Whatever Happened To Your Head
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Unchained Melody : Willie Nelson
Nov. 4, 2019
Life is good, here in Florida. I played golf with my friends, The Relics, last Wednesday. Paul Duggan had left me his golf push cart, as he and Donna summer in Lake Of The Woods. I walked and pushed in 97 degree heat and 80% humidity. I now understand why the course is called The Hills. It never seemed hilly when we rode in the cart. On Friday, I walked again, except that we had a free fall 20% drop in temperature. The heat has continued to abate, and Kath even needed a sweater, yesterday. I wondered if there was any place in this country, that was enjoying better weather.
We FaceTimed Paul and Donna on Friday. I told him how much I enjoyed his push cart, but that it had a slight pull to the right. I suggested that if I was to keep the cart, he might get that fixed. Also, the addition of a brake light and horn, would be helpful. The Relics are a dangerous bunch. Laughter was, and is, the backbone of life.
2014 - Memory Lane
Life is good, here in Florida. I played golf with my friends, The Relics, last Wednesday. Paul Duggan had left me his golf push cart, as he and Donna summer in Lake Of The Woods. I walked and pushed in 97 degree heat and 80% humidity. I now understand why the course is called The Hills. It never seemed hilly when we rode in the cart. On Friday, I walked again, except that we had a free fall 20% drop in temperature. The heat has continued to abate, and Kath even needed a sweater, yesterday. I wondered if there was any place in this country, that was enjoying better weather.
We FaceTimed Paul and Donna on Friday. I told him how much I enjoyed his push cart, but that it had a slight pull to the right. I suggested that if I was to keep the cart, he might get that fixed. Also, the addition of a brake light and horn, would be helpful. The Relics are a dangerous bunch. Laughter was, and is, the backbone of life.
2014 - Memory Lane
I have been ducking the subject of my head surgeries for some time. The stories are many, and some of the pictures are not pleasant to look at, even for me.
I have chosen, for a few reasons, to dedicate several weeks to explain some of the head - related issues that have happened. A variety of surgeries took place over several years, and it would be awkward to understand the timeline, if it all came at you all at once. Most of the problems on my scalp, and the subsequent surgeries, were not interdependent. Some of these operations have been touched on, already, but my intent is to put some flesh on the bone (the skull, in this case). Therefore, one story at a time. Also, pictorially, a respite might be welcome.
You will remember, that in 2014, I was regularly traveling to Moffit Cancer Center, in Tampa, for immunotherapy infusion, as part of Bristol-Myers Squibb's clinical trial. Concurrently, I had suffered an AVM (Arterial Veinous Malformation), and the emergency operation to correct it, while successful, had been complicated by a staph infection.
It was a difficult period in our lives, as you might suspect. My life had been saved in the surgery, done by Dr. Correnti. But since the discovery of infection, he was not interested in trying to resolve my problem. I was also very concerned that my continuation in the trial would be compromised. It was beginning to look like I was going to die. Not as we all will, but soon, either from the staph infection in my brain, or from my stage 4 melanoma, once I was eliminated from the program. What would be the best way to handle an end of life situation?
Kath and I chose to ignore the imminent collision of my two assassins. We drove to Raleigh, to see our Tyson family. On the return, we stopped at Kiawah Island Resort and played golf. I don't know what others might do, but I much preferred the idea of worrying about making a three foot put, over wallowing about my impending death.
A breakfast phone call from Dr. Tran made my decision. It was life changing. He would perform another surgery at Moffitt, to clean out the infection, and I would continue in the trial. There you are, literally, at the end of your journey through life, confronted with your demise. It is amazing what qualifies as "good news". Another brain surgery. Let's do that.
Bring on the nurses, the drugs and the surgeons
Dr. Tran handled the excision of the contaminated flesh and bone, contiguous to the wound site. He removed a portion of bone, about four inches square. Dr. Harrington, my plastic surgeon, was left to "mop up". That might have been the more difficult task. There was now no bone over a portion of my brain, and most of the surrounding skin, was not loose enough to pull over the wound. He did the best he could. But the outcome definitely was not pretty.
Coming around, wondering how successful the operation
Some skin from my thigh was used in the graft, but there was no way to properly bring all the portions of repaired skin, back together. My head looked like a global relief map. The operation had taken a considerable amount of time, and without more available time and resources, this was it. I was going to continue on with my life, but poor Kath was left with a mildly(?) grotesque husband. Thank God she never married me for my looks.
Front bandage roll covers skin graft
Bandage on donor site - upper thigh
After two weeks, bandages come off, to the big reveal
I call this "the Smiling Thigh"
So, the problems of putting Humpty Dumpty together again were readily apparent. No one, including Dr. Harrington, was at all comfortable with the outcome. I was placed in a self-imposed exile, for good reasons. Gawkers and infection were not welcome. I was pleased to be alive, but had not come to grips with my condition. Time, I was hopeful, would provide improvement. But I was not at all sure of that.
Rob could not go to sushi, so the Hannas brought the sushi to Rob
I ventured out, albeit unwillingly. Kath wanted us to continue our life, and we needed to overcome my vanity, if that was to happen. She pushed and cajoled. And won. A life of entrapment was not healthy. I wore hats. And I eventually conceded my poor head to an unexacting public. Little by little. We carried on. Thanks to the love of my Child Bride.
Six months later, Christmas, and the finished product
So much has happened since then. Lots of improvements. But this should give some substance to our lives, during that brief sliver of time.
Hope all is well with you. If not, shake it off. Rub some dirt on it. And carry on. There is much to live for, and people who need and love you.
The head gets banged around again next week. Tune in. I am still here to tell the tale.
As always, your comments are welcome and appreciated.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
Kath and I chose to ignore the imminent collision of my two assassins. We drove to Raleigh, to see our Tyson family. On the return, we stopped at Kiawah Island Resort and played golf. I don't know what others might do, but I much preferred the idea of worrying about making a three foot put, over wallowing about my impending death.
A breakfast phone call from Dr. Tran made my decision. It was life changing. He would perform another surgery at Moffitt, to clean out the infection, and I would continue in the trial. There you are, literally, at the end of your journey through life, confronted with your demise. It is amazing what qualifies as "good news". Another brain surgery. Let's do that.
Bring on the nurses, the drugs and the surgeons
Dr. Tran handled the excision of the contaminated flesh and bone, contiguous to the wound site. He removed a portion of bone, about four inches square. Dr. Harrington, my plastic surgeon, was left to "mop up". That might have been the more difficult task. There was now no bone over a portion of my brain, and most of the surrounding skin, was not loose enough to pull over the wound. He did the best he could. But the outcome definitely was not pretty.
Coming around, wondering how successful the operation
Some skin from my thigh was used in the graft, but there was no way to properly bring all the portions of repaired skin, back together. My head looked like a global relief map. The operation had taken a considerable amount of time, and without more available time and resources, this was it. I was going to continue on with my life, but poor Kath was left with a mildly(?) grotesque husband. Thank God she never married me for my looks.
Front bandage roll covers skin graft
Bandage on donor site - upper thigh
After two weeks, bandages come off, to the big reveal
I call this "the Smiling Thigh"
So, the problems of putting Humpty Dumpty together again were readily apparent. No one, including Dr. Harrington, was at all comfortable with the outcome. I was placed in a self-imposed exile, for good reasons. Gawkers and infection were not welcome. I was pleased to be alive, but had not come to grips with my condition. Time, I was hopeful, would provide improvement. But I was not at all sure of that.
Rob could not go to sushi, so the Hannas brought the sushi to Rob
I ventured out, albeit unwillingly. Kath wanted us to continue our life, and we needed to overcome my vanity, if that was to happen. She pushed and cajoled. And won. A life of entrapment was not healthy. I wore hats. And I eventually conceded my poor head to an unexacting public. Little by little. We carried on. Thanks to the love of my Child Bride.
Six months later, Christmas, and the finished product
So much has happened since then. Lots of improvements. But this should give some substance to our lives, during that brief sliver of time.
Hope all is well with you. If not, shake it off. Rub some dirt on it. And carry on. There is much to live for, and people who need and love you.
The head gets banged around again next week. Tune in. I am still here to tell the tale.
As always, your comments are welcome and appreciated.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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