Cancer Can Bite Me

Don't Make Me Kill You

Aug 18th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

4 comments

Warning: This post contains profanity. If you are easily offended, may I suggest that these aren’t the droids you’re looking for, and that you move along. Thank you.

Good evening, dear reader. I am settling well into the cycle of sleep-work-domesticity-rinse-repeat that is life, and I’m actually quite happy. I love Adrianne and the kids more every day. My job is enjoyable – not my dream job, mind you, but I’m working on that. I’ve got time for creative endeavors, and recently I’ve found new strategies for unleashing creativity¹ (so much so that I now have too many projects going, one could argue).

So what could possibly make me want to visit bodily harm upon another human being? Well, I’ve got a story to tell, and I promise you it’s true. . .

I have recently returned to answering the phone at work. For the past five or six weeks, my office phone went straight to voicemail, and a computerized voice informed the caller that I have recently undergone surgery and am unable to use the phone. The voice then provided my email address and asked the caller to contact me there. Not surprisingly, I still got voice messages in which people would leave their return numbers. Bloody brilliant.

Well, now – instead of my laptop talking to whomever is calling – I answer the phone. I state the name of the organization for which I work and my first name. Then the conversation goes a bit like this.

Me – [identify organization and self]. How may I help you?

Caller – (hesitantly) I’m trying to reach [insert my full name here].

Me – This is he.

Caller – But. . . Wait. . . I mean (slowly, usually more loudly) [my full name].

Me – (to myself) I’m the one with the speech impediment, jackass. Your speech is already clear, the Foxworthy drawl notwithstanding. (out loud) Yes, sir/ma’am, this is he.

Caller – This is him?

Me – Yes.

Caller – You mean the guy from [some random conference or training session where we met sometime in the past eighteen months].

Me – Yep, that’s the one. This is he.

Caller – Really?

Me – (internal monologue) No, fartknocker, he’s out drinking, and I just enjoy fucking with people. Now what the hell do you want? (external dialogue) Yes, sir/ma’am. Really. How may I help you?

Caller – You don’t sound like yourself.

Me – (internal) No shit. Thanks for reminding me. Quit wasting my time, dickhead. (external, and dripping with sarcasm) I know. I had surgery a few months ago. Now I’m relearning how to speak without a tongue. (cheerfully) How may I help you?

Caller – Oh. . . I’m so. . . But. I thought. . .Real? . . . I was just calling. . .

Me – (internal) OMG, if this takes any damn longer, I’m going to reach through the phone and smack the shit out of you. (external) Is there something I may help you with today, sir/ma’am?

Eventually, the caller gets to the point. Eventually. If this had just happened once today, it probably wouldn’t have fazed me. It happened six times. Sure, there were variations in the blather; some callers adapted to the situation with slightly more ease than others.

I know that I’m being overly sensitive. I’m aware of that fact, but I don’t really care. When one caller today asked if I was kidding around with her, I really wanted to elevate my voice and utilize verbiage that would likely have resulted in my termination. I’m not supposed to call one of the stakeholders in our organization “dumb bitch,” after all. At least not to her face. Or ear. Whatever.

Eventually word will get around that I “don’t sound like myself.” I’m sure that will help. In a few months, I’ll get the prosthetic that will help me speak more clearly. Perhaps the combination of the prosthetic and dentures will help with the salivation issues that I’m having (I was warned of potential dry mouth; actually, I can’t stop drooling on myself – horrible when I’m on the phone) since they’ll be covering up some of the tissue in my mouth that causes salivation when stimulated. Maybe I’ll have some speech therapy.

The point is – I know this is a temporary situation. I know I’m spitting into the wind over something that will not be an issue in six to nine months.

But it is an issue now. And it bugged me. And it got me down. What can I say, it hurt my feeling.

So thanks for listening. I really do appreciate it.

Until next time, dear friends, take care of each other.

Kites rise highest against the wind; not with it. – Winston Churchill

______________

1 – Have you ever heard of Merlin Mann? If you’re interested in fueling your own creativity, there are recordings of some fantastic lectures by Mr. Mann that will blow your mind. Drop me a line (paduanbenedick [at] gmail [dot] com) if you’d like some help tracking them down.

Daily Update
Quick Hit: Dammit

Aug 17th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

6 comments

Good afternoon, dear reader.

Dammit.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Just got off the phone with the distributor of my baby food liquid terror sustenance. It only comes in vanilla.

Dammit.

That is all.

Quick Hit
Day Eighty-Seven

Aug 17th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

No comments

Good evening, dear reader. I hope this post finds you well. It has been an interesting week for me, but I find that to speak or to write about much of it is difficult. Nevertheless, I shall try.

This has been a week of dreams. I’m sure that this is not uncommon – I know that I dream nightly – but I find that I have remembered more of my dreams this week than in any recent time. For any of the comparisons to make sense, I need to give you a baseline of the nature of my usual dreams. I have always had vivid dreams, alarmingly real to me (even when the content is completely incredible), and usually very narrative in structure. I suppose that this is one manifestation of my desire to be a storyteller. I first dreamed in color when I was six years old; prior to that, all my dreams had been either black-and-white or text-based. Yes, text-based, like reading a book or playing Zork.

My first color dream started out in black-and-white. My family and I were in Moscow, fleeing from (I believe) KGB agents. Do note that this was 1983 or thereabout, so the Soviets were still a looming threat at the time and were fantastic fodder for a child’s imagination. We ran across Red Square – an accurate recreation of Red Square I eventually learned (how did I know what Red Square looked like, you ask; good question, and one to which I do not have a satisfactory answer) – under the cover of night and made our way into the sewers. In the wetworks, we sloshed through a series of tunnels, talked our way past several checkpoints (of course I did the talking, who else would?), and were given scuba gear by a helpful maintenance technician who was cleaning the tunnels. We eventually submerged ourselves and began swimming as fast as we could through a long, dark tunnel. When the tunnel ended, everything around me burst into color. I was surrounded by rainbows of fish dancing through blue water. The sun shone into the water from above, and I knew that we had escaped to the Caspian Sea. I swam effortlessly with the bright schools of fish for several minutes before drifting to the surface, where I found mu family waiting for me in a small boat. I climbed in, and we headed for shore. The dream ended before we made landfall. So vivid were all the colors of that dream that I still remember every detail of it to this day.

That is a fairly common example of what my dreams are like. They are stories; they are fantastic and terrible. They transpire in space, on farms, in huge cities, in the past, the present, and the future. And they are real. When I am dreaming, they are as real to me as any moment of my waking life.

So this week was odd. The first dream that I remember from this week was not a story. Or perhaps it was, but one decidedly light on plot. It was more of a musical review. A one-man musical review, and that man wasn’t me. I have a good friend whom here I shall call Grandpa – for reasons that those who know him will understand – who at times seems to enjoy the role of playfully dirty (old) man. He is also a very talented thespian, so I suppose it was not overly shocking to see him in vaudevillian attire doing a softshoe routine across an unfamiliar stage. What was truly odd was that – and I’m not sure how I know this – the year was 1904, and I was the only member of the audience. Further, the songs he sang were often anachronistic, most notably the Andrew Lloyd Webber pieces that he chose. And then there was the drum solo. . . Anyway, not the normal fare for dreams that I remember.

The second dream that I remember from the week was decidedly more narrative in structure and complicated in plot. It involved time travel and an organization of investigators who track criminals through history. It was a bit like The X-Files meets Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?. I won’t give away too much of the story since I may actually try to write it down someday as a short story; suffice it to say, there was intrigue, danger, and a good deal of fun. What really made this dream interesting, though, was that it continued over two nights; the second night simply picked up where the first left off. I don’t recall very many episodic dreams in the past; actually, I only remember it happening once before. So this was a decidedly unique dream in that regard.

Aside from dreams, this week has brought an interesting array of physical conditions. I am medicated for the cough that simply refuses to go away, but on one occasion a few days ago as I was dozing, I coughed hard enough to force the entire tracheostomy apparatus out of my throat. I came to due to the odd sensations I had as I breathed. My fingertips drifted across my exposed throat, which was mildly disconcerting, so I stepped to the bathroom because I needed a mirror. Before reinserting the tube, I noted for a brief moment the perfect circle of blackness that sits casually two inches above my supersternal notch. While changing the inner cannula of the trach is already a rare visual experience, the whole of the apparatus disappearing into my throat is even more so. This is the second time that I have had to reinsert the device; the first occurred perhaps a month ago. I coughed while changing the collar that holds the apparatus in place; the force caused it to pop out then. That time, I did not hesitate or take time for any examination; I immediately reinserted the tubing. This time, I was less panicked. It is actually very interesting to study. On some level, I am hoping that I am not under general anesthesia during the procedure to remove the apparatus permanently.

A further unusual physical occurrence was that I became quite ill one afternoon after lunch and vomited up what felt like everything I had “eaten” that day. Through my entire regimen of chemotherapy and radiation, I never once became that sick to my stomach. I’m still not sure what caused it. To complicate matters further, I was at work when this happened. That was delightful, let me assure you. Oh, and the vanilla faux-food is thoroughly repulsive in reverse. Fortunately, it is almost time for another shipment of nutrition and supplies. I’m going to try to talk the company into providing at least some chocolate this time around.

Well, dear friend, I must now sign off. I have taken so long to pen this entry that it is now Day Eighty-Eight, and I am exhausted. I think that – as updates have become less frequent mostly because there is simply not much to tell on many days – I need to redesign my entry titles. Perhaps I shall find something thematic to use. I will, however, try to write more often that I have been lately. I am working to correct my anemia; hopefully this will give me more energy.

Until next time, dear readers, take care of each other.

In music, in the sea, in a flower, in a leaf, in an act of kindness… I see what people call God in all these things.
- Pablo Casals

Uncategorized
Quick Hit: When Good Tastes Go Bad

Aug 10th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

2 comments

Good morning, dear reader. I have an odd little story from this morning that I thought I would share. When I woke this morning, I found that my voice was in sorry condition. Very scratchy, very quiet, and rather painful to use. So I haven’t been taking much at work; I’ve been making my computer talk for me.

Anyway, I thought I would try some hot coffee to see if that didn’t loosen everything up and make it easier to speak. Now, first of all, you have to understand that the coffee in my office is inexpensive. And, as with most things but especially with coffee, you get that for which you pay. So, I have never really been impressed by the flavor of our coffee. It’s one of those of the “boiled boot leather plus balsamic vinegar with a hint of gym sock” variety; and it is just a hint of gym sock, the flavor has never been particularly strong.

Cut to today. Ordinary pot of office coffee. The color and aroma indicate that it is just what one would expect. And then I took the first sip.

It is hard to describe the sensations that rolled across my palate at that moment. Similarly difficult to describe is the wave of revulsion that rolled through my stomach. What was that taste? There was a bit of overcooked shrimp, basted in butter, and strongly oversalted. There was the hint of something green – not sure what, perhaps oregano?

Suddenly I found that I was not satisfied with my ability to describe the truly vile nature of the substance I held in my hand. So I took another sip.

Yep, that was dumb.

Definitely shrimp. Very overcooked shrimp. Toxic levels of salt. Not oregano; the compost pile that was in my family’s backyard when I was in high school.

Blech.

I’ve been told that tastes will return to normal in three months. Let the countdown begin.

Quick Hit
Day Eighty – The End of the Beginning

Aug 9th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

2 comments

Good day, dear reader. As I write this, I am amazed by the sense of calm that now surrounds me. I have been blanketed in it for much of the weekend. You see, it started on Friday, which was a very good day.

On Friday morning, I enjoyed a moment of quiet victory as I stepped out of the radiation clinic and into the sunshine as a free man. I carried with me a reminder of the long journey I had just completed; the frame that had served to bind me to the table felt incredibly light in my hand. The experience was surreal and overwhelming. The frame now sits quietly in the corner of my bedroom. I think I shall mount it on the wall in my office; it shall be my trophy of a successful hunt for cancerous microbes.

The calm of this weekend comes, of course, on the heels of a very difficult week. On Tuesday, I began coughing up blood. I noticed this as I was cleaning up after another mucus monkey attack; my first thought was that the mucus monkey army was now emerging from my trach tube armed or having undergone some coming-of-age ritual, since the mucus was now tinged with red. Of course, it was 2:30 am when I made this discovery, and I remember thinking, “Why worry now? It’s not like I don’t have an appointment to see a physician in five hours anyway. . .” As it turns out, the doctor was not at all worried. He said that the radiation has caused extensive swelling and irritation in and around my trachea, and that the tracheostomy tube is likely scratching against the already irritated inner lining of my trachea. This contact draws a small amount of blood, which has a ready made escape route. The doctor indicated that this should dissipate after the treatments end and the swelling fades. I do hope this happens sooner rather than later, I must admit, as I grow increasingly tired of the swollen throat, neck, and everything else.

The swelling grew significantly worse this week, as did the radiation burns across the skin of my neck. When the radiation technicians refocused my treatment points for the final week of treatment, they apparently used the same overall amount of radiation on a smaller area, so in that area the side effects intensified. I have, for the moment, given up all oral consumption – not just food, but liquids as well. Swallowing is simply too painful at the moment. And even water tastes bad now (very briny, if you’re curious). I will rest for a week or so, then try again. The radiation burns now cover approximately seventy percent of the circumference of my neck. Even worse, the burns make the flesh stick to the collar for my trach tube. So whenever I readjust the collar, I have this tendency to flay myself lightly. Truly a wonderful experience..

I have been given medication to stifle the cough at night. This is beneficial for a number of reasons. First, the less I cough, the less mucus I have to deal with. I have grown accustomed to covering my trach rather than my mouth when I cough (I wonder if that habit will persist even after the tube is removed) so as to wrangle immediately any of the mucus monkeys that would prefer to hide amongst the bedclothes. There are few sensations quite as revolting as rolling over in bed and your hand/ear/nose/shoulder lands softly in a cold pool of goo.

The second benefit from the medication is a reduction in side effects of the coughing. On the bad nights, when several extended coughing fits hit, my throat swells. Not too much, overall, but when one is wearing a collar even the slightest swelling can make the collar restrictive. Add to that the radiation burns and you’ve got a serious party.

I have received many questions about what will happen next, what the next stage is. To be honest, I don’t really know yet. I have an appointment this week for an injection to help me recover from the mild anemia that I developed during treatment. At the end of the month, I have a follow-up appointment with my radiation oncologist. Next month I have a CT scan scheduled, along with a consultation a few days later to read the results. At some point, I will have an appointment with the surgical oncologist at Vanderbilt who performed my surgery. Apparently, the final decision as to the timeline for removal of my trach tube is his. I have every intention of convincing him that NOW is a fantastic time. I have heard that there is a minimum three week waiting period following the end of radiation and chemotherapy, but that that period is designed to guarantee that patients are capable of swallowing. While it may be painful, I believe I can pass this test. I’ll down a whole bottle of water in front of the man (a feat which, I can assure you, would be quite painful) if it will help my case.

I hope you are well, dear reader. I apologize, but I must now sign off. Would it surprise you to know that writing even a short entry such as this one can be incredibly taxing? At this point, I need to sleep.

Until next time, dear friends, take care of each other.

Mast Qalandar.

Uncategorized
Quick Hit: When I Return

Aug 6th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

2 comments
Good morning, dear reader. This brief update was actually written last night; I was simply not able to post it until this morning. If you’re curious about the writing process, I can tell you this – writing something as though it were written in the future when your current present is the past can be a bit of a challenge.

I wanted to let everyone know that I am not disappearing again. Monday was a bit of a slow news day, so I took the day off and didn’t write anything. Unfortunately, the home internet service crapped out on Tuesday, was briefly restored on yesterday, but then crapped out again – so I haven’t been able to post anything. There were definitely some items of interest over the past two days, including, but not limited to, the following:
- I have started coughing up blood;
- I am freeing an ever-growing army of mucus monkeys;
- I again chafe at the unfair disposition of policies by the bureaucracy (which was recently expanded to support the needs of the expanded bureaucracy);
- I take serious notice of the fact that radiation burns suck; and,
- I celebrate my final week of radiation treatments (yes, the last treatment is scheduled for tomorrow morning).
I will spend another hour on the phone with Comcast this evening to see if I can perform the appropriate stupid human tricks to restore domestic access to the Interwebz. Hopefully, a full-fledged update will be posted tonight. If not, I shall pen it tonight and post it as soon as possible.

Until next time, dear friends, take care of each other.

It’s only a flesh wound.
Quick Hit
Day Seventy-Four

Aug 2nd 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

6 comments

Warning: This post contains the judicious use of profanity and is rated PG-13. Please proceed at your own risk.

Good evening, dear reader. Sorry, no attempt at a clever little subtitle this evening; I just don’t think I have it in me tonight. As you can perhaps deduce (or, if you follow me on Twitter, you already know), I’m a bit overtired at the moment. You see, I was productive today.

Yes, that’s right, productive. For the first time in months, I mowed the lawn (or the back yard, at least). Granted, this may not seem like a big deal, and it’s probably not – truth be told – but for me, it is a good feeling. The way I look at it is this – I earned this tired feeling; I worked for it. That makes it much different from all the other feelings of tired that I’ve been having of late. See, those tired feelings were a sign of weakness, my body was weary from the illness and treatments and side effects – and the fatigue that those brought on made me feel weak.

Today, I feel strong. And it is good.

I still have more to accomplish this evening, and my list may or may not be successfully completed. But I took a big step today, so I’m satisfied. I’m beginning to think that this is a fundamental part of my overall progress as I work toward recovery – perspective. I have repeatedly encountered others – doctors, fellow patients, former patients, cancer survivors, all kinds of people – who will contend that event x, whatever it may be, is impossible, or that event y is unavoidable. And perhaps most empirical evidence would validate those suppositions.

However, simple historical patterns do not universal directives make. I was originally given a 30% chance of survival. To borrow a turn of phrase from everyone’s favorite scoundrel, “Never tell me the odds.”

I was told that I would never eat real food again and that I would have the PEG tube for the rest of my life. I currently have ten teeth, yet I am already eating real food. I have eaten soups ranging from a smooth, creamy bisque to a chunky, hearty stew (ok, so that didn’t go as well as it could, but I ate some of it). I’ve eaten eggs. I have eaten one french fry. Some of these may have been difficult, even frustrating. But I accomplished them. Imagine what will be possible in three months when I have a full set of dentures.

I was told that it was unlikely I would ever really talk again. I really should make another recording so that you can hear my progress in that area. I will do so this week, and I invite you to tell me what you think. I’ve even started trying to sing again. Granted, I only do this when I’m alone in the car because I really do sound horrible, but I can generate tones. They may not be completely clear, and I may not be able to hold them for very long, and I may have a very limited range at the moment, but I can sing musical notes. I can sing. What will happen when the trach tube is finally removed and I can breathe and support my voice in an unencumbered manner?

And these are just three facets of my recovery. I have been told that I must prepare myself for my new limitations, that I must accept them and move on and learn how to live with them. That I must adapt to function with parts of my being missing.

Make me, motherfucker.

Today, I am strong.

Until next time, my friends, take care of each other.

So say we all.

Daily Update
Day Seventy-Three; or, The Return

Aug 1st 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

3 comments

Good afternoon, dear reader. First, let me pray your forgiveness for my long absence. Upon my last appearance, I had the best of intentions to return to writing faithfully and regularly. However, the side effects of which I briefly wrote have continued and are making even the most basic tasks overwhelming at times.

Let me begin by recalling for you the major events of the past few weeks.

I have finished my chemotherapy sessions; I have one appointment remaining with my chemotherapy oncologist remaining – scheduled for next Tuesday – during which I assume we will discuss the strategy for recurring evaluations. It is my assumption that I’ll be required to get a CT scan or PET scan every six months or so, but that is pure speculation on my part.

I have one week of radiation therapy remaining. Actually, I have five sessions remaining; so, assuming that all goes as planned and there are no interruptions, I will finish with radiation therapy on Friday. I have definitely grown to respect my radiation oncologist a great deal. In addition to being a most competent and insightful practitioner of his craft, he is also one of those physicians who refuses to treat patients as though they are incapable of understanding what is happening to their bodies. When we discuss my condition, therapy, or prognosis, he does not shy away from technical explanations of whatever is occurring; in the event a term is unfamiliar to me, he defines it and then continues his explanation. It’s very refreshing to be treated by a doctor who doesn’t treat you like an invalid.

Given that he is such a physician, I have been repeatedly surprised by how frequently he has been surprised by aspects of my convalescence. The most recent of these surprises was on Wednesday of last week. While performing his weekly examination, he made the following observation, “You have more tongue than you did a month ago.” He reminded me of a previous conversation we had in which he informed me that there are two parts of the human body that are capable of regeneration after injury – the liver and the tongue. I had been aware that this was the case with the liver, but I had never heard that about the tongue. So as it turns out, my tongue has begun regenerating, and it is doing so at a faster rate than my doctor has seen before. I am not allowing myself to get my hopes up, but on some level I do recognize that it would be fantastic to regrow my tongue completely over the next five to ten years.

As for the less pleasant parts of the past few weeks, the major contributing factor is the side effects hell in which I continue to languish. I am anxiously anticipating the day when the pain caused by my treatments begins to fade, but that day has not yet come. My pain levels have continued to increase over the past month to the point that I have been given more and stronger pain medications. I am currently wearing a Fentanyl patch that delivers 75 mcg/hr and taking 1 mL of liquid morphine sulfate every two to three hours. In combination, these do help ease the pain, but they also greatly contribute to fatigue and the inability to concentrate. Further, I am not looking forward to the weaning process for either of these medications. Though I do look forward to the time when I no longer need them, stepping them down gradually will probably be a frustrating experience. However, I suppose such an experience will be better than a heart attack.

Other serious complications include a very annoying combination of congestion, infection, and cough that will not go away. For the past week, I have felt a constant lump in my throat just above my trach tube. For the same duration, I have been coughing almost uncontrollably at times; these coughs often produce wads of phlegm that could be mistaken for small woodland creatures without too much difficulty. I pestered the clinic staff about the situation until they agreed to run a culture – actually, they first asked if I could produce a sample for them to test; I simply removed the capped cannula from my trach tube (in doing so, allowing direct access to my lungs through the hole in my throat) and shot a small squirrel into the specimen cup they proffered – on a sample; when the results finally came back, I was told that “they [were] ok.” I asked for clarification on the matter and received none; so I’ll wait until Monday and then ask the doctor. Until then, since the sample I produced at the clinic was not my best work by far, I have taken it upon myself to gather other key samples through the weekend and take them in with me as evidence of the truly outstanding nature of this congestion.

Of course I agree with what you’re thinking right now. It is indeed disgusting for a patient to collect his own phlegm samples and store them in Ziploc bags; but what choice do I have, really? While there was a hint of the green color that so often indicates infection in the sample I provided for analysis, that one sample truly did fall short of the multicolored, variably textured offerings that I spend most nights repeatedly coughing up.

OK, fine, enough of that. I’ll move on to something else.

In other side effects, my neck is rather displeased that treatment is still underway. The skin is quite tender and mottled from radiation burns. Also, the trach collar has begun to chafe. I’ve found a relatively effective combination of ointments that help to ameliorate the condition, but nothing will be completely effective until I stop sticking my head in a microwave every morning.

But all of these side effects I’ve described are physical. There are definitely mental/emotional ones as well. I’ve been (increasingly) depressed over the past few weeks because of how difficult it is for me to be out and about. I know that Adrianne would like me to be more social – and I have encouraged her to remain social and go out without me (because, honestly, I’m basically just sleeping anyway) – since she often feels guilty when she goes out without me; and, truth be told, I would like to be more social myself. However, right now I’m no fun to be near. Between the violent coughing, the weakness, the fatigue, and the constant ache, it requires so much effort to be pleasant and social that I can’t maintain the facade as well as I’d like. So I don’t go out. Which, in the end, has gotten me down. I’ve occupied my time with all manner of lazy pursuits – naps, television, a wide variety of films – but, as you may have noticed, dear reader, I have not of late even had the emotional energy to write. I have found some small modicum of satisfaction in my continued efforts to be productive at work, but by the time the workday is over, I am usually in need of a nap. When I wake, I “eat” dinner and take some more medication – which makes me sleepy – and resume my laziness. As you may have noticed by my tone, I feel rather guilty for it, too.

I have tried on some level to convince myself that I have nothing for which to feel guilty, that this recovery process entitles me to a few weeks of laziness and antisocial behavior; but I miss being social. I miss spending time with family and friends.

At this point, I feel as though I am beginning to babble. So, I shall sign off for now. I promise to try to write again tomorrow. Any words of encouragement would be most dearly appreciated.

Until then, my friends, take care of each other.

Namaste.

Daily Update
Quick Hit: Anecdote of the Day

Jul 21st 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

3 comments

Good morning, dear reader. This morning I found out what kind of computer runs the system for my radiation treatments. I’d never really paid attention to it before, but it turns out that it is a Windows machine. How do I know this? Let me explain.

As I was meditating upon the various joys of being bolted to cold pieces of furniture, I heard a familiar voice from around the corner and through the door. One of the radiation technicians posed the following question to her colleague, “Uh-oh, what is this? I’ve never seen this before.”

There was a short pause, then came his response. “That is called the Blue Screen of Death. Go tell him it will be a few minutes longer since we have to reboot the computer.”

She entered the treatment room and delivered the message. I don’t think I was supposed to have heard the earlier conversation.

So, an extra fifteen minutes on the slab today as they figured out what annoyed their system. Then treatment concluded as normal.

I left without giving in to the temptation of asking which version of Windows they’re running. They would have said 98, and I would have cried.

Let me be clear – I don’t trust my recipes to Windows machines.

<Gump> That’s all I have to say about that. </Gump>

Quick Hit
Day Sixty-One; or, A Brief Brief

Jul 20th 2009

By: PaduanBenedick

2 comments

Good evening, dear reader. Please allow me to begin by apologizing for my long absence. As I will relate over the next couple of days, there have been a number of reasons that I have been unable to post anything for the past couple of weeks. The most pressing of those reasons was physical; I have been awash in the rather unpleasant sea of side effects from radiation and chemotherapy of late. This was so much the case last week that I was placed on 96 hours worth of bed rest by my radiation oncologist. Normally, I am the type of person who will do something while confined to the bed – read, write, be thankful for the invention of notebook computers, etc. This time, I slept. A lot. Huge swaths of time simply do not exist in my memory. As I recall, I had just returned home from my morning radiation session on Wednesday of last week – I had already requested the day off from work since I recognized that I was becoming overtired easily; I thought I could use a day to myself – when I lay down to rest for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes, it was about midnight – over fifteen hours later. I spent the next few days in bed and finally began to catch up on some much needed sleep.

At this moment, in fact, my eyes are begging me to permit them close. Since I am also having trouble typing, I believe that this is a solid recommendation. Please know, dear reader, that I am still alive, still crafting contributions to this blog, and still searching for that silver lining in the thunderclouds that are rediation and chemotherapy treatments. I will return tomorrow with much more detail.

Until then, take care of each other.

Daily Update
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Cancer Can Bite Me

Don't Make Me Kill You

Quick Hit: Dammit

Day Eighty-Seven

Quick Hit: When Good Tastes Go Bad

Day Eighty – The End of the Beginning

Quick Hit: When I Return

Day Seventy-Four

Day Seventy-Three; or, The Return

Quick Hit: Anecdote of the Day

Day Sixty-One; or, A Brief Brief

CCBM on Amazon.com

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