Or, Dr. X Will Build a Creature1. I had written an update for yesterday, but my domestic internet connection decided to crap itself at some point while I was working on it. To prevent myself from becoming too long winded (I’m sitting in the chemotherapy chair, and the huge dose of antihistamines has made me chatty – what can I say?), I’ll sum up. This morning I realized that much of what I had written had been eaten by the Interweb Sewer Monkeys and the rest didn’t really seem relevant anymore – or, maybe I just didn’t like it as much. So I’m claiming a mulligan (hey, it’s my blog; these are my rules – you’ll live) and rewriting.
Yesterday was Day Twenty-Nine. It was a good day in that it put into perspective the little victories and the little defeats that make up this war I’m fighting. There were several little victories. Radiation is still going well, and as of yesterday, I have only thirty-two more sessions. Work is progressing well; it’s good to be back in the office and feeling productive. I’m not overly keen on the early alarm clock, but it’s a package deal, I suppose. Physical therapy was very relaxing and productive yesterday evening; it has definitely helped with the lymphedema.
Also, still on the plus side, my parents came into town yesterday for their first visit since the day I came home from the hospital. We will all have the opportunity to spend some time together for the next couple of days, which is nice. At the request of The Boy, we all went to Waffle House for dinner last night. Yes, Waffle House, that peculiar (yet oddly delicious) Southern establishment that makes the Cracker Barrel look like the height of society. And this is where the story really gets good.
Not only can I eat eggs again, I can taste them. Ok, perhaps I should use the singular and not overstate my case. Whatever. I ordered one egg over easy, one egg scrambled with cheese, and a side of grits2>. The scrambled egg didn’t work so well; perhaps if it were a softer, less dry scramble it would help. Also, the cheese may have interfered and made it too difficult to move. The grits were manageable, especially after mixing a sufficient amount of butter (or, more accurately, I Can’t Believe I’m Supposed to Think This Is Butter) to make them soupy. The big success, though, was the fried egg. If taken in sufficiently small bites, and treated not unlike an oyster on the half-shell, I could eat it with little difficulty. And I could taste it. And I could taste the Tobasco sauce that I put on it. I could more than feel the heat – though the heat was nice – I could actually taste the sauce. This is wonderful news, as I put hot sauce on just about everything. So, I have a new test to try – I need to sample as many hot sauces to see which flavors still come through. I may have a new favorite.
Arguably the best part of these culinary experiments and victories was that my family was there. Adrianne and my mother mentioned how the lead otolaryngologist on my surgery team told them prior to my surgery that I would never eat solid foods again. Apparently, he was rather blunt and dismissive about it. He is a fantastically talented doctor, but apparently his bedside manner is rubbish. I figure I’ll take him out to lunch the next time I have a checkup. Wait, screw that, he can take me to lunch. He’s a highly-paid specialist; I work for the state. I think the latter arrangement is more promising.
I can’t completely dismiss the doctor’s bedside manner. He did show signs of improvement by the time I left the hospital. Though, on the day of my discharge, I did find out why I had a vaguely uncomfortable feeling about him. I had drafted a list of final questions to have answered prior to leaving the hospital, and I gave it to him when he visited during his rounds. Most of the questions were legitimate; there were only two that I’d thrown in for flavor. Honestly, I was expecting an intern with a sense of humor to show up, not the lead physician. The two amusing questions were:
- Who is your favorite superhero?
- Dogs or cats?
For question number one, his response was to the effect of, “I don’t think I have one. I’m too old for that stuff.” I distinctly remember thinking, Oh, come on! At least just say Superman like eight percent of the world would, you soulless puppet of the orthodoxy! Ok, so I’m exaggerating with the “soulless puppet of the orthodoxy” part. He didn’t fare much better on the second question. His response, “Oh, dogs, definitely. I hate cats.” This pretty much explained everything. I love cats. I am a cat person. If Adrianne would let me, I would bring home every stray cat in town. I can understand that some people don’t like cats as much as I do and that some people prefer dogs. But to hate cats – there’s someone I cannot fully trust.
So, tangent over (for now). Those victories from yesterday were little, but they were also good. Yet, just as every conflict has its little victories, it has its little defeats. When we got home last night, I poured myself a small glass of red wine from a bottle that a dear friend brought us a while back. Adrianne had mentioned that it is delicious, which is high praise because I have had some difficulty finding wines that she really likes. For what its worth, I am an oenophile. I enjoy the subtleties of flavors and weight and compositions in a good glass of wine. Or, I used to. Apparently, I am no longer able to appreciate red wine. This is not overly surprising when you think about it, but it is disappointing. When I had the first sip of the wine last night, I tasted nothing but vinegar3. I tried a two more sips to check the results, which were pretty consistent. I briefly picked up a few of the other flavors, but nothing strong enough to justify drinking the rest of the glass. It would seem that the loss of a tongue creates too much of a problem for the tasting of wines. I will add red wine to the list of things for the tasting experiments in a few months. Perhaps it was just this bottle or variant. Perhaps the radiation has already spoiled my taste receptors. While I will hold out hope, I don’t think this one is going to work out in my favor; it seems that biology simply has too many things stacked against me.
Little victories, little defeats. These are how wars are ultimately won and lost. I plan on winning.
So far, today is going well. The visit from the home health care nurse was routine and uneventful. I’m at chemotherapy now, with probably about an hour remaining in my treatment. Though I’m not really supposed to be doing so, I’m checking my work email and trying to help out in the office; there are a couple of time-sensitive issues that showed up in my inbox today that are primarily my responsibility. Plus, if I can do a good enough job working away from the office, perhaps our HR department will reconsider their (bad, flawed, illogical, horrible, annoying) decision so that I may work remotely every Friday of my treatment. This would be good for me – as I could stop burning through my leave days – and good for the office – as I would be around officially for more than 80% of the work week.
Immediately after chemo, I have today’s radiation treatment (and the opportunity to play that nice baby grand again, I hope). This evening, Adrianne and I are taking my parents to the theatre to see the musical that we were fortunate enough to preview last week. It should be a full, rewarding day.
I’ll let you know, dear reader, how the rest of the day goes once it happens.
Until then, take care of each other.
Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.
UPDATE: The post was going to end, but I just got a phone call that seems like a nice addendum to the entry. Let us, dear reader, subtitle this tale Not All Technology is Good Technology. The phone rang – an out-of-area number that I did not recognize – and I answered. Here I was met by Teh Voice, recorded or computerized and distinctly female, which identified the company that was calling; it was the company responsible for the monthly deliveries of my sustenance and supplies. Teh Voice indicated that this call was in reference to my monthly resupply. I thought to myself, I spoke with that nice gent yesterday who said they would send everything out; I guess there’s a problem. I was asked to press 1 to speak to a representative. I did as Teh Voice said; I pressed 1. This is where things got ludicrous.
After a couple of rings, a voice came on the line and posed a question. She asked, “How can we help you?” I thought to myself, Damn, that’s a good question. I informed her that I just did as Teh Voice instructed. She asked for my delivery zip code and name, which I provided. After she pulled up the account, she repeated her initial question, “Alright, and how can we help you today?” My inner monologue chuckled. Well, let’s see how this works out, I told myself. I attempted to explain as clearly as possible, “I don’t know. You called me. The recording told me to press 1. I pressed 1.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment before continuing, “I show that your order was shipped yesterday. Did you not want it?”
No, thanks. I’ll just starve. I telepathically communicated with your automated phone system, gave it the access codes to read your patient database so that it could find my number and call me, and then asked it to let me speak with you so that I could have no food delivered to the house this month. What, that doesn’t sound reasonable?
At this point, I’m really not sure that the person with whom I’m speaking has a pulse. I continued, “Yes, I do want it. Is there a problem?”
She informed me that there was no apparent problem and that the shipment should arrive either today or Monday. I let her know that this would be satisfactory. It seemed a useless, redundant piece of information – since they’d already sent it (which I knew before Teh Voice called me) – but she had paused as though waiting for me to say something.
She began the conclusion of the call, “Well, ok then. Is there anything else we can do for you today?”
Did you do anything for me today? “No, thank you.” I said. She thanked me and hung up.
It’s probably a good thing that the antihistamine had worn off by the time these events transpired. Had I still been stoned when she called, she might not have gotten away so easily.
So, the automated system called me so that a human being could ask if I want the food shipment that I already discussed with another human being yesterday. This is why I loathe automated phone systems. That is all.
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1 – For those of you who don’t get the reference, you really should get out more oftenA.
2 – Oh, yeah, I tried a bite of buttered toast, too. The flavor was good, but not very strong unfortunately. And the whole thing got stuck to the roof of my mouth. And I don’t have a tongue anymore, so I couldn’t just clean it off. So I had to keep sipping coffee and making odd, animalistic swallowing movements like some strange lizard in order to clear and swallow it. This eventually worked, but would be a bit much to ask for every meal. This relearning to eat thing could take a while.
3 – To gauge my reaction, take a look at this. The relevant section is from time index 1:49 to 2:51.
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A – Yes, that was Joan Jett doing a punk version. Wicked awesome, right? Oh, you don’t care for it? Prefer the original? Fine, here are the 1987 U.K. Royal Hanley Tour and The Original Soundtrack Version by the incomparable Richard O’Brien; however, I’m going to ridicule you for being a purist. <ridicule>Purist!</ridicule>
