Not sure if this is a new thing or a self revelation sprouting from my recent adventures (the more I use that terminology, the more exciting it becomes!). See if you can spot the pattern from just the last few days at work.
1) I was talking to my HR Director about employee evaluations I need to complete for my direct reports. In an e-mail, I asked her “what’s my drop dead date?”
2) we have a data system that is difficult to navigate. Yesterday, I finally almost built a custom report to pull out all the information I need, only to be derailed by, well, I’m not sure what. I expressed my frustration to my two social work interns, who were in my office at my moment of maximum consternation: “this is making my head hurt. Feels like my brain is going to explode.”
3) later the same day, I was talking to my Director of Finance about a monitoring report we just received. While there were some issues, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. My response: “that certainly could have been much more of a car wreck than it was.”
I’ve even caught myself telling someone “let me put on my fundraising hat”.
Several, equally plausible things going on here:
a) I am peppering my speech with oblique references to my adventures to make sure everyone keeps paying attention to me,
b) it’s probably that first one
By the way, what-the-hell is the origin of using “drop-dead date” in a business setting? Or any setting that’s not hospice? And by the way #2, if your hospice service uses it, fire them.
And by the way #3 - I actually now want a fundraising hat. It might very well be fabulous.
Thursday, May 30, 2019
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
There are SO many types of doctors
Before my May adventure (sounds so much better than seizure that revealed brain tumor, doesn't it?), I was in the midst of some dental work. Not just your normal, everyday dental work, either. Dental work that has required me to go from having a "Dentist" to having: 1) a dentist; 2) an endodontist; 3) an oral surgeon; and 4) a periodontist. I met my new periodontist yesterday, and we came to the conclusion that whatever the hell she was going to do should be postponed till I finish radiation. And then (and I swear this is true), she did an x-ray of the tooth she is going to eventually periodont. What's a little extra radiation at this point? But even with that, Dr. Robinson the periodontist has now become my favorite dental professional. She did nothing, agreed that everything could wait, and only charged me $75.
I used to have only a "Doctor." And actually, I haven't seen the actual "Doctor" at this practice, but have Sarah the Physician's Assistant. I like Sarah. She doesn't refer to herself as an "Extender." And since this is Austin, she is also a musician and gigs at night.
But now I have a long chain of medical professionals, connected like some childhood game you play on road trips where you have to use one of the previous words in your answer. From neurologist to neurosurgeon to neuro oncologist to radiation oncologist. And likely need to throw in radiation Extender. Though that can't possibly be her actual title.
So, Dr. Robinson gave me a starter dose of radiation. I go in Friday to get the process started to get the full treatment. Looking for the bright side, it occurred to me that radiation might have a literal bright side.
Jill likes to read in bed, and I generally fall asleep before her. I did buy her a book light, but it's possible I might glow a little bit, helping illuminate her book. Hey, the Extender didn't say it wouldn't happen. Jill pointed out I generally sleep on the side that will be irradiated, thereby minimizing any beneficial lighting.
But then we both remembered the Easy Bake Oven, that used a 200 watt bulb to cook brownies in, like, 6 hours. What if the radiation makes my head the "Easy Microwave Oven"? Perhaps I can strap a Lean Cuisine on my head before I go to sleep and it could be cooked by lunchtime the next day.
Yes, I know that is ridiculous. If I was going to try that, I'd go full-on Hungry Man Fried Chicken with tater tots, corn, and brownie. It all comes back to the brownie.
I used to have only a "Doctor." And actually, I haven't seen the actual "Doctor" at this practice, but have Sarah the Physician's Assistant. I like Sarah. She doesn't refer to herself as an "Extender." And since this is Austin, she is also a musician and gigs at night.
But now I have a long chain of medical professionals, connected like some childhood game you play on road trips where you have to use one of the previous words in your answer. From neurologist to neurosurgeon to neuro oncologist to radiation oncologist. And likely need to throw in radiation Extender. Though that can't possibly be her actual title.
So, Dr. Robinson gave me a starter dose of radiation. I go in Friday to get the process started to get the full treatment. Looking for the bright side, it occurred to me that radiation might have a literal bright side.
Jill likes to read in bed, and I generally fall asleep before her. I did buy her a book light, but it's possible I might glow a little bit, helping illuminate her book. Hey, the Extender didn't say it wouldn't happen. Jill pointed out I generally sleep on the side that will be irradiated, thereby minimizing any beneficial lighting.
But then we both remembered the Easy Bake Oven, that used a 200 watt bulb to cook brownies in, like, 6 hours. What if the radiation makes my head the "Easy Microwave Oven"? Perhaps I can strap a Lean Cuisine on my head before I go to sleep and it could be cooked by lunchtime the next day.
Yes, I know that is ridiculous. If I was going to try that, I'd go full-on Hungry Man Fried Chicken with tater tots, corn, and brownie. It all comes back to the brownie.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
What I Learned at the Radiologist
I didn’t think I’d learn a lot at the radiologist yesterday, but I learned these seven things:
1) while I understand that allied medical professionals help make care more efficient, the physician assistant who kept calling herself “the Extender” made me think of the stretchy dude from the Fantastic 4
2) the expected hair loss on one side of my head may be temporary or it may be permanent. That was news to me.
3) should it be a permanent condition, I learned that Jill is strongly against me growing Flock of Seagulls hair and combing it over. And she loved Flock of Seagulls.
4) I learned that when the Extender talked about 1% of people have uncommon side effects, which include many different things, from nausea to death, what I heard was that there is a 1% chance of death. And I’m a numbers guy.
5) immediately following that, I learned that Jill thinks I overreact.
Me: “so there is a 1% chance of death?”
Jill: “nobody dies from radiation”
Me: “ever heard of Chernobyl? Or Hiroshima?”
Jill: “dude, they are not dropping a bomb on you.”
Extender: “ it’s important that we disclose all possible side effects.”
Me: “did radiation cause your rubbery limbs?”
6) I learned that the “mask” they are making for me is less lighthearted Mardi Gras and more mideaval strapping-down device to ensure I don’t move and accidentally irradiate important brain parts.
7) I learned that the radiation oncologist will take a week or more to build a detailed plan on what to attack, millimeter by millimeter.
8) and I realized that, for whatever reason, when I started to think about them missing the tumor ribbons and accidentally zapping something important, the very first thing I thought of was the possibility that the radiation might accidentally take out my memories of Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Kill the Wabbit!
9) and finally, I realize that this is more than seven things.
1) while I understand that allied medical professionals help make care more efficient, the physician assistant who kept calling herself “the Extender” made me think of the stretchy dude from the Fantastic 4
2) the expected hair loss on one side of my head may be temporary or it may be permanent. That was news to me.
3) should it be a permanent condition, I learned that Jill is strongly against me growing Flock of Seagulls hair and combing it over. And she loved Flock of Seagulls.
4) I learned that when the Extender talked about 1% of people have uncommon side effects, which include many different things, from nausea to death, what I heard was that there is a 1% chance of death. And I’m a numbers guy.
5) immediately following that, I learned that Jill thinks I overreact.
Me: “so there is a 1% chance of death?”
Jill: “nobody dies from radiation”
Me: “ever heard of Chernobyl? Or Hiroshima?”
Jill: “dude, they are not dropping a bomb on you.”
Extender: “ it’s important that we disclose all possible side effects.”
Me: “did radiation cause your rubbery limbs?”
6) I learned that the “mask” they are making for me is less lighthearted Mardi Gras and more mideaval strapping-down device to ensure I don’t move and accidentally irradiate important brain parts.
7) I learned that the radiation oncologist will take a week or more to build a detailed plan on what to attack, millimeter by millimeter.
8) and I realized that, for whatever reason, when I started to think about them missing the tumor ribbons and accidentally zapping something important, the very first thing I thought of was the possibility that the radiation might accidentally take out my memories of Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Kill the Wabbit!
9) and finally, I realize that this is more than seven things.
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Adapting, at 53
Today marks my 21st day without driving. I both miss it and don't. I always wanted to live in a town that had sufficient public transportation that driving wasn't necessary, but Austin is not that town. I have been driving since I was 15 years old. That was stupid-young to drive. I was never an unsafe driver, but at 15 I had no concept of cars or how to keep them from catching fire on MoPac in rush hour traffic. Turns out the answer to that is "oil". I only had that Celica for a month before our relationship ended, literally in flames. My next car (a Toyota Starlet) lasted much longer, from 15 all the way through college. The Toyota Starlet was the prequel to the Tercel, but had a cooler name. It was a little hatchback with a surprising capacity. It was big enough to accommodate my frequent moves in college, but small enough that others didn't ask me to help them move. That was the little car that could. My friend Lisa had a Honda Civic (same general concept) that we used to take on ski trips. I think she drove that car for 300,000 miles, gave it to her brother, and I imagine it is still on the road somewhere, plugging along.
I do miss that Starlet. As well as the Red Celica with a stupid, hand-made rubber spoiler that followed. All cars since have been practical - sensible Mazda's, a Corolla, a Camry, and a handful of cars named either "Blue Vanny" or "Grey Vanny". Yes, I am waxing nostalgic on the cars of my life, now that I don't drive.
I can only think of one time in my life where I likely went three or more weeks without driving, and that was the six week trip to Europe with Kenneth in college. We traveled the continent through a combination of trains, ferries, hitch-hiking, and even a hovercraft.
I do find that I have absolutely no stress in traffic these days. I am definitely a mellow passenger. Jill takes me to work, and we listen to NPR. I am figuring out the commute home, through a combination of friends, children (my children), and Lyft. Abby picked me up yesterday (in my car) and explained the music rules - I can skip a song on the playlist, but we are listening to her playlist. I think she's still a little upset about the ever-changing presets. Not sure what's going on there.
Not being able to drive changes so many things. There is a coffee shop near my office. The other day, I wanted to get some coffee in the afternoon. It's much nearer by car. Certainly, the 1.8 mile round trip walk is good for me, but I'm not sure I'll want to make that walk in 100 degree June weather. I bring my lunch, or plan to pick up something at the taco truck next door. And I am having more lunch dates these days with family and friends.
I can't just run out to errands to get my dry cleaning, run by Walgreens, or buy groceries. This requires planning. Jill and I spend more amazing quality time together, commuting, shopping, and visiting a wide variety of doctors. She is the love of my life and I couldn't go through any of this without her.
I did find one limit to our new togetherness. I shop for our groceries. Jill certainly has say over what I buy, but in 22+ years of marriage, that has been more "please don't buy any more ___" or "it would be great if we had some vegetables." You know - constructive feedback aimed at future behavior change. I am a solo grocery shopper. I enjoy doing it, and don't understand the new trend of having others shop for you. So, I am not used to getting that feedback IRT (in real time). Like, "put that back, you keep buying too much milk" or "no, just no." I do realize that this is a minor complaint. And in case you are now worried that my wonderful wife will just stop taking me grocery shopping...honestly, who does that punish?
I'd like to think this has lowered my carbon footprint, but since the twins are keeping Mazda 5 in service, probably that's a net zero there. I'm helping the planet, but the Smith family, as a whole, is about where we were.
So I am adapting. And wearing hats. And about to start radiation. And doing a lot of reflection. Apparently about the cars that have been special in my life.
I do miss that Starlet. As well as the Red Celica with a stupid, hand-made rubber spoiler that followed. All cars since have been practical - sensible Mazda's, a Corolla, a Camry, and a handful of cars named either "Blue Vanny" or "Grey Vanny". Yes, I am waxing nostalgic on the cars of my life, now that I don't drive.
I can only think of one time in my life where I likely went three or more weeks without driving, and that was the six week trip to Europe with Kenneth in college. We traveled the continent through a combination of trains, ferries, hitch-hiking, and even a hovercraft.
I do find that I have absolutely no stress in traffic these days. I am definitely a mellow passenger. Jill takes me to work, and we listen to NPR. I am figuring out the commute home, through a combination of friends, children (my children), and Lyft. Abby picked me up yesterday (in my car) and explained the music rules - I can skip a song on the playlist, but we are listening to her playlist. I think she's still a little upset about the ever-changing presets. Not sure what's going on there.
Not being able to drive changes so many things. There is a coffee shop near my office. The other day, I wanted to get some coffee in the afternoon. It's much nearer by car. Certainly, the 1.8 mile round trip walk is good for me, but I'm not sure I'll want to make that walk in 100 degree June weather. I bring my lunch, or plan to pick up something at the taco truck next door. And I am having more lunch dates these days with family and friends.
I can't just run out to errands to get my dry cleaning, run by Walgreens, or buy groceries. This requires planning. Jill and I spend more amazing quality time together, commuting, shopping, and visiting a wide variety of doctors. She is the love of my life and I couldn't go through any of this without her.
I did find one limit to our new togetherness. I shop for our groceries. Jill certainly has say over what I buy, but in 22+ years of marriage, that has been more "please don't buy any more ___" or "it would be great if we had some vegetables." You know - constructive feedback aimed at future behavior change. I am a solo grocery shopper. I enjoy doing it, and don't understand the new trend of having others shop for you. So, I am not used to getting that feedback IRT (in real time). Like, "put that back, you keep buying too much milk" or "no, just no." I do realize that this is a minor complaint. And in case you are now worried that my wonderful wife will just stop taking me grocery shopping...honestly, who does that punish?
I'd like to think this has lowered my carbon footprint, but since the twins are keeping Mazda 5 in service, probably that's a net zero there. I'm helping the planet, but the Smith family, as a whole, is about where we were.
So I am adapting. And wearing hats. And about to start radiation. And doing a lot of reflection. Apparently about the cars that have been special in my life.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
Way to Bring Me Down, Strava
In the last couple of days, I have been closer to feeling normal (ish). Radiation is pending, but the effects of seizure, biopsy, hospital stays, and spinal tap have begun to fade. I felt good enough to go with Jill yesterday to the YMCA and do 30 minutes on the recumbent bike. Burned about seven calories, but it’s a start.
Today is a lovely day, and Jill was heading to Brushy Creek Park to walk and run about five miles. I felt even better, so I dusted off Marlin (my hybrid bike, not to be confused with Tre, my road bike), and went along. Relevant aside- now that I know that the ribbons have been growing for 5 to 10 years, I need to view my recent history through that lens. Might explain behavior like, say, naming my bikes.
Anyway, it was a sunny day on a protected trail. I had on my helmet and was within a few miles of Jill at all times. I did 9.2 miles. I could tell I am already out of cycling shape, it was a little hot, and I was very slow. But those were likely the best damn 9.2 miles I have ever ridden. It felt so good to be out on a bike, getting exercise, and having a transportation event end as expected. I feel like I have this sign that used to say: Transportation events without serious incident: 38,914. It reset to zero last July when Red (my previous bike) met Honda Fit, and back to zero again two weeks ago. Now it’s at 1.
I know it was a slow ride, because I opened up Strava, which told me my pace was 9.7. I’m usually in the 13-15 mph range. I am still happy with the ride. Apparently Strava thinks I can do better. Under my stats, Strava informed me: “This was easier than your usual effort.”
Well, yeah, Strava. Brain tumor much? And shouldn’t you have known about that? Couldn’t you tell that from my heart rate?
Thanks for harshing my buzz, Strava.
So, I went into the Strava settings, and what I hadn’t realized is that there is a setting for “Judgey”. Somehow, my Strava was set high, at “Over-caffeinated CrossFit Instructor.” I dialed it way down to “Your Nana.”
Restarted the app, pulled up the same data. This time, Strava tells me: “You did such a great job. It’s lovely to see you, How’s the family?”
That is so much better. And there are even a few more lower levels if I need to go lower. Next level down is “Your dog Blossom.”
Today is a lovely day, and Jill was heading to Brushy Creek Park to walk and run about five miles. I felt even better, so I dusted off Marlin (my hybrid bike, not to be confused with Tre, my road bike), and went along. Relevant aside- now that I know that the ribbons have been growing for 5 to 10 years, I need to view my recent history through that lens. Might explain behavior like, say, naming my bikes.
Anyway, it was a sunny day on a protected trail. I had on my helmet and was within a few miles of Jill at all times. I did 9.2 miles. I could tell I am already out of cycling shape, it was a little hot, and I was very slow. But those were likely the best damn 9.2 miles I have ever ridden. It felt so good to be out on a bike, getting exercise, and having a transportation event end as expected. I feel like I have this sign that used to say: Transportation events without serious incident: 38,914. It reset to zero last July when Red (my previous bike) met Honda Fit, and back to zero again two weeks ago. Now it’s at 1.
I know it was a slow ride, because I opened up Strava, which told me my pace was 9.7. I’m usually in the 13-15 mph range. I am still happy with the ride. Apparently Strava thinks I can do better. Under my stats, Strava informed me: “This was easier than your usual effort.”
Well, yeah, Strava. Brain tumor much? And shouldn’t you have known about that? Couldn’t you tell that from my heart rate?
Thanks for harshing my buzz, Strava.
So, I went into the Strava settings, and what I hadn’t realized is that there is a setting for “Judgey”. Somehow, my Strava was set high, at “Over-caffeinated CrossFit Instructor.” I dialed it way down to “Your Nana.”
Restarted the app, pulled up the same data. This time, Strava tells me: “You did such a great job. It’s lovely to see you, How’s the family?”
That is so much better. And there are even a few more lower levels if I need to go lower. Next level down is “Your dog Blossom.”
Friday, May 17, 2019
What the Hell is Dad Listening to?
With my driving curtailed for the next three months or more (and by curtailed I mean legally prohibited - and rightly so), the twins go from sharing one car over the summer to each having their own. Neither is particularly fond of my Mazda 5, but it is a car, so there is that. It is also possible that the Mazda 5 has some unknown safety auto-pilot that glided me to a peaceful stop in rush hour traffic on 183. That's as likely as any other explanation of how my commute that day ended without an additional car accident that could have had serious consequences to me and any number of people driving home that night. So lay off Mazda 5, dammit.
And the twins are grateful, and also respectful. Abby asked me if she could switch the pre-sets on my radio, which was a very sweet question. Of course, I told her, if you don't think dad's music is good enough, feel free to change the stations so you can hear Cardigan-G, or whatever. If ACL radio, Sun Radio, 101X and KUT aren't sufficient, go ahead and change it to (fill in terrible music you kids listen to today here).
But it also reminded me that if I want the kids to know I'm going to be OK, I really need to continue to mess with them. So, next time Abby got in magical Mazda 5, the pre-sets were not cool, hip Austin music and NPR. No, they were set to KGOD, KJESUS, two other Christian radio stations, talk sports radio, and the cheesiest Spanish-language pop channel I could find. It's amazing how many stations are out there that have the potential to annoy an 18 year old driver. I know this because I have the next four iterations all planned out. The next "theme" is "angry, screamy white people still obsessed with Hillary's e-mails". There are a surprising number of those stations. Followed by "experimental jazz and speed metal." Could be a fun summer.
And the twins are grateful, and also respectful. Abby asked me if she could switch the pre-sets on my radio, which was a very sweet question. Of course, I told her, if you don't think dad's music is good enough, feel free to change the stations so you can hear Cardigan-G, or whatever. If ACL radio, Sun Radio, 101X and KUT aren't sufficient, go ahead and change it to (fill in terrible music you kids listen to today here).
But it also reminded me that if I want the kids to know I'm going to be OK, I really need to continue to mess with them. So, next time Abby got in magical Mazda 5, the pre-sets were not cool, hip Austin music and NPR. No, they were set to KGOD, KJESUS, two other Christian radio stations, talk sports radio, and the cheesiest Spanish-language pop channel I could find. It's amazing how many stations are out there that have the potential to annoy an 18 year old driver. I know this because I have the next four iterations all planned out. The next "theme" is "angry, screamy white people still obsessed with Hillary's e-mails". There are a surprising number of those stations. Followed by "experimental jazz and speed metal." Could be a fun summer.
Thursday, May 16, 2019
Ribeye, Not Brisket
Met with my new neuro oncologist this morning. My new awesome doctor is named Dr. Valliant. Not Dr. Trieshisbest, or Dr. Sadloser. No, the doctor helping lead the charge is Dr. Valliant! Good start.
Brave Dr. Valliant gave me lots of new information, and helped lay out a battle plan to save the kingdom.
He confirmed the grade and name, and let me know that this has likely been growing 5-10 years. It's not a specific place per se, more like ribbons of "infiltrative lesion." Not sure why it made me think of this - but immediately I thought of my brain as a finely marbled steak, versus a fatty brisket. With the fine marbling being tumor, but still. Maybe this is a sign that my appetite might eventually come back. Or that the tumor is worse than I thought, as I am thinking of my brain as kobe beef.
Looks like I am in for about six weeks of radiation, followed possibly by a small bit of chemo. Though chemo probably is either all or none. Doubt there is a "small bit" of it. After that, monitoring with my Dr. Valliant for, well, ever. Possibly the ribeye will cause problems later, but it sounds like later is possibly another 5 to 10 years. Then maybe it's lather, radiate, repeat. Or some new thing.
Anti-seizure medication will help stop any new blind dates with EMT's. I'll be able to drive and bike again in a few months. Still planning to do the bike portion of a 1/2 Iron Man in Waco in October with two colleagues from work. The only change is that I have requested someone play the "Chariots of Fire" theme when I finish my biking portion.
Sounds like my summer may suck a bit, but that I could be back to mostly normal (or my version of it), by fall.
And dammit, we are going back to Hofbrau this year. I really now am craving a steak.
Brave Dr. Valliant gave me lots of new information, and helped lay out a battle plan to save the kingdom.
He confirmed the grade and name, and let me know that this has likely been growing 5-10 years. It's not a specific place per se, more like ribbons of "infiltrative lesion." Not sure why it made me think of this - but immediately I thought of my brain as a finely marbled steak, versus a fatty brisket. With the fine marbling being tumor, but still. Maybe this is a sign that my appetite might eventually come back. Or that the tumor is worse than I thought, as I am thinking of my brain as kobe beef.
Looks like I am in for about six weeks of radiation, followed possibly by a small bit of chemo. Though chemo probably is either all or none. Doubt there is a "small bit" of it. After that, monitoring with my Dr. Valliant for, well, ever. Possibly the ribeye will cause problems later, but it sounds like later is possibly another 5 to 10 years. Then maybe it's lather, radiate, repeat. Or some new thing.
Anti-seizure medication will help stop any new blind dates with EMT's. I'll be able to drive and bike again in a few months. Still planning to do the bike portion of a 1/2 Iron Man in Waco in October with two colleagues from work. The only change is that I have requested someone play the "Chariots of Fire" theme when I finish my biking portion.
Sounds like my summer may suck a bit, but that I could be back to mostly normal (or my version of it), by fall.
And dammit, we are going back to Hofbrau this year. I really now am craving a steak.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Moving Past Tweeter and Bookface
My new reality comes with new logistical challenges, not the least of which is how to get around without being able to drive. My amazing wife Jill works close to my Austin office, so there is some carpooling going on. I also have tremendous friends and family who have pledged to help when possible. But knowing that won’t cover all needed transportation, I took my first-ever Lyft home today. I’ve been in a Lyft before, but this was my inaugural flight on my own.
I downloaded the app, set up my payment, put in my two specific places- home and work, and then requested a ride. I know this sounds like your great grandparent describing going to their first talking moving picture, but stay with me. This was a revelation. My phone told me that Jose would be there in three minutes in his Prius. Jose was there in three minutes! And on the drive home, he only asked me two questions, which is well within the acceptable range of zero to four. His car was clean, the ride was fast. Sure, it cost $15, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing. Especially when compared to my last solo ride home, which when everything is added up, likely will be right at my insurance out-of-pocket maximum for the year. And that ride didn’t even get me home.
One lingering, nagging question. Perhaps other users of these services can help me with this. Do you ever get over the feeling that you are a character in Wall-E, the ones who got so fat and sedentary that they needed personal mobility devices 24/7? Not a deal-breaker for me, but I am curious if the sadness goes away.
I downloaded the app, set up my payment, put in my two specific places- home and work, and then requested a ride. I know this sounds like your great grandparent describing going to their first talking moving picture, but stay with me. This was a revelation. My phone told me that Jose would be there in three minutes in his Prius. Jose was there in three minutes! And on the drive home, he only asked me two questions, which is well within the acceptable range of zero to four. His car was clean, the ride was fast. Sure, it cost $15, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing. Especially when compared to my last solo ride home, which when everything is added up, likely will be right at my insurance out-of-pocket maximum for the year. And that ride didn’t even get me home.
One lingering, nagging question. Perhaps other users of these services can help me with this. Do you ever get over the feeling that you are a character in Wall-E, the ones who got so fat and sedentary that they needed personal mobility devices 24/7? Not a deal-breaker for me, but I am curious if the sadness goes away.
Hey, Mr. DiMaggio, How About a Quote?
So, here is one hat that did make the cut. Certainly, I look a bit like a newspaper man from the 1950's. The other hat I wore to work on Monday solicited the comment "Well, at least the 20's are about to come around again."
My mom says this hat looks like something my Grandpa Buddy wore. Now that she pointed it out, yes, I see that hat. He wore it all the time. Jill and I would go visit him at Seven Acres Jewish Geriatric Home in Houston, and would spring him for a meal when he was up for it. He always wanted us to take him some place where he could get "tacas." Which explains why that is the thing I am craving right now.
My mom says this hat looks like something my Grandpa Buddy wore. Now that she pointed it out, yes, I see that hat. He wore it all the time. Jill and I would go visit him at Seven Acres Jewish Geriatric Home in Houston, and would spring him for a meal when he was up for it. He always wanted us to take him some place where he could get "tacas." Which explains why that is the thing I am craving right now.
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?
That’s my mom’s favorite joke. Or more accurately, her favorite punchline. I’ve always appreciated that punchline. It is both absurd and completely, unwarrantedly optimistic.
So, I should probably start adding my own theater reviews here. I’ll add to the list as things come to me.
1) I’ve lost seven pounds. Sure, it’s related to nausea and I feel better when I do eat, but small victories. Certainly I am hopeful it’s not 7 pounds of brain from the biopsy. But again, not a doctor.
2) I am pretty sure that the girls may now qualify for a bunch of new scholarships
3) likely there will be some cycling events related to this, and people can cycle for me for once. (That sounded much more self-centered than I intended. Did I mention I have a brain tumor?)
4) I have finally learned my hat size. And related to that, can start to come to terms with the reality that my head is enormous. Maybe I did have an extra seven pounds of brain.
That may be all of the “bright side” for now.*
* except, of course, realizing again how wonderful my friends and family are, especially my Jill. My Jill is amazing.
And yes, whether it’s the whole experience or some actual brain thing, I am more emotional these days. The twins have been gracious enough to let me hug them a lot. Not sure that’s something I need to reveal to the doctor. But getting emotional watching Storage Wars? Might need to disclose.
So, I should probably start adding my own theater reviews here. I’ll add to the list as things come to me.
1) I’ve lost seven pounds. Sure, it’s related to nausea and I feel better when I do eat, but small victories. Certainly I am hopeful it’s not 7 pounds of brain from the biopsy. But again, not a doctor.
2) I am pretty sure that the girls may now qualify for a bunch of new scholarships
3) likely there will be some cycling events related to this, and people can cycle for me for once. (That sounded much more self-centered than I intended. Did I mention I have a brain tumor?)
4) I have finally learned my hat size. And related to that, can start to come to terms with the reality that my head is enormous. Maybe I did have an extra seven pounds of brain.
That may be all of the “bright side” for now.*
* except, of course, realizing again how wonderful my friends and family are, especially my Jill. My Jill is amazing.
And yes, whether it’s the whole experience or some actual brain thing, I am more emotional these days. The twins have been gracious enough to let me hug them a lot. Not sure that’s something I need to reveal to the doctor. But getting emotional watching Storage Wars? Might need to disclose.
It’s Official. Now I Need Usage Guidance
The doctor who drilled into my head just called and confirmed that I have a low grade tumor (grade 2 Astro Cytoma). Sounds more like an early lunar landing module during the 60’s, but whatever. Or maybe a car from General Motors from the 70’s that regularly caught on fire, so GM decided to sell them in Central America.
“Jorge - are you still driving that Astro Cytoma? I thought they recalled all of them.”
It’s considered a “low-grade” tumor. Being someone who was always worried about grades, I wanted to know if that meant a C, or maybe a D. But apparently tumor grades go from 1 to 4. Low grade is 1 or 2. Oh, more like an AP test. A low-grade tumor is like taking the full AP class, spending $120 to sign up for the test, not studying enough, and getting a score that does not give you any college credit.
Can you tell the other thing that is going on in the Smith household right now?
I am specifically NOT googling Astro Cytoma until my new doctor appointment this Thursday. I don’t want to see all the videos of vans in flames.
And now that I can officially use the “I have a brain tumor” line, I will need to figure out parameters. Certainly, you don’t want to throw it out there to get out of things like taking out the garbage, but it does seeem like a useful line in moderation. Should I limit it to a certain number per month, or maybe just hold it for a few larger situations? Like totally forgetting a birthday. Or insulting everyone’s religion.
I might just have to figure this out through trial and error. Hey, I have a brain tumor.
Monday, May 13, 2019
Double-Blind Random Sampling
I am enormously grateful for all of the well wishes from friends, family, acquaintances, and others. I appreciate the offers of food, driving, stories of adversity, and every other good thought sent my (and my family's) way.
I realize that I have an amazing scientific opportunity here. So many people have told me they will pray for me. And to be clear - I am very grateful for that and am touched by the love.
The opportunity, though, is that there is a wide range of faith traditions represented in these offers. I wonder if I can set up some type of schedule, and then get specific data on which prayers work best. Maybe I can set up a specific schedule, and then see what types of good and bad news I get during, say, the Methodist period, versus the Episcopalian time. Coming from a faith tradition as an atheistic Jewish Unitarian, and very much appreciating data, this could be enormously useful.
And by the way, I haven't actually been diagnosed with a brain tumor quite yet, but I do reserve the right to circle back around and use that as an excuse for this particular idea. I do realize that the "I have a brain tumor" excuse is likely limited - I shouldn't just throw it out there every time I forget an anniversary, and I have already pre-used it for this.
"Certainly, this was an offensive idea, but remember, I (may possibly) have a brain tumor."
So, for those whose deity has a sense of humor and I haven't completely offended, I will send you a link to the prayer google doc.
I realize that I have an amazing scientific opportunity here. So many people have told me they will pray for me. And to be clear - I am very grateful for that and am touched by the love.
The opportunity, though, is that there is a wide range of faith traditions represented in these offers. I wonder if I can set up some type of schedule, and then get specific data on which prayers work best. Maybe I can set up a specific schedule, and then see what types of good and bad news I get during, say, the Methodist period, versus the Episcopalian time. Coming from a faith tradition as an atheistic Jewish Unitarian, and very much appreciating data, this could be enormously useful.
And by the way, I haven't actually been diagnosed with a brain tumor quite yet, but I do reserve the right to circle back around and use that as an excuse for this particular idea. I do realize that the "I have a brain tumor" excuse is likely limited - I shouldn't just throw it out there every time I forget an anniversary, and I have already pre-used it for this.
"Certainly, this was an offensive idea, but remember, I (may possibly) have a brain tumor."
So, for those whose deity has a sense of humor and I haven't completely offended, I will send you a link to the prayer google doc.
Sunday, May 12, 2019
First step, get a hat
Certainly, there are lots of things I will need to deal with as things move forward. One thing at a time, though. The biopsy came with a new bald spot on the side of my head. Not to mention the staples they put it the back. Though I just mentioned it. Because they put staples in my head. Seems like medicine should have progressed beyond Office Depot, but I am not a doctor.
So I have been trying out hats. These didn’t make the cut.
So I have been trying out hats. These didn’t make the cut.
A Bit of Context...
Likely need a tiny bit of context here. On Thursday, May 2nd, I was driving home from work. Things seemed a little off. I got on 183 in rush hour traffic. Next thing I know I am in the back of an ambulance, talking to an EMT. Somehow I managed to not total my car, but am still not sure how. A night in the hospital, followed a week later by a "needle biopsy" and there is something in there (there being my brain) that needs dealing with. I have moved from seeing the neurologist to the neurosurgeon to an appointment with a neuro oncologist. I think that's fully 18% of all doctors with "neuro" in their title.
I have a few new hats and am not driving these days (it's not as exciting as you would think to have to guess how your drive will end up), so changes are definitely afoot. And ahead. Mostly because of the hats for now.
I have a few new hats and am not driving these days (it's not as exciting as you would think to have to guess how your drive will end up), so changes are definitely afoot. And ahead. Mostly because of the hats for now.
One little brain tumor and they restrict your blog access
OK, it was more likely the dearth of posts, followed by new google accounts, and finally being one of the last 37 people with an aol address. Blogger will not let me post anymore on cornerpieces.blogspot.com. Those days have to be over for me. It is time to move on. Specifically, to cornerpieces2.blogspot.com. See, it's like cornerpieces, but with a "2." Like maybe I found the second corner piece. Or completely forgot how to sign in to the first one.
As alluded to in the title, this blog may have more brain tumor than the last one. Still in process on that. Assuming I figure out how to log back into this new blog, I've got more to say. It's probably not a bad idea to also bookmark cornerpieces3@blogspot.com, just to be safe.
As alluded to in the title, this blog may have more brain tumor than the last one. Still in process on that. Assuming I figure out how to log back into this new blog, I've got more to say. It's probably not a bad idea to also bookmark cornerpieces3@blogspot.com, just to be safe.
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