Any port in a storm

You people are nuts with the serial poem, in the last entry's comments. That Anon really added some good stuff.

Dana and Mike are out at an 8-mile training session with the TNT gang. Half-marathon is coming soon, October 19th. Dana and I came back to SLO yesterday afternoon; I had an 8 am appointment on Friday to have a central catheter put in, a pretty short procedure once they get you in the room. I slept through it after the initial lidocaine shot; they had given me an Atavan, and without coffee, I just went to sleep.














It was one of those procedures where you have an 8am appointment, but no food or liquids after midnight. You get there and are brought in at 8:45 into a prep room, and then into the procedure room around 10:00, and then to post-op around 10:45, and you wait around for an hour, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches, and you're out at noon. In my early days as a(n) (im)patient, I would get all antsy and annoyed.

I've learned. You can spot the rookie patients, they have nothing to keep them busy. Some pre-ops have TVs, some don't. This one didn't. I have to admit I looked like a rookie, as I watched my book and glasses walk away with Dana when they wouldn't let her come into pre-op with me. I showed I was a pro by taking a pre-op nap.

Lisa and Manuel in Montana de Oro

Lisa and Manuel came back from a nice trip to Yosemite on Thursday, slightly worn out from hiking and imagining what waterfalls must look like with water. They are visiting San Francisco today and/or tomorrow and generally touring the Bay area, and next Mon-Wed. they will visit the Napa area, sample the wine and food and stay at the Napa River Inn on the Napa River. They may have fish for lunch, and then siesta, so they could be post-snapper Napa River nappers. I couldn't resist.

Zero day approaches, and it is getting tougher to make light of my situation. We met with my BMT doc, who basically said because Lisa and I are both healthy with no secret freaky virus markers, this will be a piece of cake. The only bad news was I may get Lisa's allergies and still have my old ones. I was hoping to get rid of the aspirin allergy I have. So I am still mentally prepping myself for the brawl for it all, the fight to stay upright, knuckles without chuckles, all breath no death, the Boo-qwilla Thrilla!

They have tested me in just about every way, with only a PET scan remaining to be done Monday. Last Monday they measured me for the total body irradiation, and it was not what I expected. They do not lock me down to a table - I stand with my toes on the line and holding some handlebars, and they zap me. They measured all these thicknesses so they can make radiation blocks. Those block radiation in places so the amount of radiation is approximately equal all over. All the jokes popping into my head about density don't seem that funny.

Did I mention that they have to give special irradiation attention to the testicles, henceforth referred to as los huevos? I had a shred of modesty left, but it is gone now. As part of measurement day, I had to lie on the table, bottomless, with my legs splayed like a frogs', while all the nurses, doctors and students they could fit in the (big) room measured los huevos with calipers, rulers, scales, lasers, and muffin pans. They did volumetrics, measured hot and cold variances, did a sum of the squares and radial progressions (for deviance), and then created a model of how los huevos would look after irradiation.

This picture shows the huevos model partying with some of the docs. Note the hair loss, and the doc trying to run from los huevos.

And this picture shows how I should look after TBI (and some plastic surgery):

Note how skinny my left arm is from the PICC line, and the cramping in my right hand.

Speaking of PICC lines, Dana and I just changed the dressing on my new central venous catheter, for the first time. I am supposed to be able to do this myself, so to get an idea of this, you try this: If you wear glasses, take them off, and if you don't, put some on. Because when I try to look at my chest above the nipple, it falls under the edge of my glasses. Donald, just take off your eyepatch. Now, write your name on your chest so you can read it in a mirror. Pretty spastic, and I kept sullying my sterile area and had to rewash.

This was going to be a serious post describing how the pending battle is affecting us all; maybe tomorrow or Monday. In this Yellowstone pic, Donald caught me turning the white poppies into red poppies with Daunorubicin pee. Note the background where I peed the night before.