Lip-Service

When Alison woke up today, her lips didn't join her. She was quite frantic when she noticed herself in the mirror. It was as if her lips had crinkled up and retracted into her mouth! We called the doctor immediately. Wait, let me first say that she's walking again. The doctor thought that chemo would do that for her, and it has. Okay, back to the lip-thing. Anyways, the doctor called her in to check her calcium level. It was fine. And in the meantime, she'd stretched them and lip-balmed them into their normal beautiful state.

I think it's due to part cold/sinus infection, part sleeping well with her mouth open, part chemotherapy, and part chaos. Either way it scared both of us.

Overall she's doing well. Much better than yesterday. The nausea is under control, the pain is manageable, and my final test proved positive today: she was able to make desert. It's a wonder to me how she can stay so 'cute' during all this. She sends thank you cards to everyone, bakes whenever she's able (to include co-baking with Jan some cookies and bringing them to the nurses while they tested her calcium), and finds ways to make me smile. Just this morning on the way accross the bridge she said, "I think they'll give me my pro-creeit shot today". It's hard to write it as cute as it sounded, because I cannot read myself with a mousy little voice like hers, nor is it really possible to understand that normally when I think 'Procrit,' I harmonize the crit with grit, sit, and chit. Anyways, to procreeit I laughed.

I love her. If you were wondering, tonight's desert was stuffed baked apples with whipped cream on the side.

An Update

My old trend of telling a story at the beginning of posts is quickly fading. There are so many little funny stories, some real potential nightmares, and some others to relate, but I find that I'm much more inclined to get straight to 'the tomatoes'.

Alison's back from the hospital. She was discharged last night, inspite of severe pain in her hips and legs (again), some remaining clottage, etc. The doctors have prescibed her three months of blood thinners to continue the fight against her two clots and prevent future ones from occuring.

She began another session of chemotherapy this morning, so 'Becky' is back attached to her hip in the superb 'fanny-pack' style we've grown accustomed to. Alison's already feeling the nausea, so she's sleeping as much as possible.

And for now, it's back in the wheel-chair again.

We know this road will have ups and downs. We're just in a valley right now again. I am fully aware and certainly grateful, for things could always be 'worse.' Amen says the congregation!

Thanks for the prayers, the cards, and every thought ya'll have for Alison's well-being.

A Little More Scary Than Expected

I am a snooper of my wife's health. I'll just say it. So yesterday, when the nurse came for yet another blood test, I asked to see all the results thus far. I looked at them all, and from my experience of judging numbers and seeing what doctors do at what levels, I could tell she borderline needs more blood. But pumping un-thinned blood into her right now while she's got blood-clots isn't the best idea is it?

That's not the scary part. The scary part was the ultrasound results that I read. Deep Venous Thrombosis. She's got TWO blood clots. One in her chest and one, as I was reading, in her left internal jugular. Jugular? That scared me because of my training. They teach us where those are and how to crimp them, choke them, etc. And I know what would happen if I'd put Alison in one of my Marine Corps blood-chokes. So this blood clot could do the same thing?

I decided to go out for a breather. I called the physician that is assigned to my unit and asked, "I know we have four jugular veins. What function does a right internal jugular play?" He told me that it supplies blood and oxygen to the brain. I think I figured that but hearing it solidified a fear. He said as to 'why,' that these clots can be a byproduct of those that are bed-ridden due to long-term illness, they have a tendency in people with tumors, and that ports inevitably slow down the blood flow of that vein. I am not sure that the clots are in the port-vein, but I'll accept that answer. I was appreciative for the advice.

I am glad that Alison listened to her body and insisted that something was wrong. A little swelling of the arm, a bit more swelling of the collar-bone, and some insistance may well have saved her life. We're in good hands, and I think that God facilitated her good care and responsiveness.

I'll keep you posted.

A Bit Couped Up

Wednesday night Alison noticed her shoulder/neck/collarbone area was swollen. The next day we went in and the chemo-nurse tested the port to see if it had malfunctioned or become infected. The nurse thought Alison might have slept on it wrong, so she told us to monitor it and come back if it got worse.

It did. This morning Alison was having pain swallowing and could barely move her head from side to side. Her hip pain is back too. So we went in for an Ultra-sound. I was waiting in the lobby for an hour and a half, which I thought was too long for normal ultrasounds, so I went back to see 'what the dilly, yo?'

They found a blood clot in Alison's shoulder. In fact, they discovered swelling in that arm that went along with the pain she was feeling. We had written off the pain to standard Procrit related junk. So... the nurse talked to Dr. Chahin. He admitted Alison this afternoon.

She'll stay at the hospital in order to take blood-thinner via IV. There's lots of little stories that happened, but I don't feel much like writing them all here. I WILL tell you that Alison's doing fine, and that she'll be in the hospital until Monday or Tuesday for observation, etc. Right now I am gathering her needs, but I'll probably be right beside her for the duration. AJ left for Iraq today, so the house will be awefully empty anyways.

I'll keep you posted.

Two Peas...

I had oral surgery today. They blind-folded me, gave me a bit to chomp on after numbing me up, and tried for 15 minutes to pull my 12-year molar out.

(Unsuccessfully)

So he tried to crack off the molar's head ::crack:: (successfully)

The next thing I heard from my darkness under the blindfold was the dreaded "vvvvrrrrph, vvvvrrrrph!" The drill.

The worst thing is hearing the conversation, and having things to say but you can't because there's a big chomp, gauze and a sucker in your mouth.

So he drilled the two roots apart. VVVRRRRRPHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Then he yanked out the back one.::crack::

Then he tried the front. (unsuccessfully)

So he drilled the root out of the bone. VVVVRRRRRPPPPTTTTHHHH!!!!!

Then he seuchered me up. Gave me some gauze, and sent me on my way. It was cold in there, but I sweated so much there were drip marks on my T-shirt. It was by far the worst dental experience of my life (so far). I have cavities to fill yet, and now I need to get fitted for a bridge or implant for my molar. YEAH.... Break out the booze it's a party!!

So I sat waiting for my medicine, stuffed full of gauze, while recruits walked down the hallway screaming "Good Afternoon, SIR!" as they noticed my shiny rank from below my puffy cheeks. It was all time enough to think about the worst thing of the day: that it was my own choice. I could choose root canal or extraction. I could choose bridge or nothing. My main concern for the doctor was my domino's.

"But Ma'am, if you pull out that tooth, won't the others fall into it's place?"

"No, especially since when your mouth is closed, the other teeth hold it there."

"But I swear sometimes my back molars switch sides of my face while I sleep. They decide 'yep, tonight I like the east-jaw.' This is going to give them more shuffling possibilities. Soon they'll have their own border-patrol and visa-system."

She laughed and sent me down the hall to my fate.

So Alison and I are taking care of each other. I can't talk but can walk well. She can talk for me and tell me what she needs.

We are truly two peas in a pod.

Here's a Little Song I Wrote...

Yesterday Alison was feeling a little cooped up, so we went to the library. It was a good trip, and we even came home with a nice-looking bundt cake from the coffee shop next door. But it wasn't enough time away, and she didn't have the energy to continue on. She only had the will, which left her frustrated. So I suggested we go to Dad's this weekend. Alison thought it was such a good idea to get away, we went home and packed. Then we left.

Dad's house is really nice. And Jan's a great listener and care-taker for Alison. Plus Dad and I enjoy hanging out in the garage tinkering with his fishing rods and new depth-finder.

But as soon as we went to bed I knew something was wrong. My tooth hurt. I tried to crunch my teeth together as a remedy, but it only made the pain jump into a burning in my ear as well. OWW. So I got up to look, analyze, and re-brush. A huge filling had dislodged itself and re-lodged itself inbetween two of my molars. I was able to move it back, but it hurt like the dickens. Alison suggested some pain medicine, and I relented and took it.

I spent the whole night dizzier than a whirling dervish. Then Alison fed me. I felt better for a half hour then puked.

But now I am only slightly dizzy writing this. But here's why I am writing: to emphasize perspective like it's the week's secret word at Peewee's playhouse. Alison's got such a good one with her illness. And yesterday I thought of a woman I know, who's military husband had just returned. Alison and I know her well enough to know that instead of being happy, she's probably complaining about how long he was gone, how delayed his return was, and how badly the beautician messed up her hair beforehand.

Remind me to send them a card congratulating them on a successful deployment. Maybe that might help her turn the corner. Seriously this life is too short to look at the bad isn't it?

So I am going to go puke now, but crawl back into bed with my beautiful wife and give her a kiss while I'm still smiling. I am so glad she was happy to get away.

Remind me to brush my teeth before that kiss...

Controls of Life

No, not controlling life. That's quite impossible I'm convinced. Controls as I was instructed, are more a way to keep accountability on what's happening. Counting beans, or more likely, measuring and directing water. Controls are buckets, funnels, tubes. They can direct, but not control water. Water will always fall, in an unending effort to reach the end of the effects of gravity. I am losing even myself. So I'll stop after saying that our lives are an unending effort to reach the end of the effects of gravity.

I thought of all this while cleaning the garage. It was in a HEINOUS state of disarray. Not one control in place. I thought to myself after it was clean, "How can I have controls in my life, if I do not have any in my garage." Well, I thought that and "I need a bigger tool-box."

Alison's doing well in spite of the chemotherapy. The Oncologist was visibly surprised to see her doing so well. Her blood counts are holding strong, the pain is reduced, and he even mentioned that he couldn't quite say but maybe it felt to him that the main tumor was reduced. Of course, that could have been because she's regular now.

I have one last thing to share: www.abebooks.com. Wow. What a discovery. I bought the entire Harry Potter series, Hard Cover, for a total of 37$. That includes shipping. And Alison, I bought her 3 Hard Cover Nicholas Sparks books for a buck a piece. You really can't shake a stick at that. And I found out about Abe by showing my hind end at a used bookstore downtown, when I tried to buy Prince of Tides in Hard Cover for what I thought was 19.95$, but was specially marked (in pencil on the other page) at 89.95$. The lady said it was a 'First-Edition'. I apologized and said I was just interested in the hard cover, not the hard dinero it would take to purchase that book. She suggested to me Abebooks. I scoffed at it a little, but three weeks later I found her note in one of my pockets. I tried it and whalah! Harry Potter, Pat Conroy, and Nicholas Sparks. Of course, I had to promise Alison that my next new project would be book cases.

RAN AGROUND! (Proves I am not ready for a Captain's License)

Friday morning my brother-in-law and I set out shrimping. It was 5:45 when we backed down the ramp, and completely dark. We put in close to home, and in low-tide, knowing we had to get down the river and pickup a friend of mine.

Right away we hit turmoil. The engine wouldn't raise or lower in the water (later found out my in-line fuse spring wasn't pushing hard enough for connectivity). I was able to manually raise and lower it with my trusty screw-driver connecting hot to up or down and finally my hand. (I am WAY too good at this technique) So I thought we were good.

Navigational lights were good.
Stereo sounded awesome.
Coffee was still hot.
We traversed the river's curves until the turn-in to Shady Point, a tidal creek, where there is a pier on which my friend was supposed to have been. I used my trusty screw-driver to raise the motor, and we headed down the creek... at low tide... in the dark.

So we got stuck. The boat nicely rested itself on a ground of sand. I told Michael to disembark and walk ten feet to his side, and I'd walk ten feet to mine. The idea being finding 'the groove.' After ten minutes of pushing, and maybe traversing 30 yards, I saw the headlights of my friend (probably thinking I was a no-show) drive away. I gave up and told Michael we'd just wait for the tide to roll in more.

It was a beautiful morning I thought to myself, just before I heard the sound of running water from inside the boat. Water... inside... hmm... So I lifted the engine cover and saw what I percieved to be (in the twilight) a huge mud-clump and a lot of water. Were we sinking? When I went to grab the clump, I found it to be a green tee-shirt which I had used during the boat's oil change a day before. Fuewwh. But the water was still there, so I pumped it out with the bilge.

As soon as the colors started to show in the sea grasses on either side of the creek, I was able to see the groove we'd been looking for. It was chest+ deep. So we left, and caught three shrimp before my bilge started spewing again. I spooked and high-tailed it towards home.

That's not the end - yet.

At thirty mph, we're cruising back up the river. The green signs on left, and reds on right. I turn around a green one, curving sharply left with the river, and I can see the red on the right. Then...

BOOM

Sandbar. I was able to throw it into neutral as I fell up into the front of the boat. Michael happened to have his hands on top of the windshield so he was basically steady. Looking back, I saw that the red sign was green only the other side was missing. I was seeing the rusted (red) side of the green sign's back. After dispensing my frustration in curse-words, Michael summed it up appropriately by saying "We couldn't have stopped that fast by stomping on the brakes in a car."

I raised the motor (I had found and fixed the fuse by then) and we got out again and pushed ourselves free. My only thought was 'if it wasn't broke, it is now.'

So we got to the dock, ramped the boat, and let all the water out. Then I backed back into the water (to see if there was a leak in the transom) and none came back. I still don't know the source. There WAS a storm the night before....

I have never been so glad to get home with the boat in one piece.

I've decided to name the three shrimp 'Larry, Curly, and Moe'.

MED I.G.

This week has been very interesting. I learned that the Naval Hospital (reference my past post regarding Alison's ill-care) is being inspected by the Medical Inspector-General. Then a friend dropped a number to the Inspector-General's Public Affairs/Customer Service Officer. I called and requested an audience, which I was given this morning at 0900. So I got collected all my documents, prepared my uniform, and went over. (pardon the Captain-America shot)
I was specific and prepared, and I found that the Inspector-General team was very receptive. They copied all my documents (I wouldn't part with the originals), and then they promised me that they would reveal Alison's case to the Naval Hospital Commanding Officer and request a formal investigation. I was warned that the documents generated by the investigative team would be protected, and I would need an attorney to request any other document than the final findings. It will take 30-45 days typically for a quality assurance investigation.
So something will be done to right this wrong. If I am wrong about my assumptions, I'll find out (but I doubt I am too off-the-mark). If not, they'll change their business procedures. When I left the office she said, "Thanks for revealing this to me." I said my thanks in return, and left feeling good about the possibility of resolution.

Daisy Moments

Today I saw Alison sleeping peacefully and it made me feel something different than my normal wondering how she's feeling, if she needs anything, and if it's good to sleep that much. It was more of a sense that I got from her. And tonight I tried to figure out what that sense was.

Seeing her sleep made me feel home. She made me think of sitting in a garden watching daisies catch the falling sunlight. She made me think of times that I knew if I diturbed them, if I picked them, or even breathed sideways, they would lose their beauty and fade.

Back Porch

Alison's had a few good days in a row now, and I am glad for it. The quick pace of doctor visits has transitioned into a slow-lull of enduring ailments and symptoms of treatment. Family is here in full-effect, so I feel busier than ever. But it's nice not to have silence, those moments where you hear the clock ticking.
I told my mother I'd put pictures of the canvas roof I was supposed to complete while she was here. We only got as far as running the braided wire to the support beams. So here are some pictures, taken only moments ago. Bear in mind I have done NO landscaping around this yet...

While You We're Sleeping

Alison slept most of the day today. Meanwhile, I was in the next room stapling the new boat walls together. I've been slowly prepping the boards beneath for the last week. Prime, seal, recut to fit, reseal, drill holes for mounting, figure out how to mount the throttle, etc. I was finally able to work with the vinyl I bought a month ago today. My fingers are sore from stretching it.

Everything I work on becomes a symbol of curing. Of overcoming. Of rebirth. When I worked on the landscaping with Mom, I thought of pulling out the weeds as a symbol of my wanting to pull out Alison's cancer. Now with this project, it's about replacing decaying board and vinyl with new. Renewal. Returning to health. (and hopefully returning to running status) I guess it's a lot like venting for me. Or widdling a stick while you're anxious.

But whatever the psyche, it looks nice...

1 Session Down

Alison finished her 1st chemotherapy issue yesterday. She's nauseaus, and they prescribed Comprazine to go along with her current prescriptions of Emend and Dexamethasone. We also have Promethazine, but that knocks you out pritty hard. So after taking Alison home and eating lunch, I went to have it filled.

After waiting at the Naval Hospital for twenty minutes, my number came up. They promptly informed me that they didn't carry it. So Walgreens was my next stop. On the way out I passed by bulletin boards stapled with every sort of paper. The words 'Courage' and 'Hope' caught my attention at the end of the hall. Courage was blue and repeating on top of each little pamphlet in the holders and hope repeated green. These were supplied by the Chaplain's office. I thought to myself, "yeah, 'ten milligrams of hope, 10 milligrams courage every day as prescibed by physician.' That'll help." So I grabbed one of each.

They might come in handy during our next round of chemo.