly but surely they've pulled out this tube and that, let him take off his oxygen cannula here and there. Our bad hearts always complicate our other surgeries, so he's on a heart monitor.

He still gets a gazillion breathing treatments a day, and they put him back on IV fluids today. Hmmm. The chest tube is still in, draining and draining.

But they decided to transport him to his next stop, a Respite Care place.

And the first news on the tumor came back.

They got it very, very early. Stage 1A. Very small, almost too small to operate on him. Walter didn't know which kind it is - we hear there are several. But if it were the awful one, small cell, they'd be throwing everything but the kitchen sink at it.

Which they aren't. He won't have to do chemotherapy. He may have to do some radiation therapy, but not for very long.

It looks like this awful thing, lung cancer, might have a good outcome after all. Am I happy? Is he? Oh my goodness, YES!

You know what else? If we hadn't broken up, they would not have caught it so early. Perhaps not for a long, long time. It was only through an odd series of coincidences that they gave him a chest x-ray. And that he agreed to have it. See, he'd just had one three weeks before.

That x-ray showed nothing there at all.

I'm Still Here

I have been tremendously ill for a long, long time.

Communication has been difficult - with anyone, in any way. I see your comments from time to time and feel it's been a one-way street. Yet you're endlessly patient with me. I see footprints from you checking back, wondering what was happening with me. That means a great deal to this blogger, living in a hospital for a year and a half, battling onslaught after onslaught that many a strapping healthy young person would not have survived.

It's been another world, and a distant one. I've had to devote all my physical and mental resources to staying alive. But now it looks like I've turned a corner. I may, at last, be relatively safe. More on that another time, okay?

I want to assure you all that I haven't had a stroke or anything as permanently devastating as that. Some permanent changes? Yes, of course. Mostly, though, of the type that will heal. The lack of communication from my end isn't due to that. It's just been the battle fatigue.

Walter and I have split up. It was in the works for a long time. I've needed 24-hour caretaking for all that period of illness, and still do today. It's a terribly difficult job, caretaking someone who's seriously ill. Essentially, he burned out. He could never let himself rest. Going our separate ways has been very good for both of us.

And are we friends again? You betcha. Groan or snicker all you want, we don't care ;- )

Today, though, I'm back at the same hospital - but our roles are reversed. Today, Walter is the patient, and I'm the visitor. I'm getting a taste of what I was so certain of every time I've gone into another surgery - that it can be harder for those who wait than for the patient.

Help us, please, with all the positive energies and prayers and good thoughts you can summon up.

It looks like Walter has lung cancer. He's in surgery now, as I speak. The docs are removing the mass they discovered, together with surrounding tissue. He opted not to have a "lobectomy." That would remove about half a lung, and leave him totally and permanently disabled. His five-year survival expectancy would only increase by about 10%. It wasn't worth it to him.

Perhaps you noticed I said --it looks like lung cancer.-- That's because, even with all the tremendous technology at hand, they weren't able to do the usual biopsy first.

The mass that appeared in the cat scan was hiding behind a rib - nearly perfectly obscured. They couldn't get a clear image to guide the biopsy needle; and the straight needle they use couldn't get behind the rib to grab a piece of the mass anyway. So, while everyone is convinced it is lung cancer - and I believe it probably is - I don't forget there's a tiny chance it could just be an infection or something, We'll know in a few days, after Pathology has a chance to do the definitive analysis.

So now that I've finally broken my silence, what do I do? Very first post back, I ask for your help. Sheesh.

I'm not sure I really know what Walter's beliefs are. Maybe I'm wishing for those positive energies for myself instead. I keep thinking of Bane's prayer warriors...and a rare yellow rain lily, something with strong Bane associations in my mind, has been blooming in my front yard.

I'm OUT!

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I'm OUT! I'm OUT! I'mOUT!I'mOUT!I'mOUT!

Yes indeed, everyone. You heard it straight from the horse's mouth. Oh, happy day!!!
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Well. It was true when I said it, anyway. And you, my faithful readers, gave me enough time to start a post instead of answering comments, which is one of my FAVORITE things to do. And therefore, ever so distracting.

Now I'm going to gross you out, or bore you - whatever - with more medical tales. It's become my life. I've lived at this hospital for more than a year now. And while the subject material may not be as fun as I've wished, it's what I've got, for telling tales of the present at least.

I spent about two days at home. I slept most of them away. Then I woke up, bright and chipper.

And that's all she wrote...

until I woke up in the ER around 8 pm last night.

Walter and Mom were with me. They told me a blood test showed infection. That when they brought me in, I was radiating heat, so hot they could feel it from a few feet away, A wonderful paramedic, sweet and kind - and extremely competent - was determined to set an IV. It became a challenge to him. It does to a lot of them, actually.

See, I'm a very "hard stick." That means it's hard to find a vein that will accept an IV without "blowing,' infiltrating, where the needle comes out the other side of the vessel instead of sliding into the vein.

Even if they succeed in setting an IV, the IV's aren't usually in strong enough veins. They have to hold up against these super-powerful antibiotics they pour into me to kill off the various resistant germs I get. The IV's don't usually last more than a couple of days.

But that's another story.

Last night, what we needed was an IV. Difficult, difficult. And our shining hero of a paramedic actually did it! They drew blood for tests, and then slammed me with Vancomycin - one of those super-antibiotics - and lo and behold, I came to.

Understand, I was comatose through all the excitement. It happened that way last time too, grrr!!! I mean, I paid for the darn ticket. Then I don't even get to see the show. But everybody else did! hmph!

It appears my left arm is deeply infected for about a foot long area, with my elbow in the middle. Red, and hot. And - please forgive the indelicacy - same goes for my entire left breast. Ouch!

I'd hoped to have more time to post. Now, as long as I don't get the sleeps, I will.

Be careful what you wish for...
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HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE!!!

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I really like holidays.

Since we live in this great American melting pot, or stew, or tossed salad - whatever - this can mean holidays of LOTS of different religions. Such a fine variety of holidays to choose from!

But how to avoid stepping on one's toes, congratulating someone for the wrong day?

It's easy. You don't need to try to remember who believes what. No no no! Get yourself a cheap calender with Important Days outlined in red, or bookmark same - just for ya know it's Special - and tell everyone you like:

HAPPY HOLIDAY!!!

See how easy? This way you have many other fine advantages, to-wit:

You don't have to worry that you just said *Happy Easter* to, say, an Orthodox Jew. Plus, no one will question you closely about the nature of the holiday, for fear they'll look like a horse's patootie - which you just saved your ownself from doing, right? PLUS, it puts lots of people in a nice holiday mood. Want a great reason to pull the curtains, invite some friends (or not), and do a fine cook-fest?

And if you've got some brave acquaintances in the bunch, you can drop the Horse's P. concerns and have all sorts of interesting discussions about the real date of the Chinese New Year and such. Not many supervisors are brave enough to jump in and cut that conversation short if you're swiping another 15 minutes of lunch hour.

The point is, it's a holiday. A time to relax a bit and remember to enjoy ourselves. I think the world could use a bit more of that.

Leaving religion behind for a bit - say, taking a brief vacation from it - Easter is special because it's springtime. I don't need to figure out if it's the correct historical date, or reconcile the usual mix of orthodoxy and paganism. Nope.

Because even living in near-perpetual sunshine and warmth, we can feel the change down here too.

Springtime.

Full of joyousness, renewal, warm breezes, seeds sprouting, sap running, bunnies bounding and eggs hatching. Yeah. All o' that. It's just great.

So whatever your beliefs, agendas, family situations and so forth, I hope you have a truly Happy Holiday today.
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*Medical Alert.* My Excellent Dear Good Friends: I Am Dying.

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But I REFUSE to go.

Aw, c'mon, folks. A little silly overblown melodrama never killed anyone.

Even when it hits so uncomfortably close to home.

I'm back from the hospital once again. In the last year I've been admitted to B.General some 16 times, once to Holy Cross, and three times to nursing homes ("SNIF's"). I've come very close to dying at least three times. k dad calculated the actual amount of time I spent at the hospital, rather than at home, last year. He tells me I spent more time in the hospital.

And just when it seemed like it was. . . well,not over, but slowing down at least. . .

would somebody please play that music from Jaws or something? . . . well, you get the picture. . .

yeah, speed demon. Up it goes again.

Well. I'm going to break this post up into several, okay? I hope that'll help circumvent boredom, hunger, the need to pee when only half-way through. . .
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I owe a lot of apologies to a lot of people for my complete lack of communication. You know who you are. I hope you'll understand - and forgive me! - once I can finally tell you how it all came down.

Today is Monday, March 22, 2010. I had "exploratory" surgery on Wednesday, March 3, then major surgery on March 8. Quite major. After that, they sent me to ICU (Trauma Center/ICU) where one of my nurses from a "previous engagement!" happened to be assigned to me one night. Oh, we talked and talked and caught up with family news, and she insisted I'd saved her orchids with my Handy Dandy Orchid Tips.

Family news. Yes. Long talks with many nurses about such, both ways. And in the pre-op waiting room was: k dad and k bro, both from Chicagoland; and k nephew, now living in Brooklyn, New York. Ah, my favorite nephew in the world! k sis was back in New Jersey, having to return to work after not one but two long and extended visits; k mom was in Chicagoland, busily working away to help pay for all those plane tickets; and finally, k niece was settling her (OUR) family in the new place they'd acquired since their house was under water and all workout attempts had failed, whereupon they moved out, cleaned up, and handed the keys back to the bank.

That tiny pre-op waiting room was crowded, people. I hope and believe I had a tight hold on my emotions. But having all that family there, for no other reason than love and supportiveness, made it very hard indeed to just talk without bursting into tears. See, our family never behaved in any classic family manner. I'm not sure we ever really knew how. But we're learning. We're not throwing away our independence; we're just adding that all-important element called "interdependence".

And you know what else? Friends and family are not allowed anywhere near those little pre-op waiting rooms. But the hospital personnel, who had every right to ask - to demand - that my family leave? They didn't. Doctors, nurse-practitioners, nurses, PCA's. Nobody.

C'mon. How often is family even allowed a kiss at the door leading in to the operating area?

Never.
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The stars look very different, today...

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Some of you may remember, in past posts, me talking about the sense of connectedness I had with the earth and all my friends during these times of debilitating illness. Attached back to earth I was, by an imaginary cord like spiderweb or silk. You know how silks are said to be stronger, yet more elastic, than steel that's been spun out into a thread like that silk is? Fragile as it also was, that thread kept me connected to ground, to home, to the people of my life. It held my will to live.

And every time I got bad sick again, the illness would be worse than the time before, and that thread tying me to home would have to stretch farther and farther. And it always did; it stretched to hold me fast but it never broke. It always held me, connected me, attached me, safe.

Wondering, though - I mean, who wouldn't? - if one day - Surely, surely, some day it would stretch too far and have to snap. Wouldn't it? And what would happen then? Would I keep drifting off farther away into outer space, spinning and floating and all *can't breathe but that's okay really, it'll-all-be-over-quicker-that-way...*

And this time that strong and fragile silk snapped.

And I made it back anyway.

I think...

So yes, I'm at home now. I spent most of the last year in the hospital or nursing homes - some 12 or 15 hospital admissions alone, I'll have to go back and tot 'em up to know for sure. The insurance company appears to be contemplating their ever-rising bills and considering treatment alternatives. (Let's hope they aren't getting skittish on us, huh?) They took me off IV, back on oral super-antibiotics, and made up a sort of hospital room at home. House-call doctors and everything!

The last time they did that they nearly killed me. I wouldn't like that treatment alternative one bit, although it certainly would be cheaper, especially in the long run. heh! But their dastardly schemes haven't worked not even once, so I agreed to give it another try, and so far so good. I am alive.

The last admission with any drama attached was November 13, 2009 - yup, Friday the 13th - through Thanksgiving Day. I woke up in a Level 1 Trauma Center/ICU, across the room from the helipad. I couldn't talk, or put a coherent sentence together in my mind the way we call "thinking;" couldn't write and had to *x* my name on some papers. All can be symptoms of a stroke; but I knew that wasn't it, it wasn't what happened to me.

But what did?

Next to my space-age triple-computerized ICU bed stood a great bear of a man created from an ex-20 year Marine midstate Louisiana Cajun, a military haircut, brilliant intelligence, and 260 pounds of solid muscle - a nice safe-feeling thing, considering the maybe 1800 cops and shot-up (ex-) fugitives and pissed-off (presumably innocent) (presumably unarmed) bystanders roaming about. This was one of the two - yes, only two - nurses I had in the 3 or 4 days I spent up there.

Luckily, we communicated extremely well without talking. He saw my great frustration in trying to string 2 - 3 words together in a way that made sense; he waited just a bit - checking, assessing, you know? - then told me, "ssshhhhhh, quiet, you don't need to talk just now..."

He was very direct. Forthright. Didn't feed me platitudes or try to placate me. Notice how he didn't say "You're going to be juuust fiiine!" to try to make me feel better? Because how can anyone really know? And ordinary practical realities aside, I was now in a 24-bed ICU with a 50% survival rate.

That's it. What ICU is all about. Half the beds they wheeled back out the door had dead people in them. I mean, come on... Okay. Every one's different. But me, I really appreciated his style; I always would have anyway, but it was exactly what I needed just then..

Later I learned I'd been in full-blown sepsis from a type of mycobacteria - rare enough to cause quite a stir in the Trauma Center - and pneumonia. The nurse was feeding my IV from a huge bag of dopamine, and doing all sorts of other exotic things with my oxygen and lung or breathing measurements and such. When they brought me in, my blood pressure was in the 70's over 30's.

Yeah. Dead level.

Hmmm. Enough on that episode for now.

Well. Enough on this post for now, too. Writing is exhausting me and I'm still so very, very tired; but I had to check in, I just had to, gathering up all my great strength, oh huge it is, I bet it's almost as big as a new-born kitten's by now. I've missed everyone so much, and your comments and emails kept me attached here in their own way after all, so hugs and kisses to each and every one.

And maybe an extra one or two out of my real and powerful gratitude to the still-anonymous Mystery Person who decided, for mysterious reasons of their own, to send me this beautiful - and working - Mystery Computer I'm typing on. Perhaps they were indulging a hope it would kick a post out of me? --ah, vanity...

Hah!

It was probably just Bane.
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grrrrrrrRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

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Or maybe I should say, AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because once again, I'm trapped in the Big Downtown Hospital. As an inmate. InPATIENT, 'scuse me.

I'm trying out the Brief Update mode now, trying to keep you faithful folks from worrying about me. Especially...especially because - ah, reality intrudes - there is reason to worry, now; precarious health, no money, and no internet service at home, and we don't know why.

I did make it through the Thanksgiving weekend at home. Nearly 100% of it. Around 11pm, I started bleeding again, another coumadin bleed. It was coming from my mouth - we hoped, as opposed to some other internal origin - and after a slow but steady run of some 14 hours, I finally gave up and went back to the ER.

Where, after some treatment, and then some heart pain, they decided to admit me.

For the last time. I won't be going back. It's time to find a new place to go.

But!!! BUT!!!

Ready for the silver lining? 'Cause you know I almost can't write a *gggrrr!!!* post without one.

WELL!!! I'm slowly but surely getting Unadmitted! As we speak, Transport is allegedly on their way up, to take me down, and out, to where Walter will put me in our car, and we can go home.

Home.

Home again.
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Yes. I'm home again, oh Joy and Happiness.

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I am SO glad, SO so glad! Home. Home. Home.

I spent the last two weeks in the Icky Place [the hospital], again. Before that I had two weeks at home, but in some ways it was like the Icky Place: IV drip antibiotics, Lovenox belly shots, nurses coming, no getting out of bed except for any doctor appointment I could get to without canceling due to illness...Too sick, way too sick. Too sick to have been discharged once again, *dear* Broward General, in the first place - home IV's or no.

Where am I? Oh - Two weeks in the Icky Place, after two weeks at home. Before that? Another couple weeks in the Icky Place, until early November I think. I love Halloween, but for years running I keep missing it for various and sundry silly reasons. This year it was because I was in the Icky Place again.

I'm working on a big-ass ol' post about these more recent adventures. I've decided to stop trying to make any kind of predictions about events in my life any more, especially about timing, so I don't even want to say *I'll post it soon.* I can, though. say this: it'll be way too long to read anyway; I am near the end at least; and, I'll post it as soon as I can.

Walter reminds me to let you all know it was me, not him, behind the complete lack of updates since the last post. Apparently the last time he posted such, I went haywire on him. I have absolutely no recollection of this incident. I'm a little distressed to hear it and immediately apologize. He said it happened during a bad sick spell, yes, but I sounded totally lucid, so he didn't put it down to the illnesses or drugs, like he does when I'm not lucid.

I told him, --That happened a few other times, the nurses told me, getting noticeably mad and being verbal about it, even during apparently *lucid* times. But they said they could tell right away it wasn't really *me* in there at the time, lucid or no. So please understand, while I did mean the *please don't post without asking first* part, I most certainly did not see any reason or justification for *yelling* at you. How could you know not to post an update when I never said so? Usually I want you to do updates so people don't worry, I can't stand it when my readers worry.--

This time, Some Things changed since my own last post. The last six or eight weeks of bad illness instilled those changes - some permanent, some not - and I do remember I'd just wanted to explain a bit about how it all took place, before early updates went out. That's all. I was working hard on the Big-Ass *Most Recent Adventures* Post, and was surely way too optimistic about when I'd finish it. Way way too sick to think like that, when those Some Things have clearly changed.

So - I want to apologize to all you readers, too. I doubt it will happen again, where I neither *update* personally nor ask Walter or Nancy to do it. It was indeed a very serious bout; but I'm home now, discharged in the early afternoon on Thanksgiving Day.

Home. How really, very, sweet it is.

HAPPY BLACK FRIDAY EVERYONE!!!

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Okay. A belated *Happy Black Friday!* too. But it still counts! Um, because it's still Thanksgiving Weekend, and the *Madness Continues,* as no doubt some ad campaign somewhere is hollering out.

Me, I don't begrudge anyone their Retail Therapy, no no no. It's just that it doesn't usually work that way for me, so on the Really Big Shopping days I call it a spectator sport and stay home.
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*HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!

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Okay. A belated *Happy Thanksgiving!!!* But it still counts, because it's still Thanksgiving Weekend. Plus, some folks that miss the Actual Day are now just sort of moving it to Saturday or so forth. Wisely, yes?
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