To be more accurate, though, we are flying into Barcelona and then driving to the reunion in Die, France, with a short layover in Carcassonne, France. After the reunion, we are driving to Paris, with a layover in Lyon. Then we fly to Ireland, where we spend several days at Michele’s family retreat in Baltimore, Ireland.
No one said it would be easy, but somehow, that’s what I heard. A refrigerator magnet that Michele has on our refrigerator, not for my latest surgery, but certainly applicable.
In the meantime, I am recovering from my bladder surgery. Not recovering very gracefully, I should add, now that I found out that I have to do the surgery all over again. The doctor thinks that he got all the cancer, but will have to return to inside my poor bladder to dig through the ruins to be sure he got everything.
Meanwhile, Israel Pearl Harbored Iran, and Russia continues with its efforts to eliminate Ukraine. It makes worrying about an uncomfortable surgical procedure seem pretty.
Nursing is one of the fine arts: I had almost said ‘the finest of fine arts. – Florence Nightingale
I’m back from my procedure at Sequoia Hospital, uncomfortable but otherwise fine. The doctor said everything went well. The cancer tumor was small, and he thinks he got it all. Hopefully, we will get word by Friday that I am cancer-free.
Whoopsie Daisy!
Last night, my – I’m not sure what to call it, I’ll say drainline* – drainline clogged up with blood clots, and we ended up in the Sequoia emergency room at about two…it was not fun. But we got back home a little after three, slept to about noon today, it is a beautiful, clear day, and I feel much better (despite the Trump Administration running amok in LA). Poor Michele is taking the brunt of this.
The visit to ER was shocking for two reasons. One, it took much less time and hassle than we expected, and two, it is – apparently – much more common than I would have thought. The nurse said that he was just going to replace the drainline because it was much easier and faster than trying to muck around and replacing catheters was the favorite part of his job.
*Michele says that it is a catheter (I knew that). Michele, who is much less sanguine than me, also says: “When we left the hospital the catheter tube had big blood clots in it and the nurse said that it was ok, ‘tap the tube, and they come loose’. Well, that worked for awhile. Before I started getting ready for bed, while Steve wanted to stay up a bit longer, I suggested I help him empty the catheter bag, and started thinking it was weird it wasn’t filling up. Got him to drink more water. That eventually caused him to pee more, but, oops, it wasn’t flowing down the tube, it was squirting out of a port on the tube. After I crimped that off then he started peeing around the tube. I did what I could to tape a bunch of gauze on him to catch the leakage and by the time did all that and cleaned up the mess and covered the seat of our new car with towels and plastic, we headed to the ER got to there at around 1:30. Steve had me call ahead so they were prepared and it was lightening fast, but still, it was 3 am by the time we got back home. Then I couldn’t really fall asleep until about 6 because, by then, the catheter was filling up quickly and I was worried (unnecessarily it turns out) it would overflow. Now I need to run to the pharmacy to pick up the pain pills they should have prescribed in the first place.”
I thought about the possibility of death, but that wasn’t what bothered me the most. It was the feeling of helplessness. I just couldn’t see myself lying in bed, not being able to help myself. That, to me, was worse than the fear of death. John Wayne after beating “The big C”.
I found out at the end of last week that I have cancer of the bladder. More accurately, I most likely have cancer. The conversation went something like this: Dr. Sean Berquist, “You have a tumor in your bladder, and it might be cancerous. Well, it most likely is cancer. Actually, for a person of your age with a history of smoking, I’ve never seen it not be cancer.” Steve, “Is there a chance it could be benign?” Dr. Sean Berquist, “If you were eight years old, I would say ‘Yes’, but not at your age.”
The good news, the great! news is that the tumor is pretty small and can most likely be removed by fishing a cystoscope up my dick into my bladder and, according to Dr. Berquist, “scooping out the tumor and treating the inside of the bladder with a chemotherapy solution”. It is a simple procedure and almost always successful. The operation is late next Wednesday afternoon.
I know I have had a lot of medical problems, but counterintuitively, between medical emergencies, I feel fine. As far as the bladder cancer goes, I’m very optimistic and pretty upbeat about this whole thing. Still, I feel like this post is too short and too blunt. On the other hand, I don’t want to pad it, so I’ll just leave it at that.
Wow, having my hand in a cast – even a u-shaped pseudo-cast? – was more constricting than I expected. And so was the cold weather. But yesterday, I went to my hand doctor, who said my bone was healing faster than expected and removed the cast. When I was young, I used to be a fast healer, but it has been a long time since anybody told me that. It feels liberating.
Next week, I’m going to the eye surgeon for the cataract – s? – removed from my left eye and replaced with a silicon lens. Life is already looking better; at the end of next week, it should be looking better and brighter.
To keep a short story short, yesterday, I slipped on our stairs while taking out the garbage. Sequoia Hospital’s Emergency Department Patient Discharge papers say that I have minor hand and elbow injuries, including a broken metacarpal. I had the garbage bag strap wrapped around my hand, and it tried to remove the skin from the back of my hand. The stairs did a pretty good job of removing skin from my elbow.
When I got to the hospital, the hospital x-rayed my hand and elbow, cleaned up the blood – on my hand and elbow only, Michele got the blood out of my jeans and sweater – glued the skin flap back down, put a splint on me, patted me on the popo, and sent me home.
Tomorrow, I am going to the hand specialist, and I expect to have an interesting scar.
Michele provided the documentation and reminded me five times to warn you, dear reader, not to scroll down if gore makes you uncomfortable.
