Eagle Fest Except Without Eagles

This is not about health. It's about my hobby.

I am a bit of a camera nut. I love taking pictures of people, dogs, cats, and wildlife such as frogs, rabbits, and birds. When you live in Suburban Massachusetts, far from sasquatch territory, the most dramatic wildlife to photograph on a daily basis is birds. Today was going to be a great day for birds.

Last weekend, I was hiking with my big camera and my big lens, and I came upon another hiker with her big camera and her big lens and a pair of dogs. I introduced myself to her dogs, and we chatted a bit. She mentioned that next Saturday (today) would be Eagle Fest in Newburyport. At this time of year, bald eagles congregate near the mouth of the Merrimack River to fish and have a good time. Every year at this time, the Audubon Society hosts Eagle Fest, driving tourists to good spots along the river to see eagles. Even better, a photography store had a special tour for camera buffs where experts would offer tips. I was thrilled.

I got tickets online, I rented a big, fancy zoom lens. I was so excited! Then, today, K and I drove up to Newburyport, a very quaint town on the north shore of Massachusetts. The bright, clear light of the day would be perfect for photography although it was a bit windy and chilly at 24 degrees.

After we grabbed lunch in a fine restaurant called, The Grog, we went to the town chamber of commerce to wait for the tours. K got on a little bus for the non-photography tour a half hour before mine. I hung out with the photography experts who taught me a few important things until it was time to go.

The tour started. I was well-equipped. In addition to my main camera and the giant zoom, I had a carbon fiber tripod that had a leg that could come off and be a monopod. I had an extra camera with an extra lens just in case. I had big boots over wool socks, flannel-lined jeans over long underwear, an overcoat over two sweaters over a thermal shirt over a T-shirt, my favorite Gryffindor scarf, and a wool hat over a balaclava. I was set! (And, of course, I was really sexy.)

I climbed onto one of two buses, each with 30 passengers and a guide form the Audubon Society. Everyone had fancy cameras. Some had tripods, some had monopods. There were Nikons, Canons, Sonys, and others. We all talked shop.

We first stopped next to a broad tidal marsh. Standing in the stiff wind, everyone looked for eagles. Then, the Audubon Society guide spotted a snowy owl about a mile away, a tiny white dot amongst the marsh weeds.

I fiddled and fumbled with the screw-rings on my tripod until all three legs were at full length. Then I attached my camera and the mongo zoom. I was so professional! Then, the photo expert pointed out to me that my setup was so topheavy, the wind was about to blow it over and break that fancy lens. Fair enough. I extended the zoom all the way out to 600mm, I carefully focused. I got my best picture of the day--a very grainy, indistinct shot of what looked like a tiny snowman. And on we went.

The next stop was lucky. There was fairly clean porta-potty. But there were no birds, just a cold wind that got stronger and stronger, whipping trees about and blowing off one of my gloves. (Luckily, another camera geek saved it.)

The last stop--the one where we were absolutely going to see lots of birds--was on the north point of Plum Island. The wind blasted so hard, it was difficult to walk into it. The scene was gorgeous, but devoid of birds except for a few seagulls in the distance.

As we were riding back, I took out my phone. "Seen any eagles?" I texted K.

"Lots! You?" she texted back.

I replied to her, then I said to the guide, "my wife is on the other tour. She says they saw lots of eagles."

"Oh, well she's on the Eagle Fest Tour. This is the photography tour."

All eyes went to the guide. "Wait a minute," someone said, "this was on the website for Eagle Fest, and there was big picture of a bald eagle over the link. We thought we were going to take pictures of bald eagles."

"Um, I'm sorry. Someone must have made a mistake."

It wasn't a complete loss. Newburyport is beautiful, and learned some important things from the photo experts.  I also kind of enjoy fiascos (as long as no one gets hurt).

So, I present to you, an eagle picture. I didn't take it today. I took it in Alaska in 2011:

Good News, Bad Massage, and Thomas and the Coat of Many Pockets

Hello, Tumor Friends!

Good news! After about a week of suspense, the pathology came back on K's breast cancer, and they finally got clean margins! That means K's surgeon finally got the last bit of that cute, little, teeny, weeny tail of tumor that kept evading her. This means NO CHEMO! NO RADIATION! NO MASTECTOMY!

So the Professor, K, and I had a celebratory dinner at our favorite restaurant, a tiny trattoria that started up a year or two ago a couple of miles from our house. The charming and talented Chef Angelo and his two charming sons, Niko and Stefano, know us well and can predict what we will order.

Good. We're done with that. Now we can go back to me being the only one who pops tumors in this household! I have lots of practice, so it's OK.

*                      *                     *

OK, now to me. Still feeling fine! (When has that happened?!?!) Just had an appointment with another infectious disease specialist, Dr. M, recommended to me by my colleague and infectious disease doc, JD. He is a very eminent and local, which is an underrated combo. Also a very nice and engaging guy. (He also knows some of my friends from my cancer-aborted O'Hare infectious disease fellowship, so we had a fine old time.)

I feel fine now on amoxicillin. That's good, because the original plan to keep me on that for 4 months is probably not sufficient.

See, the problem is that Actinomycetes*, the bug causing my skull to slowly fall apart, is a normal inhabitant of most people's mouth's. Actinomycetes is most often harmless unless you're one of those people with uncovered, rotting, crumbling, hyperirradiated bone like me. Sooner or later, if I stop the amoxicillin, it's going to get back in, and the only way we'll know for sure is if I start spitting out more skull. There's really not much skull left before we get down to the outer lining of my brain,*** so I really don't want to lose any more.

So, it looks like I'll be on amoxicillin for the rest of my life, all the better to grow my own, uniquely antibiotic-resistant bacteria.

*                      *                     *

So that brings us to the rest of today. I treated myself to a massage. I haven't done that for years, but there is a little place around the corner that offers them. My back went out this morning, and I have wondered if they were any good. They weren't. Second worst massage of my life. The worst was in the British Virgin Islands, where the guy severely bruised my back and gave me a brain hemorrhage (OK, not really a brain hemorrhage). I'm just too polite to say, "ow! That hurts too much!"

This time, I left less relaxed than I had been when I went in. The first thing I noticed after the low room temperature was that the towel on the face-holder thingy (U-shaped cushion so you can lie face-down) was wet underneath where someone's nose would go. Quickly, I jumped up from the table and bathed my entire body with the alcohol sanitizer jug that I carry in my pocket for just such an occasion. I lay on my side and waited.

The massage therapist came in, coughing, sneezing, and sniffling. (At least she wore a surgical mask.) There was no introduction. She, somewhat resentfully, got me a new towel, and I lay back down, trying to hold my breath for the rest of the time.

What followed was the fastest massage I have ever had. By fast, I don't mean short. I paid for an hour, and I got it. But the therapist rushed from muscle to muscle, bouncing randomly, to any muscle from my feet to my neck. No apparent pattern or plan. Zip! Zip! OUCH! Zip! Zip! The hot, greased rock that she zipped up and down the muscles on either side of my spine was pleasant--once I figure out what the heck it was. She pressed on places where there are practically no muscles and where no one carries tension, like the top of my foot, just north of my toes. (If you carry your tension there, you are a freak.) I couldn't wait for the hour to be over.

Finally, the ADHD massage finished. The therapist left, and I got up, shaking with anxiety. The same muscles were aching as the ones I woke up with. I got dressed and pulled on my overcoat. But where were my glasses? I looked everywhere. I looked under the massage table. I looked under some little squary-cushiony-wheely thing. I rifled through the pockets of my shirt, my pants, my fleece, and my coat. The coat. The coat of a thousand pockets.

It's not that I don't like the coat. It's big and warm. It's not particularly stylish, but neither am I, so that's fine. On the other hand, this coat has a thousand pockets. I'm not kidding. They're all over the thing. So I rifled through them. I found a can-opener, a ball-peen hammer, and an orange from two weeks ago. But no glasses. Desperate, I went out and looked into my car.

Nothing. Finally, about to give up and drive sightlessly home, I discovered a pocket that I didn't even know existed. There they were. I have no idea how they got there. I drove home planning to find a cartographer so it doesn't happen again.


In summary:
- K is healthy.
- I am healthy (as I can get), but my back hurts.
- The Professor abides.





* Actinomycetes is relative of your date's close friend Clamydia.**  Google just told me. And no, I didn't get it that way! You probably have Actinomycetes in your mouth too! So does nearly everybody.

** And, by the way, how is it that the Blogger website I am using, which is owned by Google, recognizes the word Actinomycetes, a bug carried by many but known to few, while, at the same time, red-underlines Chlamydia, a bug infecting several of your friends right now and known to many?

*** That's when the fun really begins. No one really wants to fix this. There are too many really essential nerves, arteries, and veins in there. It would be like repaving the entire L.A. freeway system during rush hour. Someone will have to go in and pull out all the dead bone.

The only maniacs who do that are the surgeons in Lumpkin, Ga.**** After that, some other nutbar surgeon would have to put in a patch made of titanium, making me part wolverine. Then, I will have to go to British Columbia where there is a team that is working on a new, artificial scaffolding that could allow my normal cells (Yes. A part of me is normal, in fact.) to recover the exposed area. This cutting edge tech has only been used on badgers so far, so I hope I don't need it before it is well-vetted.

**** Not really, but it's a fantastic name for a town, and one of the most heroic people I know lives and works there, believe it or not.

This is not, not, NOT how I looked after that massage!

K Gets Another Scrape

Happy New Year! (We hope.) Since the last update, things have gotten a bit brighter.

First of all, the tests on K's tumor came back. With a possible score of 0 (best) to 10 (worst), she scored a 0.8.* This means that, if the surgeon gets every last bit of tumor, her chances of recurrence are very low, radiation would not improve those chances so isn't worth doing, and she does not need a mastectomy. But, again, that is if they get the last morsel of tumor.

So today (now yesterday), I drove K down Route 95 to the hospital affiliated with Wicked Famous Cancer Hospital, and, while I went to the cafeteria and got a grilled cheese sandwich, she got the inside of her breast scraped again. She was out of the OR by the time I could get her a cup of coffee from the Starbuck's cart in the lobby. The surgeon thought it went well.

So, for the third time, we wait for pathology. That will probably come back in about 10 days. K is quite well. I am sitting in the town library while she hunts Pokemon with some friends. (Yes, we are geeks.)

Now, it ain't over until the pathologist sings. For that 0.8 score to mean anything, the surgeon must get every itty bitty piece of tumor. Otherwise, more surgery. So, keep your fingers crossed.

*                                       *                                       *

The Professor** abides. He stayed up all night at a party at a friend's house on New Year's Eve and had a fine old time.

*                                       *                                       *

Katie the Cat, despite my prediction, likes her kidney-friendly food better than her old food. She still loudly demands her evening walks and herds us to bed every night.

*                                       *                                       *

As for me, things are better. I finally finished my 6 week course of IV penicillin and got rid of Alvin. I never got to use that Darth Vader joke (see 2 entries ago), but I am not sad to see Alvin go. He would never shut up, going "bzzt, bzzt, bzzt," all day and night.  It's nice to lose that giant IV line that went from my right upper arm almost all the way to my heart. And, since I was not allowed to lift more that 10 pounds with my right arm, my upper body went all wimpy over the 6 weeks. Ew!

The other bit of good news is that, while my symptoms did not improve over the whole 6 week course of penicillin, when I switched to oral amoxicillin, oddly, I suddenly felt much better. My nose stopped bleeding for the first time in a year.*** Hygeia (my ENT doc) looked up my nose this week, and the uncovered bone between my throat and my braincase looks about as good as an uncovered bone between a throat and a braincase can look.

And I have a date for my colonoscopy.

That's the way it is. Next entry (barring unforeseen disasters) will be about K's pathology report.

* This is one event where you do not want to get a 10. Good thing there were no East German judges.

** Previously known as B, originally known as Little Lord Chaos. I am giving him this new pseudonym because he is literally (and I am not kidding) an expert on multiple topics and gives excellent (once again, not sarcastic; just proud daddy) lectures on them.

*** That's kind of a lie. I still get nosebleeds more than anyone you know and always will, but I don't worry about bleeding out on a patient anymore.

This gray seal wishes you a Happy New Year.

Wait! One More Bit of Bad News!

OMG! I'm late on my next screening colonoscopy!

Sorry. Not actually a big deal. Occasionally, I like to do that sort of thing to people.

Be well,

--T

Our time was short, but it was so rich, and so, so joyful.

I am lucky.

Unlike Humpty Dumpty, We Are Not Having a "Great Fall."

First of all, the good news: no members of the household have died since November 21st.

*                    *                    *

K had another lumpectomy 9 days ago because her first lumpectomy missed a little bit of tumor. Today, we saw her surgeon back at the F'in' Famous Cancer Hospital downtown, and she told us that there was a little, itty-bitty, tiny, wee bit of tumor that was poking out beyond the margins of the second lumpectomy. This is known in the business by the combination of Latin duo- with -ectomy to make a dumpectomy.  So, it's on to a third lumpectomy. As you might guess, the combo of the Latin tres- with -ectomy to makes a trumpectomy.*  (Thanks, I'll be here all week.)

The surgery is tentatively scheduled for January 4. Maybe the new year will be luckier. Interestingly there is a new kind of test that will, be done on the tumor. It should give a pretty good estimate of whether it would be a good idea for K to get radiation. We hope it will be unnecessary, because we have reason to dislike radiation in this household.

K is, as usual, calmly going through scientific papers and putting her doctors through their paces, making sure she will make the right decisions. She has done this for me too. It's quite impressive.

*                    *                    *

Always competitive, Katie the Cat has joined the fray, but it's a weak offering. K dragged her to her senior cat appointment at the vet's, and they concluded that she has some kidney damage. However, this is common in older cats, and she may yet have a few more years in her. (She's 14.) I picked up her prescription kidney-friendly cat food today, and I am sure she will hate it.

*                    *                    *

So, that leaves little old me. First of all, I am in the last of my six weeks of 24-hour IV penicillin. I have just come up with some true comedy gold about this even as the window closes.

Here is my faithful IV pump, Alvin. He is attached to me all the time:

Now, whenever someone asks me what Alvin is, I will say, "do you remember that thing on Darth Vader's chest?" I hope I'll get an opportunity to do that. Nevertheless, I will not miss Alvin and his frequent muttering, and I will be able to do parkour again.

Meanwhile, though, there is other stuff going on. There is the matter of at least four months of oral amoxicillin. JD recently pointed out that only way to know for sure that the antibiotic worked is for me not to spit out another piece of skull. That's not very useful, so I may be on it forever. This may contribute to my lifelong dream of having a whole new resistant bacterium named after me!

Also, I am producing an enormous amount of gunk from my facehole.** That means infection. It may or may not be the same one that has been tearing up my skull.*** In any case, neither of two additional antibiotics have touched it. How, and even whether this can be cured is the next question, but I have an all-star team working on it. More adventure!

Meanwhile, B, hardened veteran of his father's health antics, remains unfazed.




* Sorry, Ed. I just had to say it.

** The area which used to be my sinuses and a nice thick bone at the back of my throat before surgery and radiation made a mess of it.

*** As old Walt would say, "I contain multitudes."

Katie the Cat insists on nighttime walks (without a leash) just like the ones we took with her younger, smellier sister. This brings me comfort.

Ginny's Sunset

Ginny the Wonderful is gone.

As I wrote in the last update, on Nov. 19th, the veterinary oncologist stopped her chemotherapy and doubled her steroids, teaching me to inject those and all of her meds so that she would not vomit them. She was much better by evening. On Nov. 20, unfortunately, I went to work. Kathleen gave her several walks around the neighborhood, and she enjoyed herself greatly.

When I came home from work, she was so revived by the steroids, that, instead of waiting at her station at the top of the stairs, Ginny came down to me with her tail wagging. We rubbed the tops of our heads together near the floor in our old ritual greeting as I scratched behind her ears. Then as in old times, she dropped her butt to the floor in a loud 'thump' and rolled over for a tummy rub. Then I took her for a good walk in the dark, with me in my crazy neon jacket and her in her harness of flashing lights, and she ran free and joyfully around the neighborhood. We had our Ginny back.

But, like the green flash of the top of the setting sun as it just dips below clear tropical oceans, her recovery was beautiful, but vanishingly brief. At a little after 6 yesterday morning, she came, tail wagging, to K's side of the bed to see if she was interested in getting up that early. Since K was not, Ginny went back to her bed. Then, as B was getting ready to walk to the schoolbus stop, she came downstairs for a scratch on the head from him.




A little before 8, I was awakened suddenly by K's distraught cries: "She can't stand up! She can't stand up."

On the wooden floor of our bedroom, Ginny tried to get her legs under herself but could not. We tried to lift her onto her bed, but she struggled, clearly uncomfortable. "She's rolling her eyes," K cried. I looked, and Ginny's eyes were rolling back in her head then shooting back down, over and over. The medical term for this is vertical nystagmus. It must have been miserably uncomfortable and frightening, and it meant that a tumor near her ear had invaded her vestibular (balance) system. I quickly injected her with her steroids, and it helped, but she still could not stand. Meanwhile, K called a vet who makes housecalls to put pets to sleep in their own homes. She also called the veterinary oncologist who confirmed what we already knew: that this was the end. Then K went and got the B from school early while I cried on the floor with Ginny.

Two of Ginny's favorite humans, D, and H, briefly came by to bid farewell to the stricken girl. They had been walking companions for the two of us on many a weekend day, and Ginny wagged her tail as she always had when they appeared. They stroked her head as she lay on the floor looking back up at them. 

The vet who came to the house was wonderful. For the last time, Ginny attempted to stand, almost succeeding as she wagged her tail to greet the visitor. Then, as we all sat on the floor around Ginny, singing to her, petting her, and telling her we loved her, the vet first gave her a narcotic to calm her. Then, she gave her ketamine so she would feel joy in her last moments. Finally, she gave her the phenobarbital, and Ginny left us.

B and the vet carried Ginny to the car in her blanket. K and I drove her to the crematorium. We could not stand the thought of some stranger taking her from us.When summer comes, we will bury her ashes under the rhododendron bush by the back door of the family house on Cape Cod where she used to dig herself a bed to stay cool on hot days.




She only lived to be 7 years old, and she had us for only 5. But, for as long as any member of our family lives, She will zoom with joy, all four feet in the air; she will lie contented on sunny grass or dig holes in the cool shade; she will walk with me through woods and fields, exploring mysterious vistas or playing with friends; she will greet our neighbors as they get out of their cars; she will wag at all humans and love all children; she will be on our couch next to us, lying on her back in bliss as we rub her belly.

Ginny Forever

The Clouds Gather Over Ginny the Wonderful

Here is the update of the triple threat. Not much humor.


1. Me and Alvin.

As for me, I'm OK. All day and night, Alvin continues to chirp as he sends penicillin through a long tube in my right basilic vein in the upper arm. It's just an annoyance. Another 4 weeks to go with that.


2. K and Margins

As I said last time, K's surgeon excised her tumor on Halloween. The final pathology took a long time to come back. All of the tumor was DCIS (nonaggressive breast cancer). However, as we suspected the margins were not clear. The surgeon will have to go back in and get out the remaining tumor on December 3.  It is highly unlikely that they will find any aggressive cancer in those small bits of tumor. It's upsetting, but prognosis is good.


3. The Clouds Gather Over Ginny the Wonderful

As I said last time, on October 23, Ginny's prednisone dose was halved, and she started an oral chemotherapy drug called Palladia. The chances that Palladia would work were 40% or so. She is not in the 40%.

The tumors in her lymph nodes stopped shrinking. The Palladia made her nauseated, and she tried harder and harder to resist her medicines, holding her mouth shut ever more tightly, and cleverly cheeking the pills. Then, she started vomiting up everything, including food and water. Her eyes grew red and bleary, and she became weak and lethargic. She looked like she was dying.

Today, we took her to the oncologist, Dr. Cronin. Clearly, the Palladia did not work. Any other chemotherapy drug would cause a lot of side effects with little chance of success. All we can do now is maybe buy her a little time. Dr. Cronin gave us injectable drugs, including an antinausea drug, a steroid, and two other drugs to control the effects of the histamines that the tumors release. Dr. Cronin's nurse gave her the first doses along with a big bag of fluids to make up for the fact that she had not had any water for a day or two. It all went into the great pile of loose skin all dogs have over their shoulders. She hardly noticed. Then, leaving the clinic, I had to lift Ginny into the car.

We went home, and I sobbed for a few hours. I tried to nap, but I couldn't. I came downstairs and sat on the sofa, thinking I might do some work. But, suddenly, there was Ginny, standing up, looking right into my eyes, wagging her tail, and hyperventilating, which is how she asks for a walk. So K and I took her for a long walk through the neighborhood, and she ate her treats, ran around, and sniffed everything like she always has. Then, she had a fine hamburger for dinner.

We have our Ginny back. It's only for a short while. The steroid will freeze and maybe shrink the tumors, but the effect will wear off. It may get her another week or two. We will enjoy every moment she is still here.

We have decided that Ginny may eat all the cat poop she wants. 

After all, what's the harm?