Well here it is almost 4 weeks out from my surgery and 3 weeks from my hospital release. I'm back on a regular diet or as regular as I can handle at this point. Restrictions on driving have been lifted so I am getting out and about. The reality is though that the recovery is slow or at least slower then I want. Probably true for most patients. We always seem to want to do more, more quickly then we can or should. Anyway I have lots of people who keep reminding me that this was major surgery. I don't really need the reminder but it's good to hear from other people.
Our bodies are certainly resilient. It's amazing what they can go through and what we can put them through. But they do need time to heal and rebound. I find myself getting tired with little exertion. Some of it seems to be just the effort that I have to put into things. So naps have become a welcome part of my recovery. Pain really isn't and hasn't been an issue. It's more of a discomfort or just the knowledge that something isn't right and I should take it easy.
I saw my surgeon earlier this week and staples were removed without incident. By incident I mean everything coming apart. In our normal lives and use of the word, staples hold things together and when you remove them, everything comes apart. Well that doesn't seem to happen with the surgical kind or at least didn't happen to me.
The next phase of this journey is a referral and visit to an Oncologist. I'm in the process of making those arrangements. Have the Dr. chosen and working through the insurance check, referral, etc. Things get complicated every once in awhile but you keep moving with one foot in front of the other.
It's interesting that even with good news from the surgery and pathology report, worries don't go away. That's part of the problem with this disease called Cancer. It sticks with you, plays with your head. You try to shake it, stay positive and so forth but it's always there gnawing at you in the background. At least that's my expierience and I have a feeling I'm not alone. On top of that, everything takes time - research, referrals, permissions, transfer of records - and time seems to be the enemy of a healthy attitude. That's another reason you just need to keep moving forward.
So that's my latest update. I'm slowly going to get back into writing about things that interest me and hopefully you. Things that strike me from the news or from life in general. I'll also continue these updates as things move along.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Friday, June 20, 2014
This Old Body
This old body has been taken for a ride, recently and over the years.
I've been tough on it no doubt.
I've put things in it and rode it hard.
Late or sleepless nights, singin, shoutin, or raisin hell
of some kind.
Lately it's been poked, prodded, pricked.
Cut, stapled, sewn and medicated.
I've had parts taken out, put in, measured,
hooked up, thrown out maybe even pickled.
Everything seems to be workin but the stress and strain
have taken a toll.
This old body carried me lots of places.
It marched, walked, sat down, got beat up
and went to jail more than a few times.
It sang with me, jumped, danced and dazzled
me and others. It met people, touched people
and helped me make friends and loves.
So we've been around the horn together.
I miss some of the youngster in this old body
but enjoy the rest it seems to need.
This old body helps me think and
helps me write things down.
It may not be able to do the things it used to
but this old body still gets me around.
There are still places to see and to go,
people to meet, jobs to be done.
So we're still in this together
this old body and me.
Lookin out for each other and
travelin down that old dusty road.
I've been tough on it no doubt.
I've put things in it and rode it hard.
Late or sleepless nights, singin, shoutin, or raisin hell
of some kind.
Lately it's been poked, prodded, pricked.
Cut, stapled, sewn and medicated.
I've had parts taken out, put in, measured,
hooked up, thrown out maybe even pickled.
Everything seems to be workin but the stress and strain
have taken a toll.
This old body carried me lots of places.
It marched, walked, sat down, got beat up
and went to jail more than a few times.
It sang with me, jumped, danced and dazzled
me and others. It met people, touched people
and helped me make friends and loves.
So we've been around the horn together.
I miss some of the youngster in this old body
but enjoy the rest it seems to need.
This old body helps me think and
helps me write things down.
It may not be able to do the things it used to
but this old body still gets me around.
There are still places to see and to go,
people to meet, jobs to be done.
So we're still in this together
this old body and me.
Lookin out for each other and
travelin down that old dusty road.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
When Will They Ever Learn?
Pete Seeger, Peter, Paul and Mary, Bob Dylan and many others all asked the question as they sang Where Have All the Flowers Gone.
The situation in Iraq really demands that that question has to be asked - again. A Trillion dollars and thousands of US and Iraqi lives lost over the past decade. Those dollars could have been spent on many things here in the US. Vulnerable people's programs and supports were cut. Our economy suffered dearly. But the loss of life is the worst thing that happened as a result of the war in Iraq, including many women and children.
On top of that, after years of fighting, everyone is aware that the premise for the war was bogus, perpetrated by leaders in this country who had their own agenda. They tried to tie it to 9/11 but it couldn't be done other than through emotional tugs. Weapons of mass destruction were identified as existing and an imminent threat. In the end, they didn't exist. What's happening in Iraq is horrific but the reality is that leaders and policy makers in this country have no real clue about the culture and issues that have had factions fighting against each other for centuries. We're so schizophrenic that we're even considering working with the Iranian Revolutionary Guard who Congress has gone on record as recognizing as a terrorist organization. Strange, no beyond strange.
So the question remains, "when will they ever learn?" There have been somewhere around 200 conflicts that the US has participated in since the formation of this country. Some were all out wars and some were smaller conflicts barely recognized as anything more then a blip in history. All of these conflicts had young people who did the hard and dirty work while elected officials and policymakers talked things up and raised patriotic issues. There were soldiers on every side who were heroes in one fashion or another. Reaching out a hand, helping locals impacted by war. There were times when enemies looked each other in the eye and realized something was wrong.
All of this is easy for me. I've opposed war and violence for most of my life. I believe in non violence and think it is a moral choice that people need to make or at least consider. Along the way, I've met and talked to many veterans from different conflicts - WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. Most wouldn't speak with bravado about their experiences. Actually, most wouldn't speak voluntarily about what they did and saw. My Uncle Robbie was one of those heroes. He helped emancipate thousands from a concentration camp in Europe toward the end of WWII. He was on the ground with shells flying around him. He suffered the consequences of what he saw for most of his life but didn't talk about it. My great friend Louie who was a navigator flying in a bomber over Italy, Yugoslavia and other parts of Europe during WWII. He didn't boast. He got very thoughtful and said little. My friend Doug who fought with valor in Vietnam. He wouldn't joke about it or make light of it and he suffered from the things he saw. These men understood the question "when will they ever learn?" and they asked it themselves. They did not end up being the breast beaters or war mongers. They were tempered in their view. Many times, their view about war changed with time and expierience. They were smart men.
It's not them we have to worry about though. It's those boasters and saber rattlers, most of whom haven't seen war but have been elected to lead. Be careful as they talk about actions that have to be taken in Iraq. Enough is enough, and yes, when will they ever learn? Soon I hope. In the mean time, wage peace.
The situation in Iraq really demands that that question has to be asked - again. A Trillion dollars and thousands of US and Iraqi lives lost over the past decade. Those dollars could have been spent on many things here in the US. Vulnerable people's programs and supports were cut. Our economy suffered dearly. But the loss of life is the worst thing that happened as a result of the war in Iraq, including many women and children.
On top of that, after years of fighting, everyone is aware that the premise for the war was bogus, perpetrated by leaders in this country who had their own agenda. They tried to tie it to 9/11 but it couldn't be done other than through emotional tugs. Weapons of mass destruction were identified as existing and an imminent threat. In the end, they didn't exist. What's happening in Iraq is horrific but the reality is that leaders and policy makers in this country have no real clue about the culture and issues that have had factions fighting against each other for centuries. We're so schizophrenic that we're even considering working with the Iranian Revolutionary Guard who Congress has gone on record as recognizing as a terrorist organization. Strange, no beyond strange.
So the question remains, "when will they ever learn?" There have been somewhere around 200 conflicts that the US has participated in since the formation of this country. Some were all out wars and some were smaller conflicts barely recognized as anything more then a blip in history. All of these conflicts had young people who did the hard and dirty work while elected officials and policymakers talked things up and raised patriotic issues. There were soldiers on every side who were heroes in one fashion or another. Reaching out a hand, helping locals impacted by war. There were times when enemies looked each other in the eye and realized something was wrong.
All of this is easy for me. I've opposed war and violence for most of my life. I believe in non violence and think it is a moral choice that people need to make or at least consider. Along the way, I've met and talked to many veterans from different conflicts - WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. Most wouldn't speak with bravado about their experiences. Actually, most wouldn't speak voluntarily about what they did and saw. My Uncle Robbie was one of those heroes. He helped emancipate thousands from a concentration camp in Europe toward the end of WWII. He was on the ground with shells flying around him. He suffered the consequences of what he saw for most of his life but didn't talk about it. My great friend Louie who was a navigator flying in a bomber over Italy, Yugoslavia and other parts of Europe during WWII. He didn't boast. He got very thoughtful and said little. My friend Doug who fought with valor in Vietnam. He wouldn't joke about it or make light of it and he suffered from the things he saw. These men understood the question "when will they ever learn?" and they asked it themselves. They did not end up being the breast beaters or war mongers. They were tempered in their view. Many times, their view about war changed with time and expierience. They were smart men.
It's not them we have to worry about though. It's those boasters and saber rattlers, most of whom haven't seen war but have been elected to lead. Be careful as they talk about actions that have to be taken in Iraq. Enough is enough, and yes, when will they ever learn? Soon I hope. In the mean time, wage peace.
Friday, June 13, 2014
The Wait, Surgery, Recovery
The Wait
If anyone ever tells you that it's easy to wait and prepare for major surgery, my guess is they're lying or perhaps just fool hearty. A planned surgery is just that, planned. The planning has more to do with other people's schedules and issues rather then your own. In my case recently, there was about a two week period from diagnosis to surgery. The times can be shorter or longer based on many issues. When I was told about my need for surgery, the time seemed just about right. Little did I know. At first, there was much to do and as time went on, way too much. Time began to be my enemy. Now much depends on the seriousness of the procedure but that's part of what occurs during The Wait. Various people review risk factors with you based on pre-operative assessments, etc. The greater the risks become, the more you feel the need to get things done and time moves on. So getting papers in order, making sure estate plans are up to date, organizing the things you've said you were going to organize for years - all of these things begin to weigh heavily, and time moves on. There is a point when you realize you won't get everything done but you've done the best you can. In addition to all of this there is the nagging fear that not just something, but everything will go wrong. All of the risks will come to fruition, all at the same time. Oh well.
And then it comes - the day of reckoning, the sleepless night, the early rise and arrival at the hospital. Everyone caring and wondering if you're doing ok? Sure, I'm great, just waiting for the next phase of this horror show. The Nurses, the Anesthesiologist, the Surgeon, all offering last minute assurances. The Surgeon reminds me again of my respiratory issues and suggests I begin thinking now about deep breaths so it's on my mind when the surgery ends.
Surgery
Rolling into the operating room, everyone trying to make you feel comfortable. Then the friendly and professional Anesthesiologist says, "We've kept you here long enough. Now I'm going to give you something to help you relax." That's it! Next thing I know people are shaking me and saying "Take deep breaths, take deep breaths." Am I here? Where exactly am I? People are talking, telling me where we're going. I'm a bit confused. A short section here but that's all I remember.
Recovery
Before I know it or can realize it, I'm up walking, taking halting steps with the aid of a nurse and an IV monitor. The Dr. arrives while I'm walking and explains that from his perspective, the surgery was a success. Bad section of intestine removed (good riddance) and reattached. No problems, keep breathing, keep walking, Pathology report will be forthcoming.
So the recovery phase begins just like that. My clear liquid diet gets confused with a clear soft diet at one point and I over do it on cream of wheat - um um good! My eyes begin to turn orange or orangish red from jello at every meal. Pain management is pretty much under control with non opiates. Everything seems to be on course until about three days into recovery when fever strikes and a respiratory issue develops. More medications, more breathing exercises and a great emphasis on passing gas and having a bowel movement.
In between all of this many thoughts of life, future and past and how amazing technology and medicine is along with great care by really good people. But depression can easily set in when lying in a hospital bed or roaming halls looking at pictures of founding nuns and nursing class photos from the 1960's on. Especially when it's all punctuated by a wonderful container of jello - orange or red.
Pathology report is back. Tumor hadn't broken through wall of intestine and all of the removed lymph nodes show no signs of trouble. All good news but never out of the woods. On the fifth day, long anticipated bodily functions and release the following day.
At home on my beautiful Seneca, a new recovery process or a new phase begins. A desire for independence that the body can't deliver. Discomfort in many if not every position but the good news is that I've been upgraded to pudding. Ah the joys of life come back slowly.
If anyone ever tells you that it's easy to wait and prepare for major surgery, my guess is they're lying or perhaps just fool hearty. A planned surgery is just that, planned. The planning has more to do with other people's schedules and issues rather then your own. In my case recently, there was about a two week period from diagnosis to surgery. The times can be shorter or longer based on many issues. When I was told about my need for surgery, the time seemed just about right. Little did I know. At first, there was much to do and as time went on, way too much. Time began to be my enemy. Now much depends on the seriousness of the procedure but that's part of what occurs during The Wait. Various people review risk factors with you based on pre-operative assessments, etc. The greater the risks become, the more you feel the need to get things done and time moves on. So getting papers in order, making sure estate plans are up to date, organizing the things you've said you were going to organize for years - all of these things begin to weigh heavily, and time moves on. There is a point when you realize you won't get everything done but you've done the best you can. In addition to all of this there is the nagging fear that not just something, but everything will go wrong. All of the risks will come to fruition, all at the same time. Oh well.
And then it comes - the day of reckoning, the sleepless night, the early rise and arrival at the hospital. Everyone caring and wondering if you're doing ok? Sure, I'm great, just waiting for the next phase of this horror show. The Nurses, the Anesthesiologist, the Surgeon, all offering last minute assurances. The Surgeon reminds me again of my respiratory issues and suggests I begin thinking now about deep breaths so it's on my mind when the surgery ends.
Surgery
Rolling into the operating room, everyone trying to make you feel comfortable. Then the friendly and professional Anesthesiologist says, "We've kept you here long enough. Now I'm going to give you something to help you relax." That's it! Next thing I know people are shaking me and saying "Take deep breaths, take deep breaths." Am I here? Where exactly am I? People are talking, telling me where we're going. I'm a bit confused. A short section here but that's all I remember.
Recovery
Before I know it or can realize it, I'm up walking, taking halting steps with the aid of a nurse and an IV monitor. The Dr. arrives while I'm walking and explains that from his perspective, the surgery was a success. Bad section of intestine removed (good riddance) and reattached. No problems, keep breathing, keep walking, Pathology report will be forthcoming.
So the recovery phase begins just like that. My clear liquid diet gets confused with a clear soft diet at one point and I over do it on cream of wheat - um um good! My eyes begin to turn orange or orangish red from jello at every meal. Pain management is pretty much under control with non opiates. Everything seems to be on course until about three days into recovery when fever strikes and a respiratory issue develops. More medications, more breathing exercises and a great emphasis on passing gas and having a bowel movement.
In between all of this many thoughts of life, future and past and how amazing technology and medicine is along with great care by really good people. But depression can easily set in when lying in a hospital bed or roaming halls looking at pictures of founding nuns and nursing class photos from the 1960's on. Especially when it's all punctuated by a wonderful container of jello - orange or red.
Pathology report is back. Tumor hadn't broken through wall of intestine and all of the removed lymph nodes show no signs of trouble. All good news but never out of the woods. On the fifth day, long anticipated bodily functions and release the following day.
At home on my beautiful Seneca, a new recovery process or a new phase begins. A desire for independence that the body can't deliver. Discomfort in many if not every position but the good news is that I've been upgraded to pudding. Ah the joys of life come back slowly.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Status and Update
For those wondering, The Gadfly is back after undergoing surgery last week for the removal of a tumor from his colon. Surgery went well and the pathology report is very positive. Time will tell but for now doing some recuperating on Seneca Lake. Have heard from many old friends and mentors over the past few weeks and have been thinking lots of thoughts, which is always dangerous for a person with a pen or keyboard. More to come............
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Skipping Stones On Seneca Lake
Today I was down at the lake doing my every other, other week mowing of the Crown Vetch and Crab Grass. Things are a little rough down there due to the high water we've had over the past month basically. While I was mowing and puttering, my mind returned to last weekend and time with my beautiful little granddaughter. I spent time showing her the initial steps of skipping stones on the water of Seneca Lake. Yes, they were initial steps. She seemed more interested in the plopping noises her stones made rather then the fantastic skips produced by her grandpa. She would squeal with laughter when she saw the skips but the plopping noises were her contribution to an age old practice on these waters.
Stone skipping is probably pretty universal and most likely spans history before the Native Americans practiced the same feat on these waters and throughout this country. But for anyone who live on or near Seneca Lake, it's special. It's like home or a breadth of fresh air. Something you know and come to rely on. In addition, you don't have to be a property owner to partake. Renters and people visiting one of the many parks at water's edge have all the opportunity of a land owner.
When I was 5 or 6, my brother and I traveled from New Jersey with my father and a salesman friend of his who had ties to Seneca Lake. We stayed in his fisherman's cottage in Lodi almost directly across the lake from where I now live. Quite a coincidence. That beach in Lodi is where I first learned to skip stones on Seneca Lake and like many skills I have taken that one to other places around the world. Those of us who live here or visit often know though that Seneca is the holy grail of stone skipping. People from Keuka, Cayuga or any of the other Finger Lakes probably think and say the same about their lake as well as thousands of lakes across the country from coast to coast, but this (Seneca) is it.
Stone skipping is usually first passed down by a parent, an older friend or a grandparent. But the skill is never developed right away. As a child, you look in awe as that older person throws that flat piece of shale stone skimming across the water, twice, three times, four - or "Oh my God, it just skipped ten times. That has to be a world record." Most kids start with the plop and eventually the older person goes to do something important like starting the fire, fixing the toilet or getting gas. An older brother like mine is always helpful though. Eventually with practice and a strong sense of competition from your brother or sister, your stone skips. Wow! Even just two skips makes you jump for joy. And you stay, all morning, all afternoon, all evening and get better and better.
A STONE SKIPPERS PARADISE ABOVE ON THE SHORES OF SENECA LAKE
Back to last weekend. Here I am trying to explain to a 2 1/2 year old how she has to find a medium sized flat and perfectly shaped shale stone. We eventually were able to communicate by picking a really good one and saying "find another good one" and she did. I skipped them and hers, even perfectly sized and shaped went plop. But there are more days and plenty more stones for skipping and plopping.
Now I think stones are skipped all over the world because there's something instinctive about it. It's teachable and it's competitive and just plain fun. So I like to think that grandpas, grandmas, and parents are teaching young children on the great loughs of Ireland as well as the lakes of the Ukraine, Israel, Iran, Nigeria, China, every country, to skip those stones. Making them skip ten or twenty times to glee and laughter and every once in a while a plop, plop and a determination to make the next one skip. And to think, it all started on Seneca Lake.
Stone skipping is probably pretty universal and most likely spans history before the Native Americans practiced the same feat on these waters and throughout this country. But for anyone who live on or near Seneca Lake, it's special. It's like home or a breadth of fresh air. Something you know and come to rely on. In addition, you don't have to be a property owner to partake. Renters and people visiting one of the many parks at water's edge have all the opportunity of a land owner.
When I was 5 or 6, my brother and I traveled from New Jersey with my father and a salesman friend of his who had ties to Seneca Lake. We stayed in his fisherman's cottage in Lodi almost directly across the lake from where I now live. Quite a coincidence. That beach in Lodi is where I first learned to skip stones on Seneca Lake and like many skills I have taken that one to other places around the world. Those of us who live here or visit often know though that Seneca is the holy grail of stone skipping. People from Keuka, Cayuga or any of the other Finger Lakes probably think and say the same about their lake as well as thousands of lakes across the country from coast to coast, but this (Seneca) is it.
Stone skipping is usually first passed down by a parent, an older friend or a grandparent. But the skill is never developed right away. As a child, you look in awe as that older person throws that flat piece of shale stone skimming across the water, twice, three times, four - or "Oh my God, it just skipped ten times. That has to be a world record." Most kids start with the plop and eventually the older person goes to do something important like starting the fire, fixing the toilet or getting gas. An older brother like mine is always helpful though. Eventually with practice and a strong sense of competition from your brother or sister, your stone skips. Wow! Even just two skips makes you jump for joy. And you stay, all morning, all afternoon, all evening and get better and better.
Back to last weekend. Here I am trying to explain to a 2 1/2 year old how she has to find a medium sized flat and perfectly shaped shale stone. We eventually were able to communicate by picking a really good one and saying "find another good one" and she did. I skipped them and hers, even perfectly sized and shaped went plop. But there are more days and plenty more stones for skipping and plopping.
Now I think stones are skipped all over the world because there's something instinctive about it. It's teachable and it's competitive and just plain fun. So I like to think that grandpas, grandmas, and parents are teaching young children on the great loughs of Ireland as well as the lakes of the Ukraine, Israel, Iran, Nigeria, China, every country, to skip those stones. Making them skip ten or twenty times to glee and laughter and every once in a while a plop, plop and a determination to make the next one skip. And to think, it all started on Seneca Lake.
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