Reflections
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Don't Let Us Be Sick: Pat Guadagno (a Warren Zevon song)
Wednesday. This week is all about waiting. I am waiting to see my surgeon on Monday. I am waiting for a package from Fedex, and not with my golfing friends , The Relics. I like being with them, for our regular twice a week outing. It is certainly not serious golf. Some cannot see their ball after they hit it. Some don't hit it very far. Some cannot hear anything short of canon fire, and some share stories and jokes, which they find amusing or interesting. They are often the same as were told a week earlier.
Many play through pain, knowing that if they quit playing our game, the end of life will come much faster. I am somewhere in the middle of all this madness. Confident that I am healthy and lucid. My eyesight is still good and my hearing is passable, but secretly concerned that I, too, might have unknowingly, succumbed to the perils of aging.
But I like these men. They have histories that, over time, and with some gentle prodding, seep out over our sporadic time together. Others are often impatient on the golf course, wanting to play faster and not be held from whatever they have planned at home. I don't really know what could be better than being with your friends, doing anything.
I use the wait time to ask about their lives, now, and especially when they were younger. Their stories are varied and amazing. They have led lives and accomplished feats that are simply remarkable. Many are veterans of war. Some of their remembrances they share. Mostly humorous and light. Others, in their telling, are stilted and hesitant, often with long pauses and deep thought, and some amount of head shaking. I am sure they are, themselves, astounded at their own past, and perhaps saddened at what they were asked to do. They want to talk. They love that someone cares and listens.
Some are bright, well educated and articulate. Principals, teachers and businessmen. Some follow politics. Others are sports fans. We often prod one another about "our teams". Everyone wants a chance to gloat. Golf carts bear team decals.
Some were tradesmen in their day, and these days, those are the mind and hands that are the most needed. Things always need fixing, as they get older, and these men hold the talent to look after today's problems. Leaks, creaks, and replacement of parts. Those, they can fix. Sadly, only in our houses, not those same problems that the aged face every day.
Old stories come from everywhere. Memories that have been locked away, for whatever reasons, bubble to the surface. Out of their shadows and into my heart. The laughter is good. The sadness is meaningful. The telling makes two people better. Golf helps us avoid loneliness.
And this is my golf.
Two buds who will not quit.
Friday, and I have taken The Teacher to school. I then returned home to shave and shower for a 1pm appointment with my lymphoma oncologist, at Moffitt, in Tampa. On the way there, I got caught up in traffic, caused by local road improvements, and then, for some reason, very slow flow all the way from our house to Tampa. I had intended to make a quick stop at Costco to buy their Kirkland brand of Crown Royal. They had been out of stock the last time I tried to buy some.
Because the clock was ticking and I was having doubts about making my meeting on time, after I made this little side trip, I decided to head straight to Moffitt. I was to have a blood draw at 1 and then see the doc at 2. My intention was to get there early, in hopes that the blood test results would be to the doctor early, and I would not be held up. I was to pick Kath up around 5, and after all, the normal trip could be done in just over an hour. But this was Friday. And more cars would be on the road.
Because of my change in plans, I was there for my blood draw around noon. Now I had time on my hands. I then checked in to the hematology unit. More than a little early. I had not lunched, so I stopped at the snack bar for a coffee and a muffin. But there were no muffins left, so two peanut butter cookies filled in. I was done and it was not yet 1. I went to the waiting room and my buzzer sounded, announcing that I was to go to door A and have my vitals done.
The nurse commented that I was very early, and I acknowledged that, and made a lame excuse, trying not to be viewed as an eccentric wacko, old person. I was beginning to suspect that I might be just that. Sometimes I worry about myself. (Please don't nod your head in agreement.)
Dr. Isenalumhe is beautiful. She is the most caring and engaging doctor you could ever meet. She came into the dressing (or, more accurately, undressing) room and gave me a big hug. You know how I love hugs. She showed me pictures of her new baby. She knows that I love babies. Lots of small talk, and then down to business.
She checked to ensure that my lymph nodes had not displayed abnormal growth, and listened to my lungs, as they have had a tendency to collect liquid. I had passing grades. My blood work was good, she said. However, the lymphocytes ( I believed that is what she said) had moderately increased, and she suggested that I return to see her in three months, and not on the six, that we had earlier agreed. If I noticed anything unusual, she asked that I call her immediately. She had no idea that my entire life is unusual. Normal health is not my strong suit. We hugged again, and I was feeling pretty good about myself as I checked out and headed to the valet parking desk. It was about 3 o'clock.
I entered into rush hour traffic to run my errand, and then on to pick up my friend. The traffic was horrific.
Saturday was too cold to play golf. We cancelled our tee time and settled in for the day. Kathy woke with hives, and was upset that she was feeling some considerable joint pain. I gave her the third dose of Humira. Again, no problem with the injection site. She will see her doctor on Tuesday, her birthday, and we will see what he says. Kath also tutors a little girl after school that day, so it is not shaping up to be a celebratory kind of day. Oh well, that is what she gets for growing older.
This, being Monday, was my appointment day with my surgeon, Dr. Harrington. He is a good surgeon and a friend, but I was not looking forward to this meeting. We reviewed the biopsy results, and mutually, have agreed on our course of action. The target site is significant in size, and will require at least one excision. As we are unsure of the depth and breadth of the melanoma, the first attack may not be the last. Only after the excised flesh is biopsied, will we know that the margins are clear.
We discussed several options, and I selected the the one I thought preferential. We will operate under local anesthetic, which will get me up and out of the operating room, much faster and less groggy. We will replace the excavated area with a newer product called Integra, much the same as we did on my scalp. The healing time will be much longer, but it will save me from another skin graft. Trust me when I tell you that a graft is very painful and extremely messy. Especially the donor site. The entire ordeal will have to be done again, on a much larger scale, if we don't achieve clean margins.
If we have good results, the first time around, hallelujah. If not, we will be forced into that other operation, only it will have to be a skin graft and will need to be done under full anesthesia. We can only hope that the first time will be a charm. We will get an exact time and date from the schedulers, sometime in the next few weeks.
So, our near term does not look to be shiny. We will keep you apprised.
I was thinking, the other day, that entering this world is a difficult event. Too often, it is just as traumatic to leave. We have little to no control over either. Our time in between, however, most certainly is ours to manage.
I know that I am not the only person with some amount of troubles. It is not just the beginning of life and the end of life, that gives us strife. Many times, throughout our lives, we must face our demons. And in those times, we must show strength. We must be resilient. When we get knocked down, we must get up. At least we need to try. Others count on you.
And to that point, some reflection, daily, should be dedicated to being thankful. Even if we are shrouded in shadow of sickness and despair, most of us fare so much better than so many others on this planet. We have family, friends, food and a roof over our heads. Most of us have love in our lives. Be grateful.
We were not happy leaving that warm, wonderful womb when we were born and we have not much control in our exit. Live your lives well. Do not waste that most wonderful time in-between.
Thank you so much for being in our lives. Listen to a friend. Share your love.
Love from frigid Florida, where global warming is a myth.
Comments are welcome.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
On The Stereo: Don't Let Us Be Sick: Pat Guadagno (a Warren Zevon song)
Wednesday. This week is all about waiting. I am waiting to see my surgeon on Monday. I am waiting for a package from Fedex, and not with my golfing friends , The Relics. I like being with them, for our regular twice a week outing. It is certainly not serious golf. Some cannot see their ball after they hit it. Some don't hit it very far. Some cannot hear anything short of canon fire, and some share stories and jokes, which they find amusing or interesting. They are often the same as were told a week earlier.
Many play through pain, knowing that if they quit playing our game, the end of life will come much faster. I am somewhere in the middle of all this madness. Confident that I am healthy and lucid. My eyesight is still good and my hearing is passable, but secretly concerned that I, too, might have unknowingly, succumbed to the perils of aging.
But I like these men. They have histories that, over time, and with some gentle prodding, seep out over our sporadic time together. Others are often impatient on the golf course, wanting to play faster and not be held from whatever they have planned at home. I don't really know what could be better than being with your friends, doing anything.
I use the wait time to ask about their lives, now, and especially when they were younger. Their stories are varied and amazing. They have led lives and accomplished feats that are simply remarkable. Many are veterans of war. Some of their remembrances they share. Mostly humorous and light. Others, in their telling, are stilted and hesitant, often with long pauses and deep thought, and some amount of head shaking. I am sure they are, themselves, astounded at their own past, and perhaps saddened at what they were asked to do. They want to talk. They love that someone cares and listens.
Some are bright, well educated and articulate. Principals, teachers and businessmen. Some follow politics. Others are sports fans. We often prod one another about "our teams". Everyone wants a chance to gloat. Golf carts bear team decals.
Some were tradesmen in their day, and these days, those are the mind and hands that are the most needed. Things always need fixing, as they get older, and these men hold the talent to look after today's problems. Leaks, creaks, and replacement of parts. Those, they can fix. Sadly, only in our houses, not those same problems that the aged face every day.
Old stories come from everywhere. Memories that have been locked away, for whatever reasons, bubble to the surface. Out of their shadows and into my heart. The laughter is good. The sadness is meaningful. The telling makes two people better. Golf helps us avoid loneliness.
And this is my golf.
Two buds who will not quit.
Friday, and I have taken The Teacher to school. I then returned home to shave and shower for a 1pm appointment with my lymphoma oncologist, at Moffitt, in Tampa. On the way there, I got caught up in traffic, caused by local road improvements, and then, for some reason, very slow flow all the way from our house to Tampa. I had intended to make a quick stop at Costco to buy their Kirkland brand of Crown Royal. They had been out of stock the last time I tried to buy some.
Because the clock was ticking and I was having doubts about making my meeting on time, after I made this little side trip, I decided to head straight to Moffitt. I was to have a blood draw at 1 and then see the doc at 2. My intention was to get there early, in hopes that the blood test results would be to the doctor early, and I would not be held up. I was to pick Kath up around 5, and after all, the normal trip could be done in just over an hour. But this was Friday. And more cars would be on the road.
Because of my change in plans, I was there for my blood draw around noon. Now I had time on my hands. I then checked in to the hematology unit. More than a little early. I had not lunched, so I stopped at the snack bar for a coffee and a muffin. But there were no muffins left, so two peanut butter cookies filled in. I was done and it was not yet 1. I went to the waiting room and my buzzer sounded, announcing that I was to go to door A and have my vitals done.
The nurse commented that I was very early, and I acknowledged that, and made a lame excuse, trying not to be viewed as an eccentric wacko, old person. I was beginning to suspect that I might be just that. Sometimes I worry about myself. (Please don't nod your head in agreement.)
Dr. Isenalumhe is beautiful. She is the most caring and engaging doctor you could ever meet. She came into the dressing (or, more accurately, undressing) room and gave me a big hug. You know how I love hugs. She showed me pictures of her new baby. She knows that I love babies. Lots of small talk, and then down to business.
She checked to ensure that my lymph nodes had not displayed abnormal growth, and listened to my lungs, as they have had a tendency to collect liquid. I had passing grades. My blood work was good, she said. However, the lymphocytes ( I believed that is what she said) had moderately increased, and she suggested that I return to see her in three months, and not on the six, that we had earlier agreed. If I noticed anything unusual, she asked that I call her immediately. She had no idea that my entire life is unusual. Normal health is not my strong suit. We hugged again, and I was feeling pretty good about myself as I checked out and headed to the valet parking desk. It was about 3 o'clock.
I entered into rush hour traffic to run my errand, and then on to pick up my friend. The traffic was horrific.
Saturday was too cold to play golf. We cancelled our tee time and settled in for the day. Kathy woke with hives, and was upset that she was feeling some considerable joint pain. I gave her the third dose of Humira. Again, no problem with the injection site. She will see her doctor on Tuesday, her birthday, and we will see what he says. Kath also tutors a little girl after school that day, so it is not shaping up to be a celebratory kind of day. Oh well, that is what she gets for growing older.
This, being Monday, was my appointment day with my surgeon, Dr. Harrington. He is a good surgeon and a friend, but I was not looking forward to this meeting. We reviewed the biopsy results, and mutually, have agreed on our course of action. The target site is significant in size, and will require at least one excision. As we are unsure of the depth and breadth of the melanoma, the first attack may not be the last. Only after the excised flesh is biopsied, will we know that the margins are clear.
We discussed several options, and I selected the the one I thought preferential. We will operate under local anesthetic, which will get me up and out of the operating room, much faster and less groggy. We will replace the excavated area with a newer product called Integra, much the same as we did on my scalp. The healing time will be much longer, but it will save me from another skin graft. Trust me when I tell you that a graft is very painful and extremely messy. Especially the donor site. The entire ordeal will have to be done again, on a much larger scale, if we don't achieve clean margins.
If we have good results, the first time around, hallelujah. If not, we will be forced into that other operation, only it will have to be a skin graft and will need to be done under full anesthesia. We can only hope that the first time will be a charm. We will get an exact time and date from the schedulers, sometime in the next few weeks.
So, our near term does not look to be shiny. We will keep you apprised.
I was thinking, the other day, that entering this world is a difficult event. Too often, it is just as traumatic to leave. We have little to no control over either. Our time in between, however, most certainly is ours to manage.
I know that I am not the only person with some amount of troubles. It is not just the beginning of life and the end of life, that gives us strife. Many times, throughout our lives, we must face our demons. And in those times, we must show strength. We must be resilient. When we get knocked down, we must get up. At least we need to try. Others count on you.
And to that point, some reflection, daily, should be dedicated to being thankful. Even if we are shrouded in shadow of sickness and despair, most of us fare so much better than so many others on this planet. We have family, friends, food and a roof over our heads. Most of us have love in our lives. Be grateful.
We were not happy leaving that warm, wonderful womb when we were born and we have not much control in our exit. Live your lives well. Do not waste that most wonderful time in-between.
Thank you so much for being in our lives. Listen to a friend. Share your love.
Love from frigid Florida, where global warming is a myth.
Comments are welcome.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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