Heroes

Last evening, I attended the Jefferson Awards dinner and award ceremony at the Ramada, along with my youngest, Palmer and his wife, Stacey. The Jefferson honors local people with the spirit of volunteerism and selfless giving. Palmer was nominated because of his decades-long devotion to firefighting, both as a volunteer and career, and his helping hands whereever needed, from coaching soccer and Little League, and recording Coming Home to benefit the families of those deployed to the Middle East. Offering a helping hand to family, friends and people he didn't even know. Just because that's how he is.

The awards are sponsored by the Times Leader, and there was a cocktail hour followed by the usual banquet fare; slice o' melon, limp salad, chicken, rice, a tablespoon of vegetables (really. A tablespoon), and two tablespoons of chocolate mousse. But we weren't expecting much more. It wasn't about the dinner anyway.

We were seated with a woman who was a Nurse Practitioner who had instituted programs to provide health care for migrant workers and other needy people with no insurance, and an 18-year-old man who ran fund raisers in his high school to support a food pantry in the area, having raised almost $2,000. cash in addition to food contributions.

The presentation of the awards, an etched glass plaque, was accompanied by a voice-over reciting the achievements of the seventeen nominees. Seventeen remarkable people, from the 16-year-old young lady to the 89-year-old senior lady who does more in a week than I do in six months. It was inspirational, and humbling, and embarrassing to realize that I do nothing to enrich the lives of others. Hell, I don't even enrich my own life.

Five of these exceptional folks were chosen as finalists, and one overall winner of an expense-paid trip to Washington DC to represent NEPA at the national Jefferson Awards dinner.

At the end of the evening, Palmer told the organizer, Rachel Pugh, that I was the "What's in it for you?" lady. She was very excited and insisted I must be introduced to Richard (Connor). We chatted briefly. He now has the face to put to the e-mails I send when I agree with something he wrote.

It was an uplifting couple of hours. Makes me want to go out and adopt a kid. Well, maybe not. But something.

Seeing Red!

About 10 days ago, I received a letter from the Northeast Regional Cancer Institute asking me to participate in a research project. Because of my cancer diagnosis of colon cancer, and the fact that my area has a 27% higher incidence of this cancer than the rest of the commonwealth. They are attempting to determine the reason for this increase so as to prevent it in the future. I immediately returned the signed consent form indicating that I agreed to participate. An appointment was scheduled for me to be interviewed, and meantime, I was asked to fill out a survey of my dietary habits in the year prior to my diagnosis. The survey was pretty heavy on low fat vs. full fat, sugars, carbs, red meats, salty snacks and all the other foods that really aren't optimally nutritious.

Yesterday, I went to the appointment as scheduled, and met with a delightful woman who questioned me on other aspects of my life that may or may not have contributed to my cancer. The appointment lasted about an hour, during which she took a sample of my DNA for genetic testing, which consisted of the scraping of the inside of the cheeks and the tongue, just like on TV.

In the course of the conversation, she told me that the institute was grateful to me for agreeing to participate in the study, since they had a difficult time getting people to do so. People who, like me, carried a diagnosis of colorectal cancer. Refusing to participate in a study to try to determine causative factors. Which might possibly help future generations if discovered. I am furious. I am so furious I could spit. How can anyone deny my children and my grandchildren and their children the possibility of seeing this scourge eradicated in their lifetime?

What could conceivably be reason enough to say, "No" to this endeavor? What would possess a person to forget the chill of hearing their diagnosis so to inflict that chill on those to come after?

For a lousy hour and a half (the food survey took about 30 minutes) it is possible to be the link in the chain that discovers the reason for the tumors that grow in the dark, unseen even as they erode the gut and spread to places where they can't be removed. God preserve us and protect us from such selfishness.

I Do So Have a Heart!

Yesterday, I had my six-month check-up with my cardiologist. I go to see him to make sure my aorta/pig valve is still oinking along. Apparently, it is, because he tells me it is. Not being an expert in the field, I take his word for it. And I don't have to go back for six months.

The other members of the health care team are all on a three month schedule and it seems like I should be able to stretch that out by now. If I had a rash, or some big old ugly festering sore that needed to be looked at and treated, I'd be happy to go as often as requested. But everything that I'm being checked for is on the inside and not visible to the naked eye. My office visits could pretty much be accomplished with a 'phone call.

"Joan? This is Dr. Whooziz. How are you feeling?"

"Doing well, Dr."

"Are you exercising regularly?"

"Well, not as regularly as you'd like, but I get around okay."

"Are you maintaining a healthy weight?"

"I've actually lost two pounds since we spoke last."

"That's good. No chest pain? No palpitations? S.O.B.?"
(No, he didn't call me a bad name, that means shortness of breath)

"No, none of the above Dr. Things are fine, I think."

"Okay, Joan. If you have any questions, save them for our next chat."

Now, I'd have pretty much the same conversation(s) with Dr. Whatzis and Dr. CutUp.

Of course, there remains the matter of the fee - or no fee. No office visit means no $$. So, I go to the office every three months, and we have basically the same conversation. The only difference is they get to bill my insurance, and I write out a check for my co-pay.

Oh, yeah, and I don't get to lie about losing two pounds.

Good for Another 3,000 Miles

It's been well-documented that I had cancer. I had surgery to get it out. I had chemo to keep it out. And now we have the follow-up stuff to make sure it stays out.

So on Wednesday, I finally got around to having the colonoscopy that I was supposed to have on the 17th. of Feb., except I got sick and couldn't have it. I did blog about it if you really want to know the sordid details. Suffice it to say here, I had the same reaction to the Bisacodyl that ocurred during the previous prep. The headache, the nausea. Undaunted, I refused to puke and I struggled the liquid down,
(yuk) and did what I had to do. I was not going to postpone this again.

Showed up at the Endoscopy Center as scheduled, checked in, had the scope with no complications, and when I woke up, the nice lady gave me a nice cup of coffee and two nice cookies, and I felt lots better.

Learned that there was a polyp which was removed and sent to pathology. Also, there was a hemorrhoid! I thought Dr Saeed got them all in January. He's not getting this one!

Had a nice breakfast, went to Fifth St. and hung out with the kids. Came home to a really good night's sleep.

On Friday, I got a call that the pathology was back and the polyp was benign. Until I heard the word, I wasn't ready to admit that I was apprehensive about the results. Funny. I really felt that the veil lifted. After a year of uncertainty.

But my sense of well-being was not to last very long. Because this is the week-end of the time change. Anyone who knows me knows my feelings about this bi-annual lunacy. Take daylight off the front of the day and put it on the back of the day. For nine months. Who decides these things? So now, the kid next door leaves for school in the dark. Maybe only for a few weeks, but what the hell? Why should he have to? When this was an agrarian society, it was nice that the farmers still had a little daylight at the end of his work day. Of course, most days, he was too tired to stay awake to enjoy it. So now, people can continue the frenetic pace late in the day. For what?

It is a tradition which has out-lived any usefulness. And I'm not sure it should even matter to me. The polyp was benign.

Snowday(s)

Last week, a snowicane, (I never heard of it, either), was predicted. A really big snow storm accompanied by high winds. In my day, this was called a blizzard. But then, I'm an old fogey. Some young upstart believes that newer is better. Since I've survived a few Honest-to-God blizzards in my day, I say, "Let's see what you've got".

I listened intently when my youngest son called to invite me to pack a few things and come to his house to spend the storm with his family. I politely declined, opting to spend the time at my home, where I have plenty of food, medication, and good neighbors who see to my shoveling.

Watched as much as I could stand of the news reports of panicked citizens storming the grocery stores to stock up on bread, milk and eggs. Me? If I'm going to head out to stock up on anything, it will be brownies and wine. But I digress. A routine interview will be with the snowplow driver/salt truck operator who informs us that the trucks will be running 'round the clock, and you can just hear the "ka-ching" sounding in his head as he speaks sadly about the time he'll spend away from his family.
"Stay off the roads and let the plows do their job".
"The Governor has closed the interstates".
"Here's a shot of the Turnpike, showing traffic moving well in the one open lane".

It doesn't really matter how much snow is predicted, the news reports will always be the same. PEOPLE! PLEASE! Snow should not be the lead story. This is Winter. This is the Northeast. It will snow. These are all facts. Let's face them and move on.

If I'm looking out my window at a frigid white landscape, I'd rather not watch more of it on my TV. How about dragging out the shots of the kids diving into the local pool in mid-July? Or the folks enjoying the rides and the food concessions at an amusement park? Can you find the interview you did with The Good Humor Man as he made his rounds on the hottest day of the year?

Do you think you can be a little innovative? Go ahead and shoot the shot of the mounds of snow the plow guy piled up. And the snow-covered interstates. And the frosted tree branches. Put 'em in the archives. I'd enjoy looking at them when the temperature hits 97F. in August.

Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright...

Sorry? Really? For what? Getting caught?

Did your advisors tell you to invoke Mother, Wife, Children, Buddhism in your apology? Oh, yes, and The Game?

You took the counsel your Father lavished on you in his efforts to make you a man and you sullied his memory. You disrespected your family. You made a mockery of your talent. Turned your back on your religious upbringing. Slapped your fans four-square in the face.

But don't you worry about The Game. The Game will be fine. Jones, Palmer, Nicklaus, Trevino, Lema, Singh, Els, etc., etc.

The Perils of Pauline

I always tell myself that getting sick is not an option. Apparently, I don't listen to myself when I talk. Now, mind you, that is not to say I'm sick. Exactly. That's still in the discovery phase. But when two doctors and three nurses are concerned that I might be sick, I pretty much tell myself that I must be, and of course, then I listen.

Yesterday, I was supposed to prepare myself for my annual colonoscopy. When one day a doctor says you have cancer in there, and takes the tumor and part of said colon out of you, they make you let them look around in there every year to make sure the invader hasn't returned.

All in all, it isn't really that unpleasant. Before the first time you have a colonoscopy, the anticipation is really rough, because you don't know exactly what's going to happen. Well, wait. You do know, but you don't know how you're going to feel about it. You just figure it isn't going to be good. Let me hasten to assure you, (and convince you that you really should see about getting one the minute your doctor says you should), it really isn't as bad as you assume it will be. Trust me.
A nice nurse will help you into a gown, start an IV, a nice anesthesiologist will give you some drift away medicine in the said IV, and off you go. When next you open your eyes, it's all over. Lacking any discomfort in the rear echelon, you'll actually find yourself wondering if they somehow decided not to do the test. Because nothing hurts, or is uncomfortable. When they're sure you're awake and functioning, they'll let you get dressed and go home, where you'll just hang out, eat and watch TV for the rest of the day.

Now as to the prep, that's somewhat more unpleasant. You have to spend an entire day subsisting on a clear liquid diet. Their interpretation of clear liquid does NOT include milk, ice cream, yogurt or anything red. You may have Jell-o as long as it isn't red. You may have bullion, chicken or beef. You may have freeze pops (not red). Coffee or tea but no milk therein. You may have as much of this stuff as you like. Just about the time you are lulled into a sense of security, believing this is a snap, you'll get down to business. You'll take a couple of laxative tablets. (Snap!) Haha. A couple of hours later, we get down to the real business. GatorAde (except red) mixed with 238 gms. of Miralax. Snap, you say? That's 64 oz. of GatorAde, sport. Two quarts. A half gallon. And you are expected to finish it in under two hours.

Plan on spending most of the rest of your evening in the bathroom. Take a book. Take a puzzle. Take the phone. Take a drink. You'll be there a while. Until you're completely empty. By the time you're empty, you'll be going to bed.

The next morning, you'll go to the appointed place, coffee-less and breakfast-less, have your scope, and come home. God willing, the results will be negative. And you'll only have to go every five years if you have no history.

But I have a history. So, yesterday, I prepared to have my annual look-see. And all was going well in the Jell-o, bullion, coffee department. Until about 2PM when a headache set in. (From hunger, I assume) 3PM I take the two laxative tabs. 6PM it's time for the Big Gulp. The phone rings. I have a brief conversation during which I simply cannot find the words I need to say. I AM saying words, but they aren't the ones I want. After about a minute and a half, I say goodbye in a confused babble and go back to my guzzling. Two glasses in and I'm nauseated. And here it comes back up. Figuring I'll feel better now, I try for another glass. And here it comes back up. Again. Call the Doctor. Tell my story. Am advised to call in the morning and cancel the procedure and the next time, they'll try a different prep.

In the morning, the nurse is concerned that there is something more going on than a little puke-fest and insists I see my PCP. Today. She even has the scoping doc call my PCP to tell him he needs to see me today.

Needless to say, everyone is treating this whole episode, (the-not-being-able-to-
form-words episode, which is called expressive aphasia), as something very serious.

So the PCP tells me that it may be something as innocuous as hunger, low blood sugar, stress, or discontinuing my daily aspirin for five days in preparation for the scope. Or, it could be a stroke evolving, a clot, an abdominal aneurysm, or some other catastrophe waiting to pounce. That means we have to have a few tests to try to determine the cause of my faltering speech. I am instructed that should this event occur again, I am to take an aspirin, call 911, and jump in the ambulance that will take me to the ER. This is apparently not a trifling matter.

Today, I went for an echocardiogram, a carotid duplex, a Holter monitor, (which I will wear for 24 hours and dutifully record any untoward "events" that take place before I return it tomorrow). Then on Monday, I will have an MRI and on Tuesday, I will have an MRA, both of which could be done at the same time but my insurance company will not pay for both of them if they are both done at the same time, so they have to separate them even thought the insurance company KNOWS that the doctor will order both at once. What a dodge!!

They could just tie me to the railroad tracks and wait for a long freight train.