Whoa man, you're spilling your protein!

Dad's been experiencing some swelling of his extremities as of late, and we've been trying to figure out the cause.  Kids don't lie, and last weekend Elliot asked him, "Paw Paw, why's your face like that? so... so... fat?"  Ha! His legs are holding water like crazy, and I had a dream that he dropped dead of a heart attack and the sweet sweet irony we'd all discuss at the funeral....  So I called and kinda begged for him to make another appointment with the heart doc ( swelling can be indicative of congestive heart failure, duh...).

 Not one one worry, or rush to seek medical attention, or be concerned that he's only wearing house shoes, The Patient finally called his nephrologist ( not the heart doctor, but a doctor all the same) and got an appointment.  Dr Hefner was equally concerned with his swelling and asked him to collect his pee in a jug for a day.  I guess that's a nephrologist's tool bag- a big jug of pee.  I haven't given up my quest for a cardiology appointment, and even pulled in Sisterbaby to make a call as well.  The baby in the family usually gets what she wants.

Anyway, it has been determined that Dad is spilling protein, probably because the un-rotten kidney isn't working up to par, and protein acts as a glue to keep your fluids where they need to be.  He prescribed a different diuretic and recommended a break from Avastin ( gasp!).
Dad got some quick relief from the diuretic, went to see Baltzy the Oncologist on Tuesday, wasn't supposed to get the Avastin, but did anyway.  He doesn't want to go without his Avastin, but Baltzy said that he's got to let his kinda-ok kidney catch up.  Dad is glad he snuck in an extra dose, as he doesn't want any false negatives on his scans on Monday.  He'll stay off Avastin until Feb 14th, then they'll re-evaluate.

Baltzy and Hefner have both been saying that his heart is fine, and that he didn't need to go to the cardiologist; however, in a sudden strike of divine intelligence, Baltzy came to his senses and told Dad that when two women get together and tell you to do something, just go ahead and do it.

Eye roll.
E

Good Living through Chemistry

I'm fine ! Really I am.

It's been 9 months since I blogged. Some of you may have been worried about me.... or not .

This is a picture of Erin, and Ezra (born November 15) He's the 5th grandchild. How could I not be fine ! Looks just like me, don't you think?

Erin wrote one time about the spooky white eyebrows. Well, the darker model is back. How could I not be fine ! Not long ago, Dr. Baltz said I looked 10 years younger. He didn't say that I looked 10 years younger than 60, just that I looked 10 years younger than I did a while back.

The Avastin/Interferon cocktail is apparently still working. I guess you saw where some mets were actually gone, gone, gone in the late October scans. We have another set of scans to do at the end of January. More news then. I've been on this regimen for 9 months now and still don't have it figured out and quantified like I did the Sutent. On the week that I just have the Interferon injection, I've come to expect ache joints, and headaches for 3+ days. Debbie says I'm grumpy....nah! On the other week, I get an IV of Avastin + the Interferon injection...and they add a steroid to the IV that totally masks the flu-like symtoms.

Body chemistry is a strange thing. All of a sudden, my blood sodium was low. That's a bad thing and it can kill you or make you crazy as a lesser symtom. I'm monitored so thoroughly that I didn't experience either so I've spent a few months building that back up.

Side effect of Chemo is water retention. Water retention means dilution of your sodium, so don't eat dietary salt, but drink yourself silly on GatorAid. Don't drink any water at all...brush your teeth with GatorAid. I'm sick of GatorAid!

I've been freezing to death since summer....finally we're working on hypothyroidism symtoms. I wish they had started earlier, because it's about to be well digger cold, and my thyroid isn't regulated yet.

I'll be 61 in less than a week. I'm fine...really I am.

SIGNIFICANCE

Y'all know about me being psychic?  Last night I had a dream that the radiologist came out of his dark radiology room, and he took off his tiny little square glasses as he wiped his sweaty brow.  He's wearing a long, white, I'm better than you, lab coat with that big monogrammed cursive writing on his left lapel.  "Can't find them... they're gone" he says.  " Are you sure these are your films, sir?"  This is when Dad says "well, I reckon they're my scans..." and the sweaty radiologist says "yes, I reckon they are, and they're gone.  gone gone gone.  can't find a single one."    


Well, it didn't go EXACTLY like that today, but it was close.  Baltzy the Oncologist called Mom this afternoon to tell her that Dad left his office before he even ASKED about his scan results.  Do you want to be one who is called directly by your oncologist?  Yes, of course... but NO! No no no.  But yes.  This was nice of The Doctor.  Anyway, Baltzy said that he had run over to listen to the audio transcription of the scan results, and that along with some mutter mutter jibber jabber, the overall impression was that there was "significant response to therapy."  I only practice radiology for my own family members, BUT, using the word significant is, um... significant.  Because we radiologists(ok, I'll stop)... use significant in its statistical sense, not just its literal sense.  Literally, there has to be a big enough change from status quo to even think about using the word significant.  We won't have the real numbers until tomorrow afternoon, but this gives us significant joy.  Not only for the stability or the possibility of improvement, but because it buys us three more months of not thinking about it; doing other things.  


Dad told me today that he "would probably blog tonight."  I told Mom,  and she told him "Oh, Erin said you PROMISED you would blog tonight."  This, set off the rebellious spirit I share with Dad, and pretty much cemented that he would NOT be blogging this evening.  I understand completely.  It's my blog anyway.   


I'm 9 months pregnant- at least SOMEBODY is getting to celebrate.  
Cheers!
E 

Oh Hellew. I know. It's been months. Dad's still wearing Hawaiian Razorback shirts and playing the banjo. There's not much we can do about it, as the man has cancer. I wonder if Steve Jobs' kids were like "Daaaaad! You're launching the ipad today, DON'T wear that same black turtleneck!" while he finished his breakfast and flipped them off as he walked out the door. I wonder. I'll come back to him later.


BIZNETH: Just called Dad to ask when he has scans. He said "uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh, Octooooooooooober, ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm twenty.............ummmmmm fifth. Yeah. 25th. Let this be a sign of the times. We used to know the day, scan time, and and results appointment time three months in advance. It used to be written on my calendar with a little scary face next to it ( yes, I illustrate my calendar with emotion), and now I guess we're just used to it.

Dad's still getting juiced with Avastin/Interferon every Tuesday. He still gets some headaches. His hair is turning darker in a strange Benjamin Button sort of way. Most comforting is that his eyebrows have returned to their original color. 'Cause white eyebrows are disconcerting. There has to be some evolutionary biological reason for dark eyebrows, as when they aren't, your cellular-level guts tell you somethin' just aint right. Gives me the shivers, and I'm glad they're back.


STEVE JOBS: His passing affected me. Not because I am a lover of his brilliant innovations. I appreciate small bits of brilliance in my little microcosmos every single day. It affected me more because I think I might know what his family is feeling. Pancreatic cancer is like RCC in that it has dreaded stats. And I'm sure that his family, like ours, put his cancer up on a shelf and continued on with their lives. They took cancer down every three months, dusted her off, then put her back up on that shelf to keep on keepin' on. He went to work, provided the framework for brilliant minds to come up with brilliant new tools ( anyone seeing the connection between Apple Inc. and American Restoration Tile? I know... uncanny isn't it... Who DOESN'T need a custom fired, historically accurate in color, unglazed porcelain three quarter inch square edge tile???? I know, right???? )
And then it all fell apart. Steve Jobs afforded himself the best medical care, I assume. If anyone has access, it's that dude... but really, at the end of the day, while Steve Jobs was kind of a big deal to a lot of people, he was just somebody's husband, and some kid's dad... just like mine.

I asked Dad if he had any business to report to the blog. He said he would not divulge anything, as I would steal his thunder. He did tell me about some dude at Kinko's that thinks he is his cousin, and asked about our plans for the weekend, etc.....

Our cancer is up on the shelf. We know she's there. We'll get her down on the 25th. Hope there's nothing to see.

Tra la laaaa
E

Two years

When you google survival statistics of Stage IV RCC, you are hard pressed to find anything exceeding 5 months.

He's at 24.

The only battle he lost this week was against a rogue wave. It took his swim suit and his dignity.

He quickly recovered both.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

We love birthdays.

This is a big day for me. Not only is it my 59th birthday, it's also my last day of work as a teacher. Twenty-one years. Anyone connected to a school knows that teachers do amazing work. Teachers are responsible for lessons, yes, but also the care and nurturing of the students. The kids come in all shapes, sizes, and conditions. It is exhausting but satisfying work. Anyone connected to a school also knows that the hours between bells are just the stage show; many more hours of creation, revision, and rehearsal are required to support the "student contact hours," and "summers off" is really only enough time to recover and get back up to do it again. Thank every teacher you can find! An explanation of why I decided to retire isn't really necessary, is it?

It's time. We can pay for COBRA insurance until I turn 60 in a year then I can sign up for retired-teacher insurance for both of us. A lot of my fellow teachers assumed that I decided to retire because they thought Bryan must be doing worse. Actually, it's because he's doing so well that I knew I wanted to leave now. We want to go where we want, when we want, and stay until we're ready to leave. We really don't have a bucket list, but there are places we've never been: the Caribbean, Seattle, Maine, Minot.

Erin and Shaun are expecting their third baby in November, so we're thrilled to be able to offer them some extra hands since they'll be out-numbered. I look forward to visiting Eli and Emily at Roberts Elementary School which is between our house and "town." It will be easier for me to spend time with Daddy at Presbyterian Village, attending the monthly luncheons, birthday parties, and other special occasions in addition to just sitting and visiting. I also intend to learn all I can about the tile business so that I can be helpful. Bryan is obviously the tile guru; I want to help with logistics, organizing and finding the stuff he loses!

This morning, my friends at Mann gave a "Bon Voyage" party for Linda Berman, who's retiring too, and me. Dr. Marian Lacey, who was principal at Mann when our kids were there, came. So did Suzi Davis and Stella Hayes. Stella wrote a poem for us. Pat Boykin read "The Road Not Taken." We had a yummy spread of fruit, dips, and little ham biscuits. The cake was crafted by our very own Jamie McKenney (Jamie's Custom Cakes 501-944-3796)and was beautiful. I was given a gift certificate for some spa services :). Lots of people said very nice things; it was a lovely way to leave.

I had already turned in my grades, counted textbooks, cleared the walls and shelves for painters, and given away my desk and everything purple. Today I had the joy of turning in my keys. Let the party begin!

Debbie

I forgot he had cancer.

Do ya'll know about the redneck pool? The pvc paradise? The oval oasis?
It's one of those mildly embarrassing above ground numbers that has poles and a werbely ladder that you have to check your pride to put in your yard things that you find in the big box at your favorite discount retailer. You've looked at them.

It's for us who can't afford the in-ground options. For those of us who want a vat of chlorinated water to bathe our kids in during the summer so we won't have to stoop over the bathtub. It's for me.

Mom and Dad have stepped over the 'us n them' line and dug a hole in the backyard. So... natch, I called dibs on the redneck pool.

Now, how is lil' ol ME gonna get that big old pool out of the garage and 200 miles north to MY yard???? Ask Dad.

Mom said it might be too heavy, as the sand filter alone weighs 400 pounds. She thought he might not want to do it, and maybe I'd have to settle for the smaller 12 foot pvc paradise instead ( yeah, they have two.)

Well why would Dad not feel like hauling this thing up a hill and into a truck and driving it to my house? That would be weird.

It'll be here in a couple of hours. Ha! I forgot he had freakin' cancer. So does he, he says. Especially with Avastin/Interferon, he feels good. With Sutent, he had his calendar of symptoms to look forward to. Right now, all he's looking forward to unloading the 400 lb sand filter.
If he's not going to play up the cancer card, neither. am. I.

Now imagine me floating on my back spitting water into the air like a fountain. In a tank top and cutoffs. Don't spill my drank! That's how rednecks swim.