Monday Musings 02/18/19
On The Stereo: Solsbury Hill, Peter Gabriel
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, levaquin, omeprasol
I thought today, that we might discuss the state of my state, review some surgical moments and share some of the maelstrom in my brain.
As you know from last week's blog, I had an appointment with my Moffitt dermatologist last Friday. I did not keep that meeting. Most people I know would never miss their chance to rid themselves of cancer. As quickly as they could. After years of experience, I am more deliberate than most. Still struggling with post surgery scalp issues, I was simply not ready to manage a multiple of new biopsies and surgeries. At least not right now.
A decision has to be made as to whether I will continue to let the scalp heal as it has, very slowly, or commit to another skin graft. Time will tell. I plan to share with you, the series of surgeries already done, and you might better understand my hesitation in this decision. I have been reluctant to share this story without pictures, and some are difficult to view. Morbid. I could eliminate them, but I truly believe that there are others who might face cancer surgeries as I did, and might take hope by better understanding the extraordinary ability of the human body to heal itself. When the time comes, you can make your own decisions as to whether or not you read the post.
I was reflecting the other day on a surgery to my ear, done by Riverchase Dermatology in Fort Myers. That happened 11 years ago, give or take a week. That operation was done in concert with four others, all fairly minor.
All but one of the excisions were quite simple, and completed efficiently. The last was done using a type of surgery called Mohs. It was used to remove the smallest of cancers - a carcinoma the size of a pen dot, inside the tip of my right ear. That did not go at all well.
The surgeon struggled to hold my ear tightly and without movement, so that he could get the little drill-like device to bore through the ear and remove the cancer entirely. The combination of trying to keep my head, my ear and his drill, all in alignment failed miserably. All of a sudden, the entire tip of my ear flew, spinning across the room, and landed on the floor. My first thought was, "I am going to be Van Gogh. My ear is gone." The damage was not at all that bad, but definitely not that good, either. Just the tip had taken flight.
So, all the surgical sites were bandaged, and I was sent packing. My entire head was wrapped, so the wounded ear could be stabilized and free from infection. Kat was waiting for me, and we left for lunch and to run some errands. As time passed the numbing medicine started to wear off, and my ear began to hurt like hell. I could not understand it, as I had been through a myriad of this type of thing, and this pain was unusual. Especially as ears are mostly cartilage and typically are not as prone to pain as lots of other body parts. Finally I told Kath to take me back to the clinic.
As I suspected, the nurse who had taken my vitals and reviewed my allergies, was not the same nurse who bandaged and dismissed me. I mentioned in an earlier blog, the assembly line methodology used by this and other facilities. The last nurse had used neosporin, to which I am really allergic, and its use had caused the open wound to fester. A re-do, with the removal of neosporin, and we headed for home, still sore. And aggravated, as a bonus.
A slightly severed ear was not the reason I cancelled my Moffitt trip. It was just a random memory. There were, and still are, many potholes in my road. This silly episode was just a bump.
So, cancer! Here is what you have brought over the last few weeks.
A very good friend, Jill Blackwood, passed on a few weeks ago, after valiantly fighting an aggressive form of breast cancer. She is being inducted into the Iowa Golf Hall of Fame, for her capabilities and contributions to the game. The ceremony will be held at our former club in Fort Myers. Due to the sight of my head wound, and the attention it will draw, we will not attend.
She leaves behind many friends who were blessed to know her and her loving heart, a family who knew her best, and Tom, her most adoring husband, who will, with help from his friends and neighbors, find strength to live his life. He will be needed.
Jill,
"The night shall be filled with music
And the cares that infest the day.
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And silently slip away"
With so much love, good night and goodbye.
Mac at Kristin's wedding
My great and old friend, Tom MacMillan, who has faced and fought many issues over his splendid life, just received news that his cancer is back. He will go back to war and beat his cancer's sorry ass. I know that. He is not a man to be beaten down, and has friends and family to help and give him support. And Sandy, the best wife and companion a man could have. The following message is directly copied from his most recent email - "Thanks for your note. Please feel free to include me in your blog in any way you see fit. The plan is three cycles of chemo and if it works there will be three more. I've had 20 sessions since 2010 and have tolerated it quite well so hopefully that will be the case this time. I look forward to having a chat. " Keep your faith, Tom. We love you. And we are but a few of many.
Tom's humor will help him immensely. Our conversations used to start with "Did you see the game?" or "What's up with your mayor", or "You building a wall?". Now, in these days of aging and illness, our discourse begins with what he refers to as "the organ recital." Best line in a long time. Because, now, it is too true.
Tom standing behind his bride.
My college professor buddy, Fred Talbott, just wrote to tell me his good news. His biopsies came back clean and his cancer scare is now behind him. He was thankful, as are we. Congrats. We need every story to end like this. This world needs people like Fred. He is a caring, compassionate, and most talented educator.
Let's wrap up this week on another positive note. Cancer needs to be confronted and defeated. We cannot yet win every battle, but every day we are alive, our chances get continually and profoundly better.
Be St. George in your cancer fight. You have an an amazing army on your side. And if you are one of the fortunate, whose health is good, once in a while, take a piece of your day and help others - any way you can. By showing that you care, you can make magic.
Thank you.
Warning: This is not a halo. Anyone who knows me, knows that.
More wound stories next week.
You are an amazing person JR!
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