Columbus and the Valley

My Sock Monkey is Fierce!

I got the phone call we were looking for yesterday from Dr. Pippas. He has managed to work with Dr. Dan George at Duke University Hospital to get our consultation appointment moved up a full two weeks! The new appointment time is 1:30 p.m. on Wednesday, January 11.

I have filled out all my new patient forms online (how nice to have them digital!) and have submitted them to the doctor’s office. The scheduling person, Stephanie, wasn’t able to answer all my questions about what might happen while we’re there. Will there be blood work? Will there be scans? Will I take a treadmill stress test? I don’t know the answers to these questions, so I will be packing Xanax, just in case they decide to slide me into a tube, either feet- or face-first.

Getting this appointment moved up is HUGE for me. I have been a basket case, although a calm one. The way my mind works is that once I have made it up regarding a particular course of action, I simply cannot sit around and wait for things to happen. I want to go NOW. The tone of my phone calls to Dr. Pippas’ office has been, frankly, more intense as I have made them. I think I have been somewhat of a pest, but we have a small business to run and the possibility of the first vacation we’ve taken in a long, long time scheduled, too. We need to keep the business running and we want to be able to take this Caribbean vacation with two couples of our best friends.

I am thinking, “If we could get this ball rolling, we can do the therapy, I’ll have time to get over it and we can still make the Water Island trip.” That really wasn’t practical, given the time some of this stuff takes. So, with the great gift of an earlier consultation appointment with Dr. George, we’ll be able to learn all we need to know about whether I’ll qualify for the treatment, what we have to do to prepare for it, get out the April magazine and still make our trip. Then, if Duke’s scheduling will permit, we’ll start the treatment as shortly after March 5 as we can.

With the usual one week on and two weeks off and one week back on scenario, by mid-May I should be cancer free, ready to hug my family and friends, golf, fish, kayak and continue to look for ways to embarrass my children. If I make it through to the healthy conclusion of HDIL-2 that I envision attaining, my next point of focus will be to urge the appropriate parties to produce us a grandchild.

None of our sons are married. Some are more seriously dating than others. We’d appreciate them getting things done in the right order and all that – but damn it, I want a grandchild!

When the HDIL-2 purges me of cancer, I also intend to write about other things in the blog than kidney cancer. There is so much more than I can write about! My head is completely stuffed with some useful things to impart and also some useless drivel that only weird people would want to read. Since I have quite a few weird readers, they’ll be happy with those writings, I’m sure.

Jill and I are reading now, trying to prepare for the HDIL-2 treatment. We won’t know which of the awful potential side effects will bother me. But we have to assume they all will, and be ready with the proper clothing, shoes, lotions, diversions and drugs to counteract them.

One of my favorite tree-hugger, animals-are-people-too people, Callie Sprague, has convinced me to use visualization so that my mind will condition my body to find and kill these cancer cells. What I may not have said about this particular cancer and the HDIL-2 therapy is interesting. The very toxic drip that they’ll mainline into my heart every 6 hours doesn’t kill cancer. It is designed to ramp up your immune system and allow it to literally rise up and kill the cancer cells, no matter where they are in your body.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that Kate Nerone gave me a sock monkey after reading one of my posts in which I referred to this lovable sock-skinned creature. Until that monkey ripped the face off that woman in Stamford, Conn., I would have never considered a monkey as my preferred mascot in an ass-whipping competition. Something with a more fierce reputation, like a honey badger, would surely be a better talisman for my upcoming battle.

Thanks to Kate, I have a sock monkey in hand. Last time I checked my office, there was not a honey badger in sight, so I will be taking my sock monkey with me for all the HDIL-2 treatments. The monkey’s name is Robert Charles (R.C.) Killer. He’s a seasoned killer, so tortured by renal cells as a baby monkey that he’s developed a lethal hatred for them. A lifetime of bullying by renal cells has hardened him into a single-minded killer. Killing RCC is his only past-time. Uninhibited by hobbies, he has devoted his entire life to killing RC cells within my body.

Sock monkeys mate for life. The bonding begins as they’re packed for shipping to their new mate. As Kate boxed Killer to send him on his way, the brief stretch of darkness and the incessant jarring as the package made its way to me only served to make him a more lethal killing machine. There is nothing more deadly than a pissed off sock monkey!

When Killer arrived on my desk, I could feel the pent up energy that lay under that packing tape and cardboard. As I ripped the packing material, I had the sense that whatever was inside was doing its job to get out. I could feel the strength of the limbs and claws scratching their way out in order to release the creature into my arms.

Killer has been patiently waiting for me to utilize his particular brand of killing skills. He has perched on a piece of furniture in my office with a cocky look that says to visitors, “Yes, I know I look cute, but I can rip your face off in an instant and show no remorse! Go ahead, try me.” Honestly, I feel much more secure in my office just knowing that Killer is standing guard.

He was excited to know that I have a real mission for him that will utilize his considerable skills for something more than guarding a magazine publisher’s office. The typical visitor to my office is a fairly non-threatening person. They’re generally not scary, except for the occasional redheaded public relations person who comes by from time to time. Killer is beside himself with just the right amount of swagger and professional pride at the knowledge that he’s about to go up against his most dangerous opponent yet. Renal cell cancer is deadly, unpredictable and sneaky, but Killer has been trained for this day.

JIll, Killer and I are ready to go to Duke to hear Dr. George’s plan for our future in this next phase of our battle with kidney cancer. Some people will likely make fun of me for carrying Killer. They just better hope I don’t turn him loose on them.

What Killer, what did you say? “Kidney cancer is my bitch!” Well alrighty then. Let’s go to Duke!

Scanxiety

We leave tomorrow morning for a quick trip to Emory for a follow up on my radiosurgery with Dr. Liza Stapleford. I had an MRI without contrast media last week. Since Dr. Pippas ordered the MRI, he’ll have to give the OK for the radiology department at The Medical Center to release a disk containing the scans for us to take to Atlanta. What I’m hoping we get is a brief report that all is well and that the stereotactic radiosurgery did what it was supposed to do. If I get my best birthday wish, she’ll say that the tumor is dead, that she doesn’t see any more problem areas and that the hole left in my spinal vertebra will heal with time without any structural issues.

My kidney cancer friends call these days scanxiety days. I know why. Despite the Christmas, New Year and birthday holidays, I have been doing a pretty good job of pushing the worry back. With an answer coming tomorrow, tonight will be a different story.

Now, before any of you who I have recently drunk dialed get excited, there will be no Xanax on this trip. So, Joe McClure in particular, I won’t be calling you to grill you on any of the lyrics to songs you’ve written. Rusty Scoven, I won’t be called you to talk about pineapples and, Michael Venable, I won’t be asking you to bring me any cupcakes. I’m hoping this is just a short trip to Atlanta to have a chat with a cute radiation oncologist. I will be blogging again tomorrow and I hope I’ll be telling some good news.

2011, don’t let me down!

Like Water From Another Time

The past couple of days have been interesting. This is the 5th day since my Thursday dose of Xanax and I am finally starting to feel human again. It is difficult to put into words how I’ve felt. Let’s just say that the dips of the cancer roller coaster ride that foster isolation for the patient are made more palpable with the addition of medically-induced fuzziness. I have told several people that I’ve felt “not right in my head” over the days since my last Thursday radiosurgery. This morning, I’m starting to feel like my old self. I just wish it could be the old self without cancer.

Last night I met with the planning team for the 2011 American Cancer Society Crystal Ball. I’m the honoree and with all the goings on in our lives over the past 15 weeks, I haven’t been much help to this wonderful group of people. Being able to sit and talk last night and see all the good work that is being done in my name for the benefit of the ACS was good medicine for me. I left there, still in my Xanax funk, but uplifted at the same time.

Last night I learned about someone’s friend who has had recent RCC surgery and has already had a return of his cancer. Another friend of mine has contacted me in the past few days to tell me about a friend of her’s who is facing upcoming RCC surgery. I have made myself available to talk to these folks to do what I can to shed some light on their upcoming days. I hope they’ll get in touch with me. It seems to help me to be able to help someone else.

Cancer creates families. Like a group of people struggling to keep their heads above the water during a tsunami, the members of this family are thrown together, bounced apart and pitched back into each others’ faces while we all ride the peaks and valleys in our own time. Quite together and quite apart. Lives moving to different beats, but somehow not quite in tune with the world around us.

Back From the Snake Pit

I spent about an hour last night talking to Jill about some of the hilarious antics I’ve displayed since Wednesday. I have an almost holy respect right now for the drug Xanax simply because of its ability to render me completely free of anxiety during these highly confining procedures I’ve had to have with my kidney cancer. I took 1.5 mg on Wednesday morning on the way to Atlanta and another .5 mg 30 minutes before the shrink wrap test run. Then I did the same thing the next day for the actual radiosurgery. That’s it!

What I have found out it that those eight half-milligram orange pills have cost me large chunks of two days of my life and I’m not sure I’ve completely gotten back to my new normal yet. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that I went on a writing spree and posted the largest single post I’ve ever penned when we returned home on Friday night.

The other scary thing for me is that I spent quite a bit of time with Jill, two of my sons and one of my oldest and best friends, Richard Barrett, who drove to Atlanta from Greenville, SC to visit with me. If these stories Jill told me last night are true, then I may have some damage control to administer. I don’t remember much about Wednesday, Thursday or Friday and I’m finding out that I’ve said and done some crazy things during my 3-day Xanax fog.

A former boss of mine, Keith Murray, from during my Wichita days sent me a fatherly warning on facebook several days ago about Xanax. I guess he has, as have you, read so many snippets of how I’ve extolled the qualities of the drug over the last few days that he wanted to warn me to be cautious. Apparently he has a friend who got in trouble with the drug and he wanted me to be on guard.

I can’t wait to have a phone conversation with my sons, Michael and Adam, and my friend Richard just to see what I said to them. I really don’t have any idea about what Richard and I talked about for at least 2 hours on Wednesday (or it could have been Thursday) afternoon. Jill has told me that I turned into a six-year-old boy on the way home from the hospital on Thursday and that I reached for the door handle of the car while we were in traffic because I spotted a bakery that I wanted to go to for cupcakes. I don’t even normally eat cupcakes, but I managed to get Jill and my son, Michael, to bring me cupcakes to our hotel room on two different occasions while we were in Atlanta!

I write when the spirit hits me. If I’m not feeling it, I can’t write. I have found that my passion for writing and expression have been healthily fueled over the past few days while I’ve been under the Xanax influence. Last night, I realized that I had been sitting in my chair in front of the fireplace with my laptop perched on my knees for an embarrassingly long period of time. I’ve been so consumed with communicating with people via my blog and through emails and facebook that I really had just freaking zoned out.

During my double-digit-hour computer freak out yesterday, I watched a football game, a swamp logging show, 30 seconds of Lawrence Welk (for which I’ve been chided by Jesse Deese) and a movie that definitely made my condition worse. It was a B&W film called “The Snake Pit” where a woman goes crazy and is institutionalized for several years and it subjected to electroshock therapy. I damn sure didn’t need to see that!

But, here I am again, pounding on these keys. I had decided that I would attempt to post every day during the month of December. That is not going to happen. I’ll have to be sent off somewhere like the snake pit if I do that. Serious blogging about such an important issue as cancer is just too intense an experience to sustain over that kind of period. This blog, for me now — at least for a while — is intended to give people a glimpse into what cancer can do not only to your body, but your mind. The physical, emotional and financial fallout of this disease is simply staggering. It changes you in so many ways.

I am so thankful to have had my Jill by my side for these last few days. I have needed a caretaker, without a doubt, and she is the most patient, thoughtful, long-suffering woman on this earth. Oh what a lucky man I am to have such a beautiful, kind mate. If I make it through this alive and in one mental piece, she is going have a serious balance in my payback account.

Thankfully, I’ll be leaving soon to go to St. Matthews in-the-Pines Episcopal church. I plan to spend some time on my knees this morning giving thanks to my God for my wife, my family, my life, my friends, my doctors, my colleagues and those who I have verbally persecuted over the past few days. If you are one of the persecuted ones, I don’t remember giving you hell. I’m blaming it completely on the Xanax, which is safely tucked into that place where I keep my drugs, ready to be used again if I need it.

Here’s an update on my spine. On Wednesday, before the radiosurgery, I had constant back pain in certain positions. After the therapy, that pain is gone. Instantly gone, from whatever was done to my back. It didn’t burn. I wasn’t cut and I walked away from the table (although I have no memory of the ride home) after lying there for only an hour. Thank you, Dr. Liza Jane Stapleford! Hell, I probably said some things to her that I’ll have to apologize for, too.

I’m back, world! Thanks be to God!

Round Two is Over

Here I sit, finally back home, in my leather chair and completely exhausted. We stopped by the office for a few hours late this afternoon to get some pressing things done. I made a few phone calls, mostly to family, but I made one very special phone call to my friend (not my doctor at the present) Dr. John Cabelka. I’ll get to that in a moment. [Read more…]