My surgeon for tomorrow is a bit of a cowboy, pretty much like every cardiothoracic surgeon I've ever met before, though this is the first time I've met one as a patient, not as an employee. I think they take on this self-assured swagger because there truly is something God-like about opening up someone's chest and holding their heart or lungs in their hands, organs so central to life.
I've had surgeries before, but never one quite like this one. Gallbladder removed? Pfft, piece of cake. Twins delivered by C-section, no problem...especially with that little handheld pump that allowed me to give myself pain medication whenever I wanted. Even with my hysterectomy, I was underwhelmed with the recovery process.
But, this...this seems like the big time. Once the surgeon makes about an eight-inch incision on my side, he proceeds to cut around or through muscles and nerves and spread my ribs apart until he can see my right lower lobe of my lungs. Then, the magic begins. The right side of my lung is deflated, so that during the surgery I'm breathing only through my left lung.
Then the surgeon puts his hands inside my chest and feels my deflated lung. He says this is the best way to find abnormalities, through touch, not sight. Here I've had PET scans and MRIs and robotic surgeries...but with all that technology, the most effective way to diagnose my lung is by feeling his way around. The laying on of hands.
It's an amazing thing, this process. I'm both awed and terrified by it in equal measure.
My surgeon's name is Dr. John Moore. No relation, though he has taken to calling me Cousin Elizabeth. He's done a bajillion thoracotomies. My lungs couldn't be in better hands...literally. I've read up on thoracotomies and know that control of post operative pain is a big issue. At my last appointment I asked him what his philosophy was for pain management. His response? "I don't want you to have any." Good answer.
I'm the first case tomorrow, which means Paul and I must be at Northside Hospital at 5:30 am. Surgery is due to start at 7:30. I'll spend my first night in the ICU and won't make it to a regular hospital room until sometime Friday. If all goes well, I'll be discharged on Monday.
I'll have Paul post a brief update tomorrow to let everyone know how everything's going.
Oh, one last little note...today is mine and Paul's 20th anniversary, the thoracotomy anniversary!
I'll see y'all on the other side.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
A 21st century life
I just finished reading a biography of a remarkable woman I'm embarrassed to admit I'd never heard of until recently, Martha Gellhorn. The book was written by the daughter of one of Gellhorn's close friends. It evolved mostly from Gelhorn's personal diaries and notes she took as a war correspondent for three wars: the Spanish Civil War, World War II, and the Vietnam War. Another major source were the letters between Gellhorn and friends and political and literary luminaries of her time. The title of the book is Martha Gellhorn: A Twentieth Century Life.
I wonder if that book would have been able to be written if she had lived a 21st century life. Would her notes have been recorded on her laptop? Her journal on her iPad? Would her correspondents have saved her emails, and she theirs?
I mean truly, how many emails do you save for posterity? And what is posterity in the digital age? Let's say Gellhorn wrote her 21st century notes in Microsoft Office 2010. Would the daughter of a friend be able to read that version forty years later when she got the notion to write that book? Would they be saved on some external hard drive gathering dust in some attic somewhere? Or worse, what if it was on a flash drive?
I remember 5-1/4 inch floppy drives from the 80's. All my college papers are on those somewhere. What are the chances that my grandchildren could one day find and read those files? (Yes, I flatter myself.)
I'm sure all the great libraries are finding ways to preserve the work of our notable 21st century writers...but their emails? Their e-cards? Their LinkedIn accounts? Facebook? Blogs? Twitter? Is Twitter forever?? And does The Library of Congress care about it?
When I started writing this blog, one of my expressed purposes was creating a legacy for my children, in light of a rather dire cancer diagnosis. But I don't have a clue how to preserve these electronic words for them. Am I going to print them and put them into some sort of archival binder? Is Blogger always going to be around?
And, then there's the art of handwriting. It's not taught in our American schools anymore. The teachers just let it evolve on its own because soon the kids will be composing everything on a laptop, copied to a flash drive. There's no more personality in the way you physically examine writing...just the choice of which annoying color and font-of-the-month to use.
And, then there's the relaxed time frame of traditional letter writing. You put a letter in a mailbox, and it takes a few days to arrive. Then the recipient may take a few days before she replies. It's not a system that easily allows for reactionary, heated exchange. You, by necessity, have time to consider your words and your state of mind.
Something's being lost here, people. And while I fully embrace the technical age...hell, I'm writing this entry on my iPad at thirty thousand feet...I'm worried about our collective human history that's tied to WiFi and battery life and a dependable Internet service provider...oh yeah, and electricity. All it used to take was a pen and some paper...or some colored clay and a reasonably flat cave wall.
So, make me feel better...go pull out some old stationery or even just white printer paper, if that's all you've got...and write a letter IN YOUR OWN HANDWRITING to someone. Put it in a real envelope...don't panic, they have some for sale at the post office if you don't have any laying around the house. Put a stamp on it (they sell those at the post office too)...and mail it, the old fashioned way.
One day, that letter may be a crucial part of your life story.
I wonder if that book would have been able to be written if she had lived a 21st century life. Would her notes have been recorded on her laptop? Her journal on her iPad? Would her correspondents have saved her emails, and she theirs?
I mean truly, how many emails do you save for posterity? And what is posterity in the digital age? Let's say Gellhorn wrote her 21st century notes in Microsoft Office 2010. Would the daughter of a friend be able to read that version forty years later when she got the notion to write that book? Would they be saved on some external hard drive gathering dust in some attic somewhere? Or worse, what if it was on a flash drive?
I remember 5-1/4 inch floppy drives from the 80's. All my college papers are on those somewhere. What are the chances that my grandchildren could one day find and read those files? (Yes, I flatter myself.)
I'm sure all the great libraries are finding ways to preserve the work of our notable 21st century writers...but their emails? Their e-cards? Their LinkedIn accounts? Facebook? Blogs? Twitter? Is Twitter forever?? And does The Library of Congress care about it?
When I started writing this blog, one of my expressed purposes was creating a legacy for my children, in light of a rather dire cancer diagnosis. But I don't have a clue how to preserve these electronic words for them. Am I going to print them and put them into some sort of archival binder? Is Blogger always going to be around?
And, then there's the art of handwriting. It's not taught in our American schools anymore. The teachers just let it evolve on its own because soon the kids will be composing everything on a laptop, copied to a flash drive. There's no more personality in the way you physically examine writing...just the choice of which annoying color and font-of-the-month to use.
And, then there's the relaxed time frame of traditional letter writing. You put a letter in a mailbox, and it takes a few days to arrive. Then the recipient may take a few days before she replies. It's not a system that easily allows for reactionary, heated exchange. You, by necessity, have time to consider your words and your state of mind.
Something's being lost here, people. And while I fully embrace the technical age...hell, I'm writing this entry on my iPad at thirty thousand feet...I'm worried about our collective human history that's tied to WiFi and battery life and a dependable Internet service provider...oh yeah, and electricity. All it used to take was a pen and some paper...or some colored clay and a reasonably flat cave wall.
So, make me feel better...go pull out some old stationery or even just white printer paper, if that's all you've got...and write a letter IN YOUR OWN HANDWRITING to someone. Put it in a real envelope...don't panic, they have some for sale at the post office if you don't have any laying around the house. Put a stamp on it (they sell those at the post office too)...and mail it, the old fashioned way.
One day, that letter may be a crucial part of your life story.
Monday, April 8, 2013
From reform school candidate to model citizen
At the beginning of last week, Boyce's home room teacher selected him as Student of the Month for his home room class. To be Student of the Month, a kid must exhibit good citizenship, a helpful nature, and a motivation for learning. This designation is for behavior shown last month...the same month the sixth grade assistant principal summarily assigned him a total of 5 1/2 hours of detention for basically shoving two kids.
On Wednesday of last week, Boyce got to have breakfast with the principal (not the assistant principal), along with the month's other recipients.
Oh, the irony.
On Wednesday of last week, Boyce got to have breakfast with the principal (not the assistant principal), along with the month's other recipients.
Oh, the irony.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
I hope you understand. I just had to get back to the island.
At this very moment, I'm sipping on a piña colada on our rental villa terrace. From my vantage point, I'm watching Paul teach Allen and Boyce how to snorkel in the swimming pool that overlooks the Atlantic Ocean from the north side of Vieques, an island just a 30-minute puddle jumper plane ride southeast of the main island of Puerto Rico.
Paul and I spent a marvelous week here last year, thinking often how much we'd like to bring the boys down here with us. Well, it's spring break. I'm feeling much, much more myself, now almost seven weeks out from my last chemo session. We had four plane tickets that were about to expire from an aborted trip last summer because of my surgery. And I found a last minute deal on a villa right on the ocean. What else could we do?
Paul and I are not Caribbean resort-y kind of people, and that's what we love about Vieques. There is one small resort on the island that's quite easy to overlook. The rest of the island is frozen in time. Pristine, completely undeveloped beaches on the south side of the island, most of them part of a national wildlife refuge...so, they're always going to stay that way. A smattering of small grocery stores that may or may not have the supplies you're looking for, but somehow you make do. A handful of really amazingly good restaurants, filled in with little mom and pop cafes and food trucks with simple delicious Caribbean fare like pork carnitas and empanadas.
So, here we are on our first family vacation in over a year. And, I must say, I've earned this one. We've earned this one.
Next week, on April 18th, I'm scheduled for a thoracotomy, an eight-inch incision or so surgery on the right side of my torso to access the right lower lobe of my lungs, where the remaining remnant of a nodule resides. I'll be in the hospital for at least five days, the first night of which will be in the ICU. I'll likely be on narcotic pain medication for eight weeks after the surgery, due to surgical incisions through major muscles and nerves. This is a big deal, but it's my best chance to cure that lobe of any malignant disease.
Then, about two weeks after the surgery, I will do at least another three sessions of chemo.
Like I said, we've earned this vacation. And we are grateful for every moment.
Other good news...my mom came home from the hospital Friday and is doing well. Thanks to all of you for your kind thoughts and prayers for her recovery.
Paul and I spent a marvelous week here last year, thinking often how much we'd like to bring the boys down here with us. Well, it's spring break. I'm feeling much, much more myself, now almost seven weeks out from my last chemo session. We had four plane tickets that were about to expire from an aborted trip last summer because of my surgery. And I found a last minute deal on a villa right on the ocean. What else could we do?
Paul and I are not Caribbean resort-y kind of people, and that's what we love about Vieques. There is one small resort on the island that's quite easy to overlook. The rest of the island is frozen in time. Pristine, completely undeveloped beaches on the south side of the island, most of them part of a national wildlife refuge...so, they're always going to stay that way. A smattering of small grocery stores that may or may not have the supplies you're looking for, but somehow you make do. A handful of really amazingly good restaurants, filled in with little mom and pop cafes and food trucks with simple delicious Caribbean fare like pork carnitas and empanadas.
So, here we are on our first family vacation in over a year. And, I must say, I've earned this one. We've earned this one.
Next week, on April 18th, I'm scheduled for a thoracotomy, an eight-inch incision or so surgery on the right side of my torso to access the right lower lobe of my lungs, where the remaining remnant of a nodule resides. I'll be in the hospital for at least five days, the first night of which will be in the ICU. I'll likely be on narcotic pain medication for eight weeks after the surgery, due to surgical incisions through major muscles and nerves. This is a big deal, but it's my best chance to cure that lobe of any malignant disease.
Then, about two weeks after the surgery, I will do at least another three sessions of chemo.
Like I said, we've earned this vacation. And we are grateful for every moment.
Other good news...my mom came home from the hospital Friday and is doing well. Thanks to all of you for your kind thoughts and prayers for her recovery.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Being in the present
Just a little update. My thoracic surgeon presented my case as a surgical candidate to the hospital's tumor conference yesterday. I'll find out the results of that, as well as my pulmonary function studies and head MRI on Friday, when I have an appointment to see him again.
If all goes as I think it will, I'll be having a thoracotomy to explore the right lower lobe of my lungs sometime in the next few weeks. Then, I'll start another (probably shorter) round of chemo a few weeks after that. The really cool thing is, they'll test any residual cancer cells in my lungs to find out what formula of chemo will likely work the best. They previously did this with the initial core biopsy they took of the largest nodule back in October. However, results may have changed, as cancers can become resistant to previously successful chemo drugs, or chemo can simply change the cancer cells so that a new chemo cocktail is required. I think it's amazing that this sort of analysis at the molecular level is available to us cancer patients now.
In other news, my 81 year-old mother had to be admitted to the hospital yesterday for IV antibiotics for chest congestion. I think it's more preventative than anything...to make sure it doesn't become something serious like pneumonia. Healing thoughts sent her way are most appreciated.
I'll be in touch soon.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Hey, teacher, leave my kid alone!
(Actually, it's the sixth grade assistant principal who is the object of my ire, but I just couldn't pass up an opportunity to reference Pink Floyd.)
Over the course of one week, my son Boyce twice found himself sitting across his assistant principal's desk, having a disciplinary discussion about his behavior in school. My child, who has never been in trouble at school since he toddled into preschool at 19 months-old, definitely got caught this time on the wrong side of Gwinnett County's "No Tolerance" policy.
His first offense? Shoving a kid with his trumpet case so he could make his way to his seat in band. When asked why he did it, he said he was just having a bad day. For this he received an hour and a half of after school detention.
Fast forward a few days. Boyce arrives at the door of his science classroom only to find that the class's token disruptive kid has locked the door and is laughing maniacally at Boyce through the door's window. A good Samaritan kid, who'd managed to gain entry before the door locking inspiration, unlocked the door so that Boyce and the remaining half of the class were no longer barred from entry.
When Boyce entered the room, laughing kid gets right in his face and has a pretty good chuckle at Boyce's expense. Boyce's response? A swing of his padded binder at the kid...resulting in four hours of Saturday detention, and a second violation of part D of Major Rule #5 of the county's code of conduct. Other parts of Major Rule #5 outline offenses such as assault and battery of another student leading up to and including murder. I'm not exaggerating. Once again, Boyce reports to the assistant principal that he was having another bad day.
Interesting fact about both instances? Neither of them was witnessed by a teacher or other adult who could adequately put the actions into context. In both cases, the principal made her determinations based on the recollections of 11 and 12 year-old kids.
OK. I'm going to take a deep breath now before I go any further.
I do not deny that Boyce's behavior was unacceptable. I wouldn't even begin to excuse his behavior because of the craziness our family has been through for almost a year now as we've navigated through my cancer treatment. I wouldn't even suggest his infractions should have been overlooked because, at the time of his bad days, we were waiting for my PET scan results to find out if the 18 weeks of chemotherapy I just completed had extended my life.
But Mother Mary and the little baby Jesus, cut the kid some slack.
I accept some of the blame for the situation. Back in October, when we found out I had metastatic disease and needed to begin chemo right away, I contacted both Allen and Boyce's teachers to tell them what was going on with me. One particularly wonderful teacher of Boyce's immediately involved the guidance counselor so she was up-to-speed. It just never occurred to me to contact the administration. I assumed, obviously incorrectly, that any out of character behavior of my sons would come to the principal by way of a teacher.
The assistant principal knows now, but I'm not convinced it would have made any difference if she'd known before. "No Tolerance"...even if you're not sure if your mom's going to be alive in a year. I'm not convinced the system allows for any leeway.
This I do know. I'm very proud of my boys. They're both in gifted-level classes in all their major academic areas and nearly making all A's. Boyce hasn't missed a single day of school this year, and Allen's missed only one, when he got his braces. They've learned how to wash their own clothes and how to make a simple meal. They've gotten up and on the school bus by themselves when Paul and I have had to leave very early for chemotherapy. They've had to endure more stress and worry than any 12 year-old should.
Thanks for hearing me out. I'm going to meet with the assistant principal next week and submit a letter outlining our family's extenuating circumstances to be included in Boyce's file to provide some context. I needed to get all the snark and anger out before doing this.
Any educators out there who have any insight to share?
Over the course of one week, my son Boyce twice found himself sitting across his assistant principal's desk, having a disciplinary discussion about his behavior in school. My child, who has never been in trouble at school since he toddled into preschool at 19 months-old, definitely got caught this time on the wrong side of Gwinnett County's "No Tolerance" policy.
His first offense? Shoving a kid with his trumpet case so he could make his way to his seat in band. When asked why he did it, he said he was just having a bad day. For this he received an hour and a half of after school detention.
Fast forward a few days. Boyce arrives at the door of his science classroom only to find that the class's token disruptive kid has locked the door and is laughing maniacally at Boyce through the door's window. A good Samaritan kid, who'd managed to gain entry before the door locking inspiration, unlocked the door so that Boyce and the remaining half of the class were no longer barred from entry.
When Boyce entered the room, laughing kid gets right in his face and has a pretty good chuckle at Boyce's expense. Boyce's response? A swing of his padded binder at the kid...resulting in four hours of Saturday detention, and a second violation of part D of Major Rule #5 of the county's code of conduct. Other parts of Major Rule #5 outline offenses such as assault and battery of another student leading up to and including murder. I'm not exaggerating. Once again, Boyce reports to the assistant principal that he was having another bad day.
Interesting fact about both instances? Neither of them was witnessed by a teacher or other adult who could adequately put the actions into context. In both cases, the principal made her determinations based on the recollections of 11 and 12 year-old kids.
OK. I'm going to take a deep breath now before I go any further.
I do not deny that Boyce's behavior was unacceptable. I wouldn't even begin to excuse his behavior because of the craziness our family has been through for almost a year now as we've navigated through my cancer treatment. I wouldn't even suggest his infractions should have been overlooked because, at the time of his bad days, we were waiting for my PET scan results to find out if the 18 weeks of chemotherapy I just completed had extended my life.
But Mother Mary and the little baby Jesus, cut the kid some slack.
I accept some of the blame for the situation. Back in October, when we found out I had metastatic disease and needed to begin chemo right away, I contacted both Allen and Boyce's teachers to tell them what was going on with me. One particularly wonderful teacher of Boyce's immediately involved the guidance counselor so she was up-to-speed. It just never occurred to me to contact the administration. I assumed, obviously incorrectly, that any out of character behavior of my sons would come to the principal by way of a teacher.
The assistant principal knows now, but I'm not convinced it would have made any difference if she'd known before. "No Tolerance"...even if you're not sure if your mom's going to be alive in a year. I'm not convinced the system allows for any leeway.
This I do know. I'm very proud of my boys. They're both in gifted-level classes in all their major academic areas and nearly making all A's. Boyce hasn't missed a single day of school this year, and Allen's missed only one, when he got his braces. They've learned how to wash their own clothes and how to make a simple meal. They've gotten up and on the school bus by themselves when Paul and I have had to leave very early for chemotherapy. They've had to endure more stress and worry than any 12 year-old should.
Thanks for hearing me out. I'm going to meet with the assistant principal next week and submit a letter outlining our family's extenuating circumstances to be included in Boyce's file to provide some context. I needed to get all the snark and anger out before doing this.
Any educators out there who have any insight to share?
Monday, March 25, 2013
My bald badge of honor
It's an amazing sensation to be able to feel your scalp unencumbered by hair. Well, mostly. Not quite all of my hair fell out during chemo, but there was lots of open space that felt so incredibly smooth and soft. I couldn't keep my hands off my new head. All my eyelashes are gone now but a shadow of my eyebrows remain, just enough to help me draw them in easily.
Several days ago I was mindlessly rubbing the back of my head, and I suddenly realized I was feeling new fuzz. It's been five weeks tomorrow since my last session of chemo, so it's time to start to feel a little extra fuzz. I have to admit, I'm feeling a little wistful. It's been a rather carefree way to live, this baldness of mine. No shampoos and conditioners and styling gel and styling mousse and hair dryers and round brushes. No time spent wondering, will I wear it curly or straight today? Up or down?
So, to commemorate the beginning of the end of my alopecia (for now), I celebrate with a photo of me in my (mostly) hairless, makeup-less, steroid jowly and puffy glory.
Several days ago I was mindlessly rubbing the back of my head, and I suddenly realized I was feeling new fuzz. It's been five weeks tomorrow since my last session of chemo, so it's time to start to feel a little extra fuzz. I have to admit, I'm feeling a little wistful. It's been a rather carefree way to live, this baldness of mine. No shampoos and conditioners and styling gel and styling mousse and hair dryers and round brushes. No time spent wondering, will I wear it curly or straight today? Up or down?
So, to commemorate the beginning of the end of my alopecia (for now), I celebrate with a photo of me in my (mostly) hairless, makeup-less, steroid jowly and puffy glory.
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