Well here we are again. A smaller room this time but back to the hospital it is. Allow me just a moment to say: Damn! And things had been going so well.
Here’s the timeline:
January 27, 2013 — Discovered brain tumor.
January 31, 2013 — Surgery to remove bulk of tumor.
February 1, 2013 — Tumor whisked away to a pathologist’s office.
February 11, 2013 — Pathologist’s report not good. Grade III Anaplastic Astrocytoma (brain cancer).
In the following days all that medical jargon began sinking in. The message was loud and clear: shelf life diminished. Since then, we’ve had some awesome days. Bought an R.V. and have had lots of great beach nights with bonfires, music and the loves of my life. I also endured chemotherapy and radiation.
Here’s how we got to where we are today and this smaller hospital room: I just finished my first round of treatments last week. I was told to expect to feel crappy for a week or so after radiation. But what I was feeling brought crappiness to a whole new level. Couldn’t get out of bed, my supply of smart ass comebacks was running low and the right side of my body was getting noticeably worse in terms of numbness from head to toe. So last night, Susie and I showed up at the hospital again with our best Oliver Twist voices—“Can I have some more sir?”
I only expected to have an MRI and a return trip home. Instead, back upstairs and news that I’d be cut open again. The neurosurgeon tells us that some sort of fluid has replaced the tumor and needs to be removed and analyzed. So now they’re going in a second time to remove the latest intruder. The good news is that it will be quick—-and I’ll still be smarter than you (that’s for Kathleen Bade and Hal Clement).
So, this is going to go well and should only delay the start of our first big road trip by a couple of days. I’m looking forward to sharing some of my road stories on Fox 5 San Diego and I hope you’ll watch.
By the way, in an earlier post I mentioned my bad-ass Bond villain scar. Apparently, someone told the surgeon that I’m extremely vain. So, what I got instead was an artful and nearly invisible scar (even on a bald man). But in all seriousness, I have learned that so many of you are suffering with stuff I can’t even imagine. Illness. Loss of a child. Wondering how you’re going to take care of your family. And I’m beginning to understand that my list of troubles is small by comparison—but I’m with you. I write as therapy and I hope you too will find some small thing that will see you through the roughest times as well.
Thanks for being here during my rough times.