I mean, in their attempt to make EuroDisney as thoroughly French as Disneyland is American, the Space Mountain dark indoor rollercoaster used retro graphics from From The Earth To The Moon, the thoroughly French Jules Verne novel. I still prefer the Disneyland Kubrick-influenced version, but it was pretty cool to see.
the ride itself had a lot of the backwards stuff, which is not my favorite. and upside-down.
and the worst part is, no seat belt or bar was enough for them. there was, in addition, a plastic head exoskeleton that stopped short of fitting snugly. so at every turn, instead of being thrown against the side of a car like in the American Indiana Jones ride, your head banged against this "protective" device.
yeah. less thrilling and scary than just mincemeat making.
that was yesterday at the hospital.
we didn't even talk about the new chemo with Dr. Gore.
fasten your head protective devices, Dear Readers.
the latest scan shows the largest of the lung tumors pressing against my heart. keeping it from filling and pumping to its capacity.
the dizziness, the low blood pressure, the difficulty breathing, maybe even some of the coughing...all due, it is thought, to that.
she wanted to deal with this problem before going on to chemo possibilities.
I get it.
Dr. Anne Leyba, caring but tough and pessimistic, prone to black and white conclusions, told us insurance would never approve home oxygen with my oxygen numbers. but I didn't even make it out of labs yesterday without oxygen.
it was time.
I told Dr. Gore that I wanted a chest X-ray yesterday, to see if the fluid was coming back. because the tap didn't help that much that long, as we hoped. every time I lay flat, I couldn't breathe, even after the tap.
she had already filled out the form.
she was different yesterday.
the question of whether she would be actively taking my case if I were no longer in the study was answered. she was Xena, Warrior Doctor. she moved mountains yesterday.
music overlay: Rolling Stones, "Pain in my Heart"
so what to do about the tumor pressing against the top of my heart?
an operation would be an entire chest cut open, major life threatening, weeks in the hospital affair. she had talked to a surgeon and found this out.
she had a plan B- stun the tumor with radiation. it would, we hope, shrink, and stop dragging my heart around.
a hundredth as invasive...and in the majority of cases, there is some relief.
she had arranged for a meeting with Radiation Oncology. everyone worked me in at the last minute. they were ready to give me the radiation yesterday.
we met with Michelle Steinauer...a prelude to Dr. Cavanaugh, who was the real guy.
the first thing Michelle did was, without notes, review every facet of my case history of the cancer, more succinctly and correctly than I could have.
damn that was impressive!
I explained to her that I had a concert scheduled for that evening. (we self aggrandizing musicians use the word "concert" or even "show" to describe a honky little gig, even if it's a garage geezer band playing "Henry the VIIIth I Am")
she said I would be fine to play the show. I felt anything but, even before the radiation.
I said, can we do the radiation tomorrow? she said, certainly. she and I both have Germanic heritage, but I could think outside the box at least that much.
Dr. Cavanaugh was vague and mumbly...he was either dull and unfocused or thinking three steps ahead of the present conversation. I think it was the latter. he seemed genius enough for me. impressive bunch.
they also talked about a little stunting radiation for my shoulder tumor. and some possible relief from it.
relief. no longer, as Speedy Alka-Seltzer used to say, just a swallow away. I would call Roto-Rooter, if they could make my troubles go down the drain.
because I'm not good. between coughing, shortness of breath, dizziness, general lack of body functionality...even though I guess I did ok at the "concert" night before last...I really didn't know if I would make it through last night's show or not.
an hour meeting turned into a shocking, busy, full hospital day. as Tuesday had turned into an uncharted hospital day.
the gig last night was in Aurora. yes, that Aurora I talked about previous. about two miles from the hospital. but all my stuff for the gig was in Golden.
we got out about 3:30pm...traffic was unbearable. got home about 4:30pm. found out the gig, which everyone had put at 7, actually started at 6:30.
left about 5. traffic was unbearable. Google map turned out to be quite wrong. but I managed to get there at 5 after 6 or so.
feeling like, ok, what's going to happen now?
somewhere between the magic in the music and three motrin...I did ok.
surprised the heck out of me.
I think the oxygen is going to help. it wasn't a great night's sleep, but leaps and bounds over the last two. wrestly, coughing...but with actual sleep in there somewhere, I think.
this was going to be a dose week, so I didn't schedule much. praise the Lord. I really don't know what overlay the radiation is going to put atop my already tentative state.
if there is no relief...I just don't know what I am going to be able to do. these are the more serious days, whose coming was foretold, in which my problems are not coming from the drugs administered to cure the cancer, but are the effect of the cancer itself.
but yesterday was the first time, in all of my treatments, that I have felt that someone really looked at me. not just their area of specialty, but really looked at me, what my troubles are, systemically, what to do about them. cross compared c-t, echo, X-ray, tea leaves, the Farmer's Almanac, and the Tarot to get a full picture of me.
one more warning...to ward off any compounding irritation caused by the radiation, I am to take Decadron this morning before I come in.
heaven help the Gentle Reader.
No comments:
Post a Comment