It has come to my attention that the word 'tumoriffic' is being used by another cancer patient. His name is Keefer Peterson, and he lives in Omaha. He has Hodgkin Lymphoma.
Keefer does not have health insurance. In retrospect, he realizes that was not a great idea. He has made a Gofundme page to raise money for his treatment. Therefore, I request that anyone who read this please go to his Gofundme page. Give him money, and maybe give him a little bit of a hard time for using the word.
https://www.gofundme.com/2ctlmh8
Be well, Keefer!
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Sunday, August 21, 2016
What's Going on Inside My Head?
The head cheese is growing a dog's breakfast of microbes of all shapes and sizes, including yeast, so I guess it's cheese bread. The only bug fully identified is Enterococcus faecalis. Believe me, I have no idea how that one got up my nose. Feh! Surprisingly, the infectious disease people have not put me on antibiotics yet. I guess that's good news. It will take time for all of this to finish cooking, so more later.
The cauliflower pathology is still pending. Lots of squamous cells like you would find in skin or scars. They're funny-looking, but none have appeared malignant so far. Yum.
The achiness and propofol hangover from surgery continues to provide me with food for complaint, but I got some more morsels yesterday when my back went out.* I'm still trying to figure out who the god/goddess of the clivus is so I can sacrifice some cattle to him/her, and now I also have to find the diety of the lower back (or, perhaps the demigod of L5-S1).
Be well,
Tom
*Find a penny. Pick it up. All day long, you'll have excruciating sciatica. --Me on Facebook
The cauliflower pathology is still pending. Lots of squamous cells like you would find in skin or scars. They're funny-looking, but none have appeared malignant so far. Yum.
The achiness and propofol hangover from surgery continues to provide me with food for complaint, but I got some more morsels yesterday when my back went out.* I'm still trying to figure out who the god/goddess of the clivus is so I can sacrifice some cattle to him/her, and now I also have to find the diety of the lower back (or, perhaps the demigod of L5-S1).
Be well,
Tom
*Find a penny. Pick it up. All day long, you'll have excruciating sciatica. --Me on Facebook
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Top Chef, the Endonasal Edition
[This post may ruin your appetite.]
The surgery was unexpectedly easy. Although my nostrils are normal to even small, once you stick the endoscope in there, it's bigger on the inside*--like walking into a cathedral, relatively speaking, except with mucus. My previous surgeries obliterated my sinuses, etc., so, on the right side, there's nothing but air between my cheek and the outside of my cranium. For an endoscopic surgeon, it's like cheating. So the operation was over, lickety-split.
When I woke up, after the initial fogginess, I felt great. I had no pain. I was hungry, and I had energy. That's when I Facebooked that picture with me and the clock showing how good I felt so soon after the surgery.
That was a bit premature. Shortly afterwards, the fentanyl wore off. They had to put my head in a special position for quite a while to do that surgery, so my head and neck feel beat up, and my throat is a little sore.
Then, the propofol kicked back in. Roughly speaking, there are two basic types of medicines--water soluble, and lipid soluble, like balsamic vinegar and olive oil. In general, the water-soluble meds mostly stay in your blood, and when they stop pumping them in, your kidneys or liver get rid of them, and they are gone. The lipid soluble ones get absorbed into your fat, so once they stop pumping them in, they may wear off temporarily, but then they leak back in from the fat. So, after I sent that picture, the propofol kicked back in like a hangover, and all I could do was sleep for a while.
Still, not a bad deal for a surgery. Just one step up from a vanilla colonoscopy.
Now for what they found in the Cathedral of St. Snot. There is scary news and reassuring news, and it's all about food. The scary news is that there was something in there that looked like a cauliflower. The cauliflower is a vegetable that frightens doctors in the same way the apple is our fruity nemesis. Cancers can look like cauliflower.
However, the reassuring news is that beyond the cauliflower was cheese (or, as we doctors call it, caseous material, from the Latin for cheese). Cheese smells strongly of infection, and, in this case, there is nothing I want more than an infection. That, generally, can be cured. Probably, the cheese is a more important than the cauliflower, which is exactly what you tell your kid when you serve it to them.
The dish was examined more closely. The surgeons took a couple of bites and sent them to be frozen, sliced, and examined. They did not find any malignant-appearing cells in the cauliflower. The cheese looks like an infection, or, maybe, smoked gouda. However, I am not yet breaking out the champagne. As grandmother used to say, "it's not over until the pathologist sings."** The pathologists will soak my cheese and cauliflower in their special blend of herbs and spices for the next week or so. Only then, will it be (mostly) safe to come to a firm diagnosis.
Of course, this will only be the aperitif for what will be a longer meal of either antibiotics or cancer treatment. We'll have to wait for what the chefs have coming.
Be well,
Tom
*Acccording to The Doctor.
**She didn't really say that, as far as I know, but she was a doctor and had a good sense of humor.
And for a nice recipe for cauliflower and cheese, click here: https://www.reference.com/food/easy-recipe-cauliflower-cheese-31cf2f7dbb153c36?qo=cdpArticles
The surgery was unexpectedly easy. Although my nostrils are normal to even small, once you stick the endoscope in there, it's bigger on the inside*--like walking into a cathedral, relatively speaking, except with mucus. My previous surgeries obliterated my sinuses, etc., so, on the right side, there's nothing but air between my cheek and the outside of my cranium. For an endoscopic surgeon, it's like cheating. So the operation was over, lickety-split.
When I woke up, after the initial fogginess, I felt great. I had no pain. I was hungry, and I had energy. That's when I Facebooked that picture with me and the clock showing how good I felt so soon after the surgery.
That was a bit premature. Shortly afterwards, the fentanyl wore off. They had to put my head in a special position for quite a while to do that surgery, so my head and neck feel beat up, and my throat is a little sore.
Then, the propofol kicked back in. Roughly speaking, there are two basic types of medicines--water soluble, and lipid soluble, like balsamic vinegar and olive oil. In general, the water-soluble meds mostly stay in your blood, and when they stop pumping them in, your kidneys or liver get rid of them, and they are gone. The lipid soluble ones get absorbed into your fat, so once they stop pumping them in, they may wear off temporarily, but then they leak back in from the fat. So, after I sent that picture, the propofol kicked back in like a hangover, and all I could do was sleep for a while.
Still, not a bad deal for a surgery. Just one step up from a vanilla colonoscopy.
Now for what they found in the Cathedral of St. Snot. There is scary news and reassuring news, and it's all about food. The scary news is that there was something in there that looked like a cauliflower. The cauliflower is a vegetable that frightens doctors in the same way the apple is our fruity nemesis. Cancers can look like cauliflower.
However, the reassuring news is that beyond the cauliflower was cheese (or, as we doctors call it, caseous material, from the Latin for cheese). Cheese smells strongly of infection, and, in this case, there is nothing I want more than an infection. That, generally, can be cured. Probably, the cheese is a more important than the cauliflower, which is exactly what you tell your kid when you serve it to them.
The dish was examined more closely. The surgeons took a couple of bites and sent them to be frozen, sliced, and examined. They did not find any malignant-appearing cells in the cauliflower. The cheese looks like an infection, or, maybe, smoked gouda. However, I am not yet breaking out the champagne. As grandmother used to say, "it's not over until the pathologist sings."** The pathologists will soak my cheese and cauliflower in their special blend of herbs and spices for the next week or so. Only then, will it be (mostly) safe to come to a firm diagnosis.
Of course, this will only be the aperitif for what will be a longer meal of either antibiotics or cancer treatment. We'll have to wait for what the chefs have coming.
Be well,
Tom
*Acccording to The Doctor.
**She didn't really say that, as far as I know, but she was a doctor and had a good sense of humor.
And for a nice recipe for cauliflower and cheese, click here: https://www.reference.com/food/easy-recipe-cauliflower-cheese-31cf2f7dbb153c36?qo=cdpArticles
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
'Tis the Night Before Clivus
Rambling Thoughts as I Anticipate Tomorrow
Currently, I'm doing the evening dose of the 10 minutes of nebulized nasal steroid I do twice a day. B just came up to me and counseled. "Dad, as soon as you're done with this, you've got to sleep." The kid's got a point.
The maniacs at Brigham want me to show up at 5:30 tomorrow morning for surgery at 7:30. This further reinforces my conviction that medicine is run by a conspiracy of morning people who believe that this early bird preference of theirs is some sort of virtue instead of a physiologic trait and mental derangement. Harrumph.
In other news, I was very upset this afternoon to discover that I have dandruff. Have to do something about that.
Also today, although I did not see any other patients, I did hold my usual every-other-week group appointment for recovering addicts. For that one activity, I am pretty hard to replace, since I have a special license to prescribe the Suboxone that helps them stay sober. I actually enjoy it. They're a pretty nice group. One of them asked what surgery I am having tomorrow. I told them I was going for an emergency boob job. (This group is fine with that sort of thing. They know me well by now.)
OK. The boy is right. Time to pack for the hospital. (I'll tell you how that's done some other time. It's an art.)
Currently, I'm doing the evening dose of the 10 minutes of nebulized nasal steroid I do twice a day. B just came up to me and counseled. "Dad, as soon as you're done with this, you've got to sleep." The kid's got a point.
The maniacs at Brigham want me to show up at 5:30 tomorrow morning for surgery at 7:30. This further reinforces my conviction that medicine is run by a conspiracy of morning people who believe that this early bird preference of theirs is some sort of virtue instead of a physiologic trait and mental derangement. Harrumph.
In other news, I was very upset this afternoon to discover that I have dandruff. Have to do something about that.
Also today, although I did not see any other patients, I did hold my usual every-other-week group appointment for recovering addicts. For that one activity, I am pretty hard to replace, since I have a special license to prescribe the Suboxone that helps them stay sober. I actually enjoy it. They're a pretty nice group. One of them asked what surgery I am having tomorrow. I told them I was going for an emergency boob job. (This group is fine with that sort of thing. They know me well by now.)
OK. The boy is right. Time to pack for the hospital. (I'll tell you how that's done some other time. It's an art.)
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Pre-op Giddiness
I love pre-op questionnaires. They can be really fun. Here are some of the questions and my answers (or the answers I would give if I didn't have to worry about someone taking them seriously):
List all your surgeries:
I can't list all my surgeries on the space you give me, so I offer the unabridged version for the price of $10.
Who[m] do you live with?
wife, son, dog, cat, invisible friend Harvey the Rabbit.
Who[m] do you rely on for emotional support?
wife, son, dog, friends, [cat? Yeah, right.], invisible friend Harvey the Rabbit.
Does anyone rely on you for emotional support at home?
Wife, dog, ?teen son?, ?cat?
Would you like to see a social worker?
Depends on what they're wearing.
When you're a patient, I recommend doing this. It passes the time, and it entertains the staff. Just make sure they understand that Harvey is a joke.
List all your surgeries:
I can't list all my surgeries on the space you give me, so I offer the unabridged version for the price of $10.
Who[m] do you live with?
wife, son, dog, cat, invisible friend Harvey the Rabbit.
Who[m] do you rely on for emotional support?
wife, son, dog, friends, [cat? Yeah, right.], invisible friend Harvey the Rabbit.
Does anyone rely on you for emotional support at home?
Wife, dog, ?teen son?, ?cat?
Would you like to see a social worker?
Depends on what they're wearing.
When you're a patient, I recommend doing this. It passes the time, and it entertains the staff. Just make sure they understand that Harvey is a joke.
Monday, August 15, 2016
They Couldn't Wait!
As some of you may know, my surgery date has been switched to August 18th. I don't know whether it was because the Clivus Dudes couldn't wait to see me in that provocative hospital gown or because they couldn't find an anesthesiologist, but there it is.
I really appreciate all of the good wishes and offers to help that everyone has sent. I am actually not so scared about this surgery. Unlike the last one, in 2012, I feel pretty certain this isn't cancer (Knock on wood!*); the surgery itself is noninvasive; no one is opening my face like in 2005 and 2007; and if this is anything like 2012, the recovery should be quick. It kind of feels like getting a colonoscopy plus a night or two in the hospital and minus the day of watery diarrhea and creepy photos.
Of course, I could be wrong. This could be the beginning of something horrendous. In that case, you may expect months of entertaining updates.
*Interesting origin of this expression (or so I remember). In pagan northern Europe, if you wanted something, you could go to a tree and ask the spirit inside to help you get it. When you got what you wanted, you would go back and stroke the tree, or, as the English still say, "rub wood." (I cannot be held accountable for the way in which those last two phrases might be interpreted by the more imaginative among you.)
I really appreciate all of the good wishes and offers to help that everyone has sent. I am actually not so scared about this surgery. Unlike the last one, in 2012, I feel pretty certain this isn't cancer (Knock on wood!*); the surgery itself is noninvasive; no one is opening my face like in 2005 and 2007; and if this is anything like 2012, the recovery should be quick. It kind of feels like getting a colonoscopy plus a night or two in the hospital and minus the day of watery diarrhea and creepy photos.
Of course, I could be wrong. This could be the beginning of something horrendous. In that case, you may expect months of entertaining updates.
*Interesting origin of this expression (or so I remember). In pagan northern Europe, if you wanted something, you could go to a tree and ask the spirit inside to help you get it. When you got what you wanted, you would go back and stroke the tree, or, as the English still say, "rub wood." (I cannot be held accountable for the way in which those last two phrases might be interpreted by the more imaginative among you.)
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
A Hot Date!
At about 8 o'clock tonight, I got a call from the nurse. (Does she live at the hospital???) I got a date for surgery! August 19, baby! I'll get all dressed up in one of those hot johnnies with the open back, and it's gonna get real!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIPS4LyveJs
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)