The Things We Take for Granted

I believe we all take certain things for granted, always assuming that these "things" in our lives will always be there to sustain us. Remember, life is finite. It will end, whether we are ready for it to end or not. I have taken a lot of things for granted. One in particular I felt the need to mention in a post today.

Bowel movements.

Growing up, every time I farted, my Dad would ask me if I needed to move my bowels. I always said no based on the fact they way he asked me sound too medieval to be an actual question. I dump, you dump. NO ONE moves there bowels. Of course, as I got older, I ask my 4-year old son the same thing after every time flatulence attacks his innards. He answers the same way I did, having no clue what I had just asked him.

Gall bladder surgery is a non-invasive procedure, or at least it is labeled as such. However, regardless of the 4 tiny incisions, the ports that were put and and the tissue that was interrupted leaves a lot left to be desired. There is a considerable amount of pain there, and it radiates to m back directly behind my gall-bladderless mid-section. Of course, they also removed a lymph node the size of a quarter too so I cannot imagine that was too comfortable on the ol' body. My doctor and discharge nurse both told me that when I got home, I would be moving my bowels. That was as anticipatory as expecting a yard full of Yaks camped outside of my apartment. Yes, I said, I know. The nurse kind of rolled her eyes and said that it would not be as easy as I thought. Whatever...I am as regular as black coffee. How hard can it be. I had no idea.

I was prescribed a stool softener, as well as took some Metamucil9 both loaded with insoluble, BULK PRODUCING, GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY MUDSLIDE makers. Regardless of the food intake, I was sure the fiber wanted out. I came home Thursday. Remember, my body had not digested food properly for 15 years. The surgeon also pumped some gas into my belly to separate the organs forgetting that aspirating the gas may help down the road. Thursday night, I took some Metamucil and stool softeners just to get the process started. I also ate a cup and a half of beef barley soup figuring the barley would love to join the fiber party in my colon. Percocet causes constipation. DOH. Something had to give, and it wasn't my sphincter. Friday came and went. The only progress was the apparent fermentation going on in my large intestine. I was burping and farting like a frat boy. I took more Metamucil. I ate more soup (1/2 cup), still nothing really wanted to move. I brought magazines, zebras (to count the stripes), sloths (because they can't escape the smell) and anything else I thought may help expedite this problem. Friday came and went, all without dropping a deuce. The pressure was building. My blue eyes were turning brown.

Saturday. This had to be the day, right? 48 hours after surgery made sense. For breakfast, I had some Metamucil, thinking that maybe as my body woke up, so would the bowel train. Nothing. I had some oatmeal....more fiber. Still nothing. I would have eaten raisins had the sugar content not sent me into a diabetic coma. I couldn't figure out if it was the lymphoma or the backed up internal septic system that was producing the "sweat for no reason" phenomena. I stayed somewhat on my feet to keep blood from settling but also to let gravity pull on the snake lodged in my digestive tract. Still nothing. Bye bye shitless weekend.

Sunday. I prayed. This time I didn't pray for a speedy recovery, or a tame cancer, I prayed that just this once God would let me have a Dumb and Dumber shit. A violent, spewing cascade of feces. Please God let it happen. I am beginning to hurt here. Even if it doesn't make the pain go away, PLEASE LET ME BE REGULAR AGAIN!!!!!!! Amen. Sure enough, within about 15 minutes the Percocet-ridden cork was released followed by the longest piece of fibrous fecal matter I have ever seen. I felt these gas pains just fall away. Urine came from nowhere as if feeling left out. The pressure was leaving, one rope at a time. I am exclaiming victory, my kids staring at me like they should be excited, but cannot understand why me on the toilet requires celebration. My wife did not understand my sense of joy either. But I was happy as a clam. All I had left to do was wipe...which requires twisting in the mid-section, which causes me to lose my breath.

And this was a totally uncalculated difficulty I forgot to pray about...and possibly a different blog post!

I Have Cancer

Odd to think, let alone type. The kind of cancer I have is unknown at this point. Am I afraid? Not really. Shocked is a good word I suppose. Of course, I have not taken care of myself over the past 15 years or so. Anyone who saw me at the Hall of Fame induction ceremony could see that.

That was almost 70 pounds ago. Some would say, "WOW, way to go!" However, I was sick. Cancer loves calories. In a twisted way, tumors are like newborns that steal calories from the host (me) and nutrients to grow. At first I thought it was diabetes. That causes you to lose weight for no reason. Maybe it was a combination of both. I am not sure.

Lymphoma has many sub-groups. The node they took out was about the size of a quarter. Normally they are the size of the tip of your pinkie finger. The doctor took it to the lab for the pathologist to cut it open. No doubt it was cancerous. But won't know what kind of lymphoma until next week sometime. If they can find out what it is locally, that is the best news. That means it is common and not rare. In my mind rare would be bad. So I have something to say to my cancer, and I thought it would make a great blog post.

Dear Cancer,

I will beat you.

I won't you get me because I have too much to live for. I have two beautiful daughters I want to walk down the aisle. I want to teach them about real men and how they should be treated by them. I have a son that I need to keep out of trouble and show what it means to respect a woman. I have a wife who I adore to no end. I have plans that you don't fit in to. So even though you have anchored yourself in my body, don't get to comfortable. My spirit alone will make you hate being here. You are simply going to be spinning your wheels. I will break you long before you break me.

You might put up a fight, but my fight is going to be much bigger than yours, no matter how sick you might make me. I am more patient than you. I can wait you out until you have nothing left. Your attitude is not stronger than my will to live. Don't think that will change.

I won't tell you to leave just yet. You can hang around for as long as you want. Just now that before you get to me, you will die. It is not my time.

Life is Finite

Sometimes I get deep. Sometimes the depth amazes those who know me the best. This is one of those moments. I had mentioned that the humor in my posts would someday return. Today is not that day. It seems that God has caused me to reflect on my life over the past few weeks and come to some realizations that I possibly have ignored over time. The last couple of days, I have had an epiphany of sorts.

Life is finite.

The sooner one comes to this realization, the easier it is to deal with how you live your life. As I have stated in the past, I am not afraid of my future, as the control was passed on to someone else. I thought I would hate to have given that control away. In some ways, I am reluctant to do so. Growing up I thought I would live forever, without consequences for the choices I made. In the same breath, I don't regret anything I have done. It is all part of a master plan. I am simply along for the ride.

Life endures for a limited time only.

We have a period of time we are granted. How you take advantage of that time is entirely up to the individual. I can only hope that my time is not now. If the doctor tells me something that changes the OUTCOME, it will not change my OUTLOOK. I pray. I think of everything I could have possibly done to make my health a non-issue, and I realize that everything we do impacts tomorrow. Right now, right here, I can only make choices with consequences I can deal with. Life is a gift, not a right. Just like having a driver's license, I suppose. A poor analogy, maybe, but relevant, regardless.

We all want the best. Sometimes we want the best of everything. I am not sure I have ever been the type to want the best for myself, rather, I want the best for those I love. A better life, better opportunities, and a better outcome to whatever they choose to do. I have learned that being happy with what I have and not upset for the things I DON'T have is a great way to look at things. I have a house in Idaho I may lose. I don't care, or I don't care as much as I should simply because the people that were in it with me are with me now. I don't lose them if the house were to go away. I have them close by. That is important. It was then, and it always will be. Love your family. Even if some of that family is living on the edge. In the end, family is all we have left.

Life is measurable.

How would you measure your life to date? Are you satisfied? What do you regret if anything? Regardless of life's finite characteristics, it is still measurable. It is more than the glass being half full or half empty. It is about something being in the glass. Period. Will the contents of the glass be enough of a memory? My heart is my glass, my 'cup' if you will. I can say with complete comfort that my 'cup' runeth over. Love and support is everything. It is not the amount of money you have, the possessions you have (which will ultimately own you), the things which you wish to covet; it is about the here and now. It is the things you look forward to in the morning that most can take for granted. It is the air you breathe. It is the vehicle that makes you want to go forward every day. It is the bonds of family and friend that cannot break and will not bend. Those are the ties that hold you up when you no longer have the strength to go it alone.

It is your life. You have one to live. Live it well.

Symptomatic

A lot of people have asked me what my symptoms were leading up to my diagnosis, at least my initial diagnosis of a gall stone.

Back in 1994 I had some God awful stomach pains that bent me over something fierce. My first thought was my appendix, but where these pains were (just below the sternum, under the ribs, middle of torso) did not follow the normal location of an inflamed appendix. I went to emergency room where I got to experience the euphoria of Morphine. I now know why people become addicted to that drug. The pain went away and I drifted off to sleep. Although, when I woke back up a couple of hours later, I was still in immense pain. Doctors figured maybe I had an ulcer. So I got to drink some barium sulfate which, back then tasted like dog shit. They gave me an ultrasound, sure to find a perforation in my intestine. Nothing. My white blood cell count was high indicating infection, but they couldn't locate any infection to speak of. I spent the night in the hospital, not knowing what was going on. The following day I was discharged with instructions to exercise and stop drinking coffee. Nice. Modern medicine at its finest.

For the next 15 years, once or twice a year, I would have these pains and would just take the next 4-6 hours and deal with it. I would usually just lay down in the fetal position, or rock back and forth (ala Rainman), sweat, and it would pass. I wasn't about ready to go to the hospital again and find out there was nothing wrong. Remember, this began in 1994.

Fast forward to December of 2007. After I moved here in August of the same year, my parents told me that I needed to go to the doctor if for nothing else to get a base line on my medical life. I dreaded that having gained a ton of weight (figuratively speaking) and basically dreading doctors. I didn't want to know the truth. I didn't want to know I was most likely pre-diabetic, or my blood pressure was skewed, that I could not get on a normal scale...I didn't want to know any of it. I had fought bouts of depression over my declining condition for years. I knew I was in bad shape, but I figured I didn't want to know how bad. When my Dad told me that he feared I would die before him, it opened my eyes a bit to how people really saw me. So I went, kicking and screaming.

December of 2007, my blood glucose level was 101. Two tests over 121 indicate diabetes. At this point I was pre-diabetic, or what they call having "metabolic syndrome." I was prescribed Metformin (turns off liver production of glucose) and told to eat more fish, chicken and vegetables. My blood pressure was 150/90 which is hypertensive. I was prescribed Lisinopril which is a diuretic, meant to rid the blood of excess fluid to "thin" it out. Lose weight and eat better and all of this should go away. I hired Mrs. B (my Mom) to do some cooking for me. prepackaged vacuum sealed meals that were part of what the doctor required. I got a membership at CBRC. I worked out, I ate better. I lost a few pounds. Still, not much was changing.

May of 2008, I went back. Glucose was at 111, liver enzymes were slightly elevated indicating the liver was stressed about something. White blood cell count was slightly elevated, indicating infection. My blood pressure was better 130/80-ish. But something was screwing with my body's ability to metabolize glucose. No other changes were made other than to keep exercising.

I was laid off in September of 2008 and no insurance. I would not go back in to see my doctor until I had found gainful employment. I was hired at the Tri-City Herald in November, benefits effective January 1, 2009. I planned on going back to see him again ASAP after that date.

In February, I started feeling incredibly thirsty. I was drinking copious amounts of water. I couldn't get enough of it. I noticed I was losing weight rapidly, no matter what I ate. I would lose sometimes up to 4 pounds a day. I figured it had to do with walking 2-3 miles a day and eating better. I was up all might, every hour, going to the bathroom. I would have to go ALL THE TIME. My vision started getting blurry. My wife told me I probably needed to go see the doc. So I did. My glucose was at 365. My A1C test (measures blood glucose over a 3 month period) was at 15% (384). Normal is 7% or less. My liver enzymes were again elevated to an ungodly level. This was more serious. Kidneys were slightly damaged due to spilling the excess glucose through my urinary tract. Vision was bad due to the body's fight to flush the excess glucose from the capillaries in my eyes. I was getting a little nervous.

The gall stone they found had been growing since 1994. Every time I had pain, the stone had traveled from the gall bladder down to the bile duct. When the pain was gone, it had floated from the bile duct back to the gall bladder. Every time it traveled, it got bigger. Finally, it occluded my bile duct completely, causing the bilirubin to accumulate and turn me yellow. That was when the story that most of you have read, began.

I didn't have a whole lot of symptoms until they found the stone, other than the diabetes. My liver, not able to function properly, was producing glucose 24/7. The food I ate was creating more glucose. My pancreas could not excrete insulin fast enough. Part of me thinks that the liver has not been functioning properly for years. Maybe this will go away with time. I am prepared for it not to, however. To me, the diabetes and jaundice were a blessing in disguise. They found other things in there, mainly the spot on my spleen and the swollen lymph nodes. I pray, as you all do, that this is something that can be treated. A lot of things can be treated these days. I am more impressed with medicine now that I was 15 years ago. I now know how important it is to simply get checked out, at least annually if nothing odd appears on the blood tests. SEE YOU DOCTOR! It is easier to do than I have ever made it out to myself. I always thought they simply want to make a buck like anyone else and will diagnose you with Scarlet Fever so they can prescribe something. Not true. I cannot stress it enough. Especially if you have insurance. $20 and you know, at least know that nothing is wrong.

One of these days, the humor in my posts will return. I promise you that. I can talk about hospital gowns someday. Those are as flattering as Speedo.

God is Good

When I turned 36, I figured that it would be just like any other birthday. After a certain age, parties and celebrations about aging seem to fall by the way side similar to libido and yard work. This year, I got a great gift. Quite colorful and unique.

I got jaundice.

Jaundice as a baby makes sense. It takes some time for the organs to realize that it is time to function on their own without the help of the womb. Jaundice as an adult is a tad different. At first, it was kind of interesting to have people stare at you for no apparent reason. I didn't know I was as yellow as I was since my vision was skewed. Right....I forgot to tell you that I also got another gift this birthday.

I got diabetes.

So, unlike birthdays past, I got a gift I will have forever. Like a diamond and about as expensive in monthly installments for medication and glucose testing supplies. However, jaundice plus diabetes in an adult has a number of diagnoses. Google DIABETES and JAUNDICE and you will get to read about pancreatic cancer. All of my symptoms were there. If nothing else, this eternal gift of diabetes was kind of nice since my body could not burn sugar, it had to burn fat for energy. Hell, I had plenty of that. I lost 60 pounds in about 3 months. However, so do cancer patients. I was a little worried. So, on to my next two gifts this year.

I got an ultrasound and a CT scan with iodine contrast.

Two masses were spotted. One on my pancreas and one on my spleen. Shit. The Internet could be right for once. So I was referred to a specialist, a gastroenterologist named Dr. Vong. That is short for his full LAST name that contained more consonants than vowels. He reviewed all of my tests; blood work, CT and ultrasound and decided that I needed to be scoped. This is a rather non-invasive procedure. I assume that it was non-invasive for two reasons. One, he told me so and second, I was zonked through the procedure and unaware I had 24 inches of camera-tipped cord down my throat. After the procedure, he told me I had an Easter egg sized stone in my bile duct that had been there for years. He was going to remove it the next day that same way he found it, by shoving a cord down my throat. I asked him if I could keep it like Tom Hank's kept Wilson in 'Cast Away.' No dice.

Here is the part that baffles me. The stone is removed, my liver returns from strike. I have a stint keeping my bile duct open since there may be more stones up there. I get pink skin again. I stop excreting orange crush through my urine (excess bilirubin) and find out I need to have my gall bladder out. The doctor who was going to do it came by to see me the morning after my surgery. He told me straight out that the mass on my spleen is still an issue, as are the swollen lymph nodes that surround my liver and even though I have solved one problem, I may have lymphoma. He won't know until they get in there and do a biopsy. This will happen next week.

So I may get a new hair-do for my next present. I may have even more weight loss and some nausea. The part that baffles me is I am not afraid of it. I am not afraid of any of it. It is out of my hands. There is nothing I can do to stop what may come. All I can do is make the most out of what I am doing TODAY. I deal with my diabetes daily. I monitor, eat, monitor, study, monitor, eat, drink, medicate, repeat. That part is kind of nice since I am now involved in my own prognosis. Out of everything that has happened I got the best gift of all.

Awareness.

Amen Brother.