When you are about to have your first child there are tons of tidbits of wisdom that people will tell you. I gladly listened to everything people told me making mental notes along the way. Having just made it six months with my new best friend, I feel I am becoming quite accustomed to this new life. Some of the things people told us were about the negative aspects of having a child. I think the big factor in this for us, is how badly we had wanted a child, how long we had been trying, and finally after the cancer/miscarriage/fertility treatments how much we went through before we were successful.
One thing we heard over and over again was how exhausted we would be. Now, I will admit we aren't as well rested as we were six months ago. I can't remember the last time we were able to just sleep in as long as we liked. But I certainly wouldn't call it "exhausted". One thing we have going for us, is our child has been an overnight sleeper since we brought him home from the hospital. I think the shortest he ever slept overnight was maybe four hours when he was first brought home. The other reason I don't think I am tired is I enjoy the time I get to spend with him. Think of something you really enjoyed, like for me going to Walt Disney World, for you it might be reading my blog...if it is something you really had fun doing, you get whatever sleep you can and do it again first chance you get.
The other very cliched comment is that you will never know how much love you will have for the baby. Waiting until forty-one to have my first child, trust me a lot of anticipation and love had built up. I love my little guy a lot, and that love started the day my wife walked out of the bathroom with a pee-soaked stick. What has surprised me is just how much I like being around him. Even from the beginning when all he was doing was laying there and messing diapers, I cherished every second with him. Now I will say this. He seems like a very happy baby and everyone tells us he is a happy baby. That certainly helps. Even when changing a diaper he looks up and smiles and either grabs my arm or if I am careless enough he will grab the clean diaper and play keep away with me, which is apparently very funny when you are six months old.
But then again everything seems to be funny to our six month old. A hand full of someone else's hair is freakin' hilarious! Rubbing bare feet on daddy's head or whiskers is also a great source of amusement. The phrase "peas and apples" is the greatest joke ever told, ranking right up there with "The Aristocrats". I have no idea why "peas and apples" induces uncontrollable laughter, but I think it's pretty obvious that he has his daddy's sophisticated sense of humor.
The other side is, I am probably one of those obsessive and over-protective parents. When you have gone through your own health scare you realize just how precious and fragile life is. Someone told us the other day that kids aren't that fragile at all, all three of theirs rolled off the bed at one point as babies. That led to a conversation after we left that person about how after the first roll off (or at the very least the second roll off) wouldn't you take precautions to prevent future roll offs? This person claimed there was no harm done...but there's one we think the jury is still out on.
I may have given my son his first real electric guitar this week as well (which means I did give him his first electric guitar). Now I know what you are thinking, "He's six months old, he can't play an electric guitar" and you are exactly right, that is why his is half the size of a normal one. And since it is difficult for him to strum and hold down the strings, I even brought out a thing that automatically moves the strings for him, so he can just focus on the fretboard for now. See, doesn't sound near as crazy now, does it?
What I am getting at, is this is the greatest gift I have ever been given. We waited a long time for him and went through a lot to get him. Even when during a diaper change he accidentally peed in his face, which literally scared the crap out of him, all I could do was clean him up and laugh. Being spit up on twice a day, doesn't bother me, I just add the clothes to the huge pile of other garments he finds creative ways to soil. In other words, even the bad times are some of the best times of my life, so you can imagine how great the good times are. And hopefully by next week we will be playing our guitars together...
Showing posts with label childbirth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childbirth. Show all posts
Friday, June 22, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
My First Father's Day
Well if you weren't able to guess already, we were able to get pregnant. The swimmers we had frozen before I had chemo apparently thawed out just fine. However, my "friends" (and I use that term rather loosely) were quick to point out that they could have given me any sample and I wouldn't know the difference until the baby comes out. After all, you go the the "bank" they give you just a regular insulated coffee mug with a little test tube inside with your name on it. It seems like for as much as we paid for me to look at their dirty magazines and practice a little self abuse, they would come up with something a little nicer than some cheap looking insulated coffee mug like you get at trade shows for free from vendors you never heard of.
We were actually visiting at my parents' house when we found out the swimmers reached their target. My parents were overjoyed, which is surprising because people normally have totally different reactions if somebody shoves a urine soaked stick in their face. It was at this point that it dawned on me that I don't know nothing about birthing no babies. The coming months were filled with me cramming my head with everything from how to change diapers to how every single thing your child touches, eats, sees, smells, and hears will do irreparable damage to it and make you a bad parent. So, I will admit, I am one of those parents who is double checking every little thing that comes near my child to make sure it has passed a thirty-four step inspection.
The other thing I didn't know about babies, was apparently you need approximately 43,560 square feet to hold all the items that your new baby will absolutely not be able to live without, use once, then outgrow, and need to be stored for any future babies. And while we are discussing things I didn't know, when you are buying stuff for a new baby, everything made previous to the point that you arrived at the cash register at the baby store, is very dangerous and should be burned and the ashes locked in a safe and the safe thrown in the ocean (safes are located in Aisle 4 and you don't want to get a used safe). Personally, I think the baby industry (and there is definitely a baby industry) and the Consumer Product Safety Commission get together twice a week to declare everything that babies had before now, is harmful and must not be used under any conditions. Which makes perfect sense, otherwise all those cribs, highchairs, and bottles we all grew up on, and apparently survived, would still be in use today, meaning we would not need to buy new ones. When you tell people you are going out to purchase said new products many older people (i.e. people that bought baby products last year) will say "you can just borrow mine" and you respond "they (whoever that is made up of) say that is unsafe now" and the response is "well it never hurt (insert name here)".
We went through all of the doctors' appointments where you listen to sounds that mimic a cow trotting through mud and pictures that look more like a black and white radar scan of an approaching cold front than any sort of mammal, but yet you still get choked up and excited. And then there is the time that you stare at the screen, trying to see if the jet stream is going to cause a Nor'Easter when the nurse looks at you and smiles and says that "jet stream" is actually a penis. Oh the feeling that goes through a future dad when he first sees his son's jet stream. Already I was thinking of all of the tools I would be buying him and all of the time we would spend working on cars together (although, that probably would have been the case if we were having a girl too).
I will admit, as the big day approached I got more scanxiety even if a scan wasn't imminent. I had waited so long for a child that I was so paranoid something bad would happen before I would be able to meet him. And let's face it, less than a year before, I had lost my job, got cancer, and we had a miscarriage in a matter of a couple of months, so I am not unfamiliar with bad luck. But after a lot of anxiousness and praying we finally were told to check into the hospital.
For anyone unfamiliar with labor, I will try to explain what happens. You rush to the hospital where your wife seems to be in a lot of pain and there is a lot going on, but on the outside nothing really seems to be happening. While all this is going on, every single person that is on your hospital floor will walk into your room, shove his or her hand underneath your wife's gown and loudly shout out a random measurement ("6 cm!", "80%!!", "10/6!", "less than 12 parsecs!!"). I think even the kid that delivered our food shouted out "THX1138!" before she left. All I know about these random numbers and measurements was the baby was still bigger than that. So, after close to a day of "labor" that only seemed to produce an exhausted wife and goop that I wasn't sure was pre-baby goop or left over lube from the constant measuring, the doctor gets down and looks like she is trying loosen an oil filter on a Honda and says,"Well, he's not going to fit, but you can still push for another hour if you want." Although I liked our doctors there, that has to be one of the dumbest statements I have ever heard in my life! As you can imagine, my wife was over the whole push-measure-push-lube-push-measure-measure-measure-push routine. So it was off to surgery.
I walk into the operating room after they had prepped my wife and I see her laid out on a table, tubes here and there, a curtain, and a line drawn across her stomach. The doctor said, "You can stand here on this side of the curtain as we cut or..." I don't remember anything after the "or" because I really didn't care what was on the other side of the curtain as long as I was on that side of it. I was even more glad I had chose that side after the procedure started. I don't know what they were doing on their side of the curtain, but on my side of the curtain my wife was being pushed and shoved around on the table like she was the little girl from the Exorcist (minus the head spinning around). Finally the shaking stopped and they walked around the side of the curtain with...a purple baby. The comments my "friends" made about switched samples are running through my head and I search my memory for any purple family members (although there was that one distant aunt...), but after a quick wipe down he became the most beautiful, non-purple baby I have ever seen. Any doubts of grabbing the wrong coffee mug at the sperm bank, were gone for good when one pediatrician at the hospital told us that our new baby was tongue-tied and this would lead to a lifetime of speech impediments, difficulty eating, crossed eyes, sloppy trumpet playing, inability to make friends, receding hairline...basically he was going to turn out like Quasimodo without the musical ability. This caused a huge smile on my wife's face and mine. Not because we wanted my son subjected to a lifetime of being a social pariah, but because I am tongue-tied and although sometimes I may have the problems the doctor foretold, it is not from being tongue-tied. It was like a little sign from God saying "See, now you know for sure he is your son."
In fact, I think every single part of that experience was a blessing. I used to think Father's Day was just another holiday where you give people stuff (or realize you forgot to buy stuff to give to people until the last minute). But today I have had to hide my emotions as I played with my son, thinking about how much happened to get him here and how hard I am going to fight to be around as he grows up. And one last thing on being a father after having testicular cancer/chemo, the procedures and processes involved in making this happen are very expensive. I had contacted Livestrong during our efforts and received a long list of organizations willing to help make our miracle happen, many of them offering their services for free. The earlier you contact these organizations the better, as many want to help from the very start. Luckily for us, we were able to have our miracle without needing to use these organizations. But, we are keeping all of the doctors' bills to show him anytime he asks for anything expensive.
We were actually visiting at my parents' house when we found out the swimmers reached their target. My parents were overjoyed, which is surprising because people normally have totally different reactions if somebody shoves a urine soaked stick in their face. It was at this point that it dawned on me that I don't know nothing about birthing no babies. The coming months were filled with me cramming my head with everything from how to change diapers to how every single thing your child touches, eats, sees, smells, and hears will do irreparable damage to it and make you a bad parent. So, I will admit, I am one of those parents who is double checking every little thing that comes near my child to make sure it has passed a thirty-four step inspection.
The other thing I didn't know about babies, was apparently you need approximately 43,560 square feet to hold all the items that your new baby will absolutely not be able to live without, use once, then outgrow, and need to be stored for any future babies. And while we are discussing things I didn't know, when you are buying stuff for a new baby, everything made previous to the point that you arrived at the cash register at the baby store, is very dangerous and should be burned and the ashes locked in a safe and the safe thrown in the ocean (safes are located in Aisle 4 and you don't want to get a used safe). Personally, I think the baby industry (and there is definitely a baby industry) and the Consumer Product Safety Commission get together twice a week to declare everything that babies had before now, is harmful and must not be used under any conditions. Which makes perfect sense, otherwise all those cribs, highchairs, and bottles we all grew up on, and apparently survived, would still be in use today, meaning we would not need to buy new ones. When you tell people you are going out to purchase said new products many older people (i.e. people that bought baby products last year) will say "you can just borrow mine" and you respond "they (whoever that is made up of) say that is unsafe now" and the response is "well it never hurt (insert name here)".
We went through all of the doctors' appointments where you listen to sounds that mimic a cow trotting through mud and pictures that look more like a black and white radar scan of an approaching cold front than any sort of mammal, but yet you still get choked up and excited. And then there is the time that you stare at the screen, trying to see if the jet stream is going to cause a Nor'Easter when the nurse looks at you and smiles and says that "jet stream" is actually a penis. Oh the feeling that goes through a future dad when he first sees his son's jet stream. Already I was thinking of all of the tools I would be buying him and all of the time we would spend working on cars together (although, that probably would have been the case if we were having a girl too).
I will admit, as the big day approached I got more scanxiety even if a scan wasn't imminent. I had waited so long for a child that I was so paranoid something bad would happen before I would be able to meet him. And let's face it, less than a year before, I had lost my job, got cancer, and we had a miscarriage in a matter of a couple of months, so I am not unfamiliar with bad luck. But after a lot of anxiousness and praying we finally were told to check into the hospital.
For anyone unfamiliar with labor, I will try to explain what happens. You rush to the hospital where your wife seems to be in a lot of pain and there is a lot going on, but on the outside nothing really seems to be happening. While all this is going on, every single person that is on your hospital floor will walk into your room, shove his or her hand underneath your wife's gown and loudly shout out a random measurement ("6 cm!", "80%!!", "10/6!", "less than 12 parsecs!!"). I think even the kid that delivered our food shouted out "THX1138!" before she left. All I know about these random numbers and measurements was the baby was still bigger than that. So, after close to a day of "labor" that only seemed to produce an exhausted wife and goop that I wasn't sure was pre-baby goop or left over lube from the constant measuring, the doctor gets down and looks like she is trying loosen an oil filter on a Honda and says,"Well, he's not going to fit, but you can still push for another hour if you want." Although I liked our doctors there, that has to be one of the dumbest statements I have ever heard in my life! As you can imagine, my wife was over the whole push-measure-push-lube-push-measure-measure-measure-push routine. So it was off to surgery.
I walk into the operating room after they had prepped my wife and I see her laid out on a table, tubes here and there, a curtain, and a line drawn across her stomach. The doctor said, "You can stand here on this side of the curtain as we cut or..." I don't remember anything after the "or" because I really didn't care what was on the other side of the curtain as long as I was on that side of it. I was even more glad I had chose that side after the procedure started. I don't know what they were doing on their side of the curtain, but on my side of the curtain my wife was being pushed and shoved around on the table like she was the little girl from the Exorcist (minus the head spinning around). Finally the shaking stopped and they walked around the side of the curtain with...a purple baby. The comments my "friends" made about switched samples are running through my head and I search my memory for any purple family members (although there was that one distant aunt...), but after a quick wipe down he became the most beautiful, non-purple baby I have ever seen. Any doubts of grabbing the wrong coffee mug at the sperm bank, were gone for good when one pediatrician at the hospital told us that our new baby was tongue-tied and this would lead to a lifetime of speech impediments, difficulty eating, crossed eyes, sloppy trumpet playing, inability to make friends, receding hairline...basically he was going to turn out like Quasimodo without the musical ability. This caused a huge smile on my wife's face and mine. Not because we wanted my son subjected to a lifetime of being a social pariah, but because I am tongue-tied and although sometimes I may have the problems the doctor foretold, it is not from being tongue-tied. It was like a little sign from God saying "See, now you know for sure he is your son."
In fact, I think every single part of that experience was a blessing. I used to think Father's Day was just another holiday where you give people stuff (or realize you forgot to buy stuff to give to people until the last minute). But today I have had to hide my emotions as I played with my son, thinking about how much happened to get him here and how hard I am going to fight to be around as he grows up. And one last thing on being a father after having testicular cancer/chemo, the procedures and processes involved in making this happen are very expensive. I had contacted Livestrong during our efforts and received a long list of organizations willing to help make our miracle happen, many of them offering their services for free. The earlier you contact these organizations the better, as many want to help from the very start. Luckily for us, we were able to have our miracle without needing to use these organizations. But, we are keeping all of the doctors' bills to show him anytime he asks for anything expensive.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Is There A Jaco Or A Gretsch In My Future?
As a survivor of testicular cancer, there is a reality I must consider. My junk isn't shooting out the same quality and quantity that it has in the past. Before you leave this page, I will start off by saying this entry does not focus on my junk or its production value. But it is for this reason that my oncologist suggested we see a fertility specialist. He made that comment for two reasons. One, I already mentioned and two, he said that we "need some good news in our lives".
So, we have spent the past two weeks at many doctors' appointments, all of them resulting in the good doctor getting to know my wife in very intimate ways. Each violation is followed by me comparing each examination or test to one of my gastro-intestinal procedures and proclaiming that my tests are much worse (something I will continue to maintain as long as I am male...or at least half male). The ironic part of all of this, is my wife experiences all these doctors' appointments just to be told, that I am probably the issue here. That was kind of a no brainer that the guy with one nut and fresh off chemo wasn't shooting the best quality. But, we have a great doctor and she is confident that we will get pregnant no matter what the cost. We on the other hand are confident that we will get pregnant for under five figures, after that...well, we don't know. I have already asked the billing person at the doctor's office to give us the bills so we can show our little bundle of joy why they are not getting a new car when they turn sixteen and why they will be going to a state university...provided that state university is not a Big Ten university in this state.
The latest foray into the world of fertility involved various medications and injections all experienced by someone that is not me. Something again that I find ironic since I am the problem. It even involved me giving my wife a shot, which for some sadistic reason that I cannot explain, I enjoyed way too much. I will give my wife credit though. If this latest bag of medical tricks worked, that would put our due date right around...Jaco Pastorius' birthday. When my wife pointed that out to me, I reminded her that whatever day our child was born would be Jaco's birthday, because that will be our first born's name. For our kid's sake, I hope it won't be a girl, because Jaco will be an awkward name for a girl.
The doctor explained that the stuff we are doing right now should work, but should the chemo not release its hold on my remaining junk, we would have to switch to a much more expensive option. That led to a conversation in the car. The last resort option the doctor mentioned is a very expensive option, very very expensive. My wife asked what we planned to do if it came down to that as our last option. I said I planned to buy a Brian Setzer Gretsch and order a custom made Paul Reed Smith.
Once, when asked why we didn't have kids yet, my wife made the comment that we were too busy buying ourselves toys to buy toys for a kid. And she was basically correct. I have already accepted that fact that whenever we do get pregnant, my toy buying days for myself will be over for at least twenty years or so. If it comes down to shelling out a possible five figures for the down payment on a kid...then the twenty years worth of raising them...I may just stick to buying myself toys. I now understand why when going to carshows with my buddy, who has three grown children, he points to cars and says "that was my first born" and "that was my second born". I guess he didn't go the same route we did, but what I don't understand is why he points out much more than three cars...good Lord do they really cost that much?
The first time I saw a Setzer Gretsch it was like I was looking through one of those fuzzy filter thingys the movies use. When I saw the price tag, things got even fuzzier. So it has always been a dream instrument of mine. And I received my dream Paul Reed Smith from my family for Christmas this year. A guitar I am absolutely in love with (it's hard to imagine loving anything that much, even a kid). Guitars can have different tones with different shapes, different thicknesses, different electronics, etc. The PRS I was given is a model that is unique to the rest of the PRS line. Eventually I would like to own another nice PRS, but the features I love about my PRS, are not available on any other model, which means I would have to have one special made if I do decide to get another one. And since Paul Reed Smith guitars are ridiculously expensive to begin with, I can only imagine the cost of a custom made one, but yet somehow I think it is still less than the cost of our last ditch procedure should we come to that decision.
However, I don't think it will come down to that decision. Hopefully what we have done already will work, and even if we didn't, we still try that for a year or so, and by then hopefully I will be over the toxic shock from the chemotherapy. I place it all in God's hands. If He wants me to have a kid, I guess He will give us a child. If He wants me to have two guitars, well...I guess the issue I haven't addressed is that if we don't have the big money for the last ditch procedure, then we probably don't have money for expensive guitars either. Maybe I could just win the lottery, then I could afford both...but still not a private school for the kid.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Tommy's Big Day Out, Where He Saw A Real Live (Gassy) Baby
Yesterday I had lunch with two more friends. The one brought her children, including her baby that was born just before I started chemo, so I haven't seen the baby since. Let the record show that I was brave enough to hold the baby the day she was born. I was asked if I wanted to hold the baby yesterday, and I declined. I returned the baby unbroken last time, and didn't feel like pushing my luck.
I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right. The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to. One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy. This is one of those things I didn't need to know. I am a little suspicious about this one. I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat. I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did. If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.
And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday. I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway. This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets. Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better. I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on. And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care? When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.
There may be a high chance that we will have multiples. For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets. Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too. The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet. I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet). If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank". And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase. I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming. I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile". I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I? That would free up a seat.
As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night. Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was. I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else. Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis). I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.
I am learning a lot about babies with all of my friends that are popping them out left and right. The only thing I haven't been learning is how to create them as easy as everyone else seems to be able to. One thing that I supposedly learned is that babies can be gassy. This is one of those things I didn't need to know. I am a little suspicious about this one. I don't think baby farts can make that much noise, especially when it is muffled by a diaper, tights, dress, blanky, another blanky, another blanky, all in a travel seat. I am more inclined to believe that it was produced by the friend sitting across from me who didn't have near the sound deadening material that the baby did. If it truly was the baby, I would hate to hear what it would sound like if the baby was going commando.
And from what I can tell, babies are very fragile, which is the main reason I am afraid to hold them, plus the whole atomic fart thing that I learned yesterday. I had already been hoping that when we do get pregnant we have multiples anyway. This is for several reasons, my wife says she is only going to be pregnant once so if I want more than one kid, I better make sure there are twins or triplets. Another reason, with my former and recent illnesses I realize how quickly I can become dependent on others, and the more kids I can have waiting on me the better. I also figure with mulitples, I have better chances of one of them being a millionaire and taking care of me, or at the very least if I really screw up one of them really bad (through poor parenting, feeding them the same crap I eat, accidental dropping, stuff like that) I will have at least one more to fall back on. And the lastly, I would like multiples because I am the guy so I won't have to deal with the extra tenants in my body for nine months, so what do I care? When you come right down to it, us guys are carrying millions of potential little ones all the time and you don't hear us complaining...except sometimes on our birthdays.
There may be a high chance that we will have multiples. For one, I read on-line (which is always true) that sweet potatoes increase the likelihood of having twins (or more) so I have been urging my wife to eat them every chance she gets. Plus I keep a stack of them by the bed and shove them into her mouth when she snores, so she is getting a heck of a lot of them that way too. The more likely reason for multiples is that we don't know if my swimmers have survived the chemo yet. I don't take that test for about a month (and I haven't even started studying yet). If my little guys are just as tired as I am from the chemo, chances are we will have to make a withdrawal from the "bank". And we all know that when you use your bank deposits, the chances of multiples increase. I say we all know that because the results of that are the corner stone for TLC's programming. I don't want more than five though, because my wife's car can only hold seven people and she swears up and down she will never upgrade to a "mom-mobile". I guess we could have six, I mean I don't have to go with her when she takes six kids out at once, do I? That would free up a seat.
As you can see, the visit with my friends yesterday got me thinking about all of these good ideas, and kept me up most of the night. Seeing the little baby made me want one even more, not enough to steal hers though...at least not after I found out how gassy she was. I am thankful we didn't have one during this cancer stuff, I don't know that I would have been able to deal with that on top of everything else. Plus in my weakened state, the basenjis may have plotted to overthrow the house and coerced the baby into an alliance with them and voted us out of the house (the vote would have been three against two, assuming my wife would vote with me, sometimes I think she is plotting with the basenjis). I guess in addition to studying for my "swimmer's" test I should also read up on all these weird things that come with conceiving and having a baby(s) and also try kissing up to the dogs so they'll be on my side.
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Cancer Toll
Right on cue, I wake up this morning seeing a six as the first number on the clock, and having a full bladder and a dry mouth. At least for the past few days my chemo has been consistent. But today, I know there is no chance of laying there and falling back asleep, and that is because of yesterday...
Few people know this, but my faith is defined by two incidences in my life. The first was when I was a dumb little kid in California, and doing what dumb little kids do, at some point I had fallen and scraped my knee. Not thinking anything of it, until my father noticed days later that it had become infected. He cleaned a needle and tried to poke a hole to get my healed over wound to start draining, but was unsuccessful. I still didn't care, until he mentioned what the next step would be. He said if it didn't drain, it could get worse, and we may have to go to the doctor who would use a "knife" to get it to drain. Now as an adult, I know he meant a small scalpel. However, as a dumb little eight year old, I assumed he meant a machete or hunting/survival knife of any of the other large knives that a military brat is accustomed to seeing while growing up on military bases. It scared me to death the thought of this doctor coming at me, white coat covered in blood, wildly swinging and stabbing at my knee until he hits the right spot and it starts to drain. I mean, the needle hurt bad enough, how bad would the knife hurt? This was the first day I really prayed. I had said grace and bedtime prayers before, but they were basically little poems I recited because that's what you are supposed to do. This time, I made up the prayer, asking God to please not let that knife wielding, maniacal doctor chase me around (OK, at eight, I didn't use the words "knife wielding, maniacal", but you know what I mean). A day or two later, I run into my parents' bedroom as I had done thousands of times before without major injury, but this time I ran smack into the nightstand, the corner hitting me RIGHT where the infected spot was on my knee. Man did it hurt. And the next day...the infection was gone. It was that day at eight years old that I learned, God may not always do things the way you want Him to, but if you ask and believe, He will do what's best. As a little kid I wanted it to magically go away. What happened is my dad went with a needle as deep as he could, but it didn't work...until I banged it hard against the nightstand, opening the wound deep and connecting the hole dad made to the infection causing it to drain. That was a pretty powerful thing for an eight year old to grasp. From that day forward my faith that God always does what's best was always in my mind.
And I still feel that way. Through all of the things I have been through, I honestly have never said "Why me?". I am one of those people that believes we are never given more than we can handle. I have only lost a job twice in my life. The first time I did, I went from losing a job running record stores to running around with rock stars a few years later. So for every trial and tribulation in my life, it always seemed to lead to something better, and usually a learning experience. Many people's dream job would be running around with rock stars. My reality was that I was constantly driving to this state or that state, and although 80% of the rock stars were great to work with, the 20% could really make you dread your job, however I won't mention the names of the 20% because I don't want you to think less of Jewel, Tori Amos, or Big Wreck (which I know you probably never heard of, and it may have something to do with my bosses' boss asking why I refused to work anymore Big Wreck shows. Sorry, I didn't mean to get you kicked off the label, but he said I wasn't the first one to call you guys A-holes). For every low point in my life, it seems with a little patience and a little faith, I eventually get to a very high point in my life. So, where am I going with all of this?
One of the hardest things for a cancer patient is not what you go through, it's what you put your family through. My journey through the medical system started in 1989 with my gastro-intestinal stuff, and I can handle whatever is thrown at me. As I said, I have never asked God, "Why me?". But with the stresses, worries, and everything else that comes along with major health issues, last night I laid in bed and asked God, "Why her?". I am used to it. I can handle it. Throw one thing after another at me, I know that something greater is around the corner. And after the news yesterday, I am still fine. I know there will be other chances. But seeing the way my wife has been emotionally and physically beat down the past couple months is more than I can bear. I have seen cancer patients that were doing great, suddenly just change their attitude and pass away in an incredibly short period of time. And I always wondered, what caused them to give up when they were doing so good? Yesterday, I understood. As a cancer patient, like it or not, you are causing a lot of pain and heartache to those that love and care for you. And for the most part, the last thing those people want is for that loved one to be out of their life. But as a cancer patient, you only have so much fight in you. You fight the disease, you fight the surgery, you fight the treatment, and you are still left to fight to pretend that nothing is bothering you and that you are fine and strong and can put on a brave face for the ones helping you on that journey.
Yesterday's news had nothing to do with cancer. But it did have everything to do with the bright spot in this otherwise very dark past few months. I am tired of that hospital. I am tired of being in that hospital. I am tired of seeing employees of that hospital, walking around, hating their jobs, and letting patients and loved ones see that attitude. I didn't want to spend four more hours there, especially just to receive that news. And most of all, I am tired of the toll that this emotional two months has taken on my wife and others that I love. Yesterday, I understood why cancer patients give up. I understood why they go so fast. I understood it all. It's not that they have given up on life, or treatment, or faith, or anything, sometimes it is simply that they just want the pain to be over. Not necessarily their pain, but the pain that ripples throughout their support network. And in most cases, that is the last solution the support network wants, but yesterday I understood. If there was anything I could do yesterday, to make this emotional hurting stop, I would have. What's killing me is there is nothing I can do. I am positive. I know we will both get through this. I know there will be a bright spot down the road. But I can't stop her pain.
That is why I found myself laying in bed, next to my wife as she cries herself to sleep asking God, "Why her?". I try to imagine, what bright spot is going to make up for the past two months of heartache. And the way I figured it out, this is what must be in store for us, we must be finding a winning lottery ticket while at Walt Disney World, when we bump in to Johnny Depp (that would be for her) who tells us he has a surplus of American made Paul Reed Smith guitars with double cutaway and twenty four frets, he would like us to have one, and nine months later we have triplets (the triplets would be for me, and should be really small magical triplets, that are an easy pregnancy, but are magically very healthy). The triplets would have to come nine months later, because we would want to ride everything at Disney World without having to worry about all those signs that list all the medical conditions that preclude you from riding (from pregnancy to hangnails, are the rides really that unsafe or is the added fright from all the medical warnings part of the ambiance?). And those triplets better not look like Captain Jack, if you know what I mean.
So here I am. Up early blogging so no one in the house sees the tears in my eyes, trying to digest why yesterday happened. Go ahead and plug me with a few more tubes, hoses, wires, monitors, and stitches, but can we leave her out of this? I don't know what to expect next. I just know there has to be something bigger and better planned, and hopefully it is soon.
Monday, October 11, 2010
All Babies Returned in the Same Condition I Received Them
What a difference a day makes! I don't know if it was coincidence, people reading my blog, or both, but today happened to be a pretty good day.
As I have mentioned earlier, chemo starts Friday, and I am rushing to get myself prepared, do the things I need to do before chemo, and say hi to people before I sequester myself for the next month. First of all, I received many well wishes from people who have read my blog. Thank you very much! The people that contacted me today have been good supporters throughout this, and it was good to hear from them again today. Of course, I have been running around so much today, I have yet to e-mail them back. Great way to thank my supporters, they e-mail me good tidings, and I ignore them all day. No wonder I don't have more support.
Then out of the blue, my car show buddy called and asked if I could do lunch. Since my life right now only involves doctors' appointments and endless internet surfing, I decided I could move some things around and go to lunch. He showed up in the car he hid from his wife for a few days (what a great idea, why didn't I think about that?!?!) and we ran off to start complaining about prescription companies. After talking about how his mail order prescription company was shortchanging him, delaying his prescriptions, and giving him the runaround, I tell him about my similar experiences with my mail order prescriptions. Then it dawned on us that we were talking about the same company! At least they are consistent. Shortly after that, I message another friend and we arrange lunch for later on this week. For a guy with nothing to do and no friends, my social calendar is getting pretty busy!
Next I had received a text from a friend that she had given birth this morning. My wife and I made our way over to the hospital where my little frozen babies are, at which point my wife reminded me that even though I may have done that certain activity the last few times I was in this medical complex, I was under no circumstances allowed to do it this time. Good thing too, they didn't have any of the magazines or videos I had been accustomed to on my previous visits here. We get up to her room and see a brand spanking new baby. I hold her in my arms (the baby, not my friend), and I realize I have never held a baby this small before. I never realized how tiny those things are when they are first hatched. I also didn't know that you are supposed to make a "baby burrito" out of them either. I think I was holding a complete baby, I at least know I was holding a bunch of tightly bundled blankets with a tiny smiling head poking out. I assume all the other parts were in the blanket tortilla somewhere. I held her for a long time (for me) and after about two minutes I handed her off to my wife and to my surprise, I didn't break her, which is always my fear when holding babies. I hope when we have ours in has an owner's manual or at the very least a tag somewhere that explains the correct way to fold a baby burrito. Soon more people poured in and the room started getting a little crowed. I figured I had made it this far without breaking any babies, I should probably quit while I was ahead and leave. I have an almost spotless record of only breaking one baby. My sister. But I only broke her arm, and to be honest, she was kind of asking for it. OK, she wasn't asking for it, she was just laying there, but she should have been paying attention and moved out of the way when I executed an almost perfect flip, which has a pretty high difficulty score for a eight year old. I would like to keep my baby breaking record completely clean, except for the one blemish, but I don't think family should count, especially when it was her fault.
We ended up the day by stopping by and getting the last of my chemo food rations. We left with a cart full from Sam's Club, so I should be able to survive as a hermit for my four weeks of dealing with chemo. And if we have miscalculated and the chemo makes me not want any of the stuff we bought (which we are told is entirely possible), I have enough food to last through a nuclear winter or two.
So today ended pretty well. I heard from some good friends. Got to see a few more. I have my food pantry stocked with chemo food. All I have left to do is a couple of things on the "Honey Do" list and prep a for a few projects that I hope I will be able to work on while dealing with chemo. Outside of that, I may try to squeeze in a couple more meetings with friends before my four weeks in solitary confinement. This week is shaping up to be a pretty good one. All that AND no broken babies!
As I have mentioned earlier, chemo starts Friday, and I am rushing to get myself prepared, do the things I need to do before chemo, and say hi to people before I sequester myself for the next month. First of all, I received many well wishes from people who have read my blog. Thank you very much! The people that contacted me today have been good supporters throughout this, and it was good to hear from them again today. Of course, I have been running around so much today, I have yet to e-mail them back. Great way to thank my supporters, they e-mail me good tidings, and I ignore them all day. No wonder I don't have more support.
Then out of the blue, my car show buddy called and asked if I could do lunch. Since my life right now only involves doctors' appointments and endless internet surfing, I decided I could move some things around and go to lunch. He showed up in the car he hid from his wife for a few days (what a great idea, why didn't I think about that?!?!) and we ran off to start complaining about prescription companies. After talking about how his mail order prescription company was shortchanging him, delaying his prescriptions, and giving him the runaround, I tell him about my similar experiences with my mail order prescriptions. Then it dawned on us that we were talking about the same company! At least they are consistent. Shortly after that, I message another friend and we arrange lunch for later on this week. For a guy with nothing to do and no friends, my social calendar is getting pretty busy!
Next I had received a text from a friend that she had given birth this morning. My wife and I made our way over to the hospital where my little frozen babies are, at which point my wife reminded me that even though I may have done that certain activity the last few times I was in this medical complex, I was under no circumstances allowed to do it this time. Good thing too, they didn't have any of the magazines or videos I had been accustomed to on my previous visits here. We get up to her room and see a brand spanking new baby. I hold her in my arms (the baby, not my friend), and I realize I have never held a baby this small before. I never realized how tiny those things are when they are first hatched. I also didn't know that you are supposed to make a "baby burrito" out of them either. I think I was holding a complete baby, I at least know I was holding a bunch of tightly bundled blankets with a tiny smiling head poking out. I assume all the other parts were in the blanket tortilla somewhere. I held her for a long time (for me) and after about two minutes I handed her off to my wife and to my surprise, I didn't break her, which is always my fear when holding babies. I hope when we have ours in has an owner's manual or at the very least a tag somewhere that explains the correct way to fold a baby burrito. Soon more people poured in and the room started getting a little crowed. I figured I had made it this far without breaking any babies, I should probably quit while I was ahead and leave. I have an almost spotless record of only breaking one baby. My sister. But I only broke her arm, and to be honest, she was kind of asking for it. OK, she wasn't asking for it, she was just laying there, but she should have been paying attention and moved out of the way when I executed an almost perfect flip, which has a pretty high difficulty score for a eight year old. I would like to keep my baby breaking record completely clean, except for the one blemish, but I don't think family should count, especially when it was her fault.
We ended up the day by stopping by and getting the last of my chemo food rations. We left with a cart full from Sam's Club, so I should be able to survive as a hermit for my four weeks of dealing with chemo. And if we have miscalculated and the chemo makes me not want any of the stuff we bought (which we are told is entirely possible), I have enough food to last through a nuclear winter or two.
So today ended pretty well. I heard from some good friends. Got to see a few more. I have my food pantry stocked with chemo food. All I have left to do is a couple of things on the "Honey Do" list and prep a for a few projects that I hope I will be able to work on while dealing with chemo. Outside of that, I may try to squeeze in a couple more meetings with friends before my four weeks in solitary confinement. This week is shaping up to be a pretty good one. All that AND no broken babies!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Advice from a friend...
I received a note from a friend today about my blogs. Now, my friend will probably quit reading or sending me notes concerning my blogs since I am blogging about it, but I have faith that she will get over it.
First, she took issue with my comparison to the pain I am randomly feeling now to childbirth. She said that the pain I am experiencing now is nothing compared to childbirth. Just for the record I have spoken to many people that have children and also had a testicle removed and they all agree that having a testicle removed was much more painful (short term). I am guessing her research is solely based on having children, and no data gathered from the nutectomy crowd. And I will partially agree with her, the incision itself probably probably feels a lot like a Caesarian, because the cut is basically the same place. However, the pain I am complaining about is much worse and more intense than any pain I have ever felt before. I have described it as a monkey walking up and stabbing you with a white hot knife and slicing, and that doesn't really do it justice. Maybe take a half dozen rusty razor blades, put them in a straight line, and smack them across my incision with a sledgehammer. That's not quite it either. Have you ever sliced a pizza fresh out of the oven really quick, and you accidentally run the little pizza slicer wheel against your finger with the hot cheese and tomato sauce? Cut about twenty pizzas so it's nice and hot, then do that from your waist to your thigh. Or maybe get bit in the incision by a King Cobra with a broken fang, Parkinson's (to give that shaking/slicing feeling) and rabies, maybe kinda like that. Actually, none of those will do it justice. Do all of them together and you may come close, EXCEPT...
The worst part of the pain I have had since this weekend is the randomness. Murphy's Law takes effect and it always seems to happen when you DON'T want to double over in pain and fall on the floor, or drop whatever food and Pepsi you are carrying, or when it is totally inappropriate to yell the "F-word" at the top of your lungs, as opposed to when you don't mind all that stuff happening. Put all that together and then you will see why I am pissing and moaning (and sometimes literally pissing and moaning).
Now the person that wrote me the note today has been a very good friend for thirteen or fourteen years now (WOW, it has been that long hasn't it!). She knows me pretty well, but still had to lecture me about overdoing it this weekend. Through all the various medical experiments that I have been subjected to, she knows that I pretty much always do more than what I am supposed to do on each and every one. When they tell me to eat a small meal after my scope, I would stop by Ponderosa, Ryan's, Golden Corral, or anywhere else that would allow someone coming out of a Demerol stupor to make several trips to the buffet, followed a short time later by several trips to the bathroom (so that's why they tell you to take it easy). For my stomach surgery, I don't know how many times I busted a stitch by doing stuff too early. It was a little embarrassing when the doctor questioned how he screwed up one of the incisions and I had to admit that it was healing fine until I started codeine-induced flying tackles in my sister's yard on her roommate. The point is that my friend has known me long enough that if I doctor says, "Come in take this test" or "Don't drink alcohol or you'll die", I listen, but if at any point during the sentence he says the words "take it easy", I tend to delete that whole sentence from my memory.
And taking it easy is a lot easier said than done. Even with six hundred channels, there is only so much you can watch. There is only so much you can surf on the web until you find yourself just repeatedly hitting "refresh" on your favorite pages to see if anything has changed. I have so many projects I want to finish and start, and I can't do any of them right now! I feel like that guy from the Twilight Zone that was the only guy left on Earth and finally had time to read books and he broke his glasses. I have time, lots of time to do whatever I want, so long as it doesn't involve lifting, twisting, running, walking, moving, blinking, or breathing moderately hard. I am little afraid to see my "Can do and Can't do" list for chemo on Thursday. Sure, I should be more healed when it's time to start that, but then they knock you immune system so low that you can't step on a bug without laying a paper towel over the bug first, then put on snow boots with two pair of socks, wear rubber gloves, a surgical mask, and a hairnet, then take a shower with antibacterial soap after you throw the ex-bug away.
I guess deep down I know my friend is probably right, and deep down I know that I will probably do more than I should again before this is all over. But I still feel like, as far as my cancer fight is concerned, I am heading in the right direction, even if I am heading in that direction hunched over, dragging my foot, and screaming the "F-word".
First, she took issue with my comparison to the pain I am randomly feeling now to childbirth. She said that the pain I am experiencing now is nothing compared to childbirth. Just for the record I have spoken to many people that have children and also had a testicle removed and they all agree that having a testicle removed was much more painful (short term). I am guessing her research is solely based on having children, and no data gathered from the nutectomy crowd. And I will partially agree with her, the incision itself probably probably feels a lot like a Caesarian, because the cut is basically the same place. However, the pain I am complaining about is much worse and more intense than any pain I have ever felt before. I have described it as a monkey walking up and stabbing you with a white hot knife and slicing, and that doesn't really do it justice. Maybe take a half dozen rusty razor blades, put them in a straight line, and smack them across my incision with a sledgehammer. That's not quite it either. Have you ever sliced a pizza fresh out of the oven really quick, and you accidentally run the little pizza slicer wheel against your finger with the hot cheese and tomato sauce? Cut about twenty pizzas so it's nice and hot, then do that from your waist to your thigh. Or maybe get bit in the incision by a King Cobra with a broken fang, Parkinson's (to give that shaking/slicing feeling) and rabies, maybe kinda like that. Actually, none of those will do it justice. Do all of them together and you may come close, EXCEPT...
The worst part of the pain I have had since this weekend is the randomness. Murphy's Law takes effect and it always seems to happen when you DON'T want to double over in pain and fall on the floor, or drop whatever food and Pepsi you are carrying, or when it is totally inappropriate to yell the "F-word" at the top of your lungs, as opposed to when you don't mind all that stuff happening. Put all that together and then you will see why I am pissing and moaning (and sometimes literally pissing and moaning).
Now the person that wrote me the note today has been a very good friend for thirteen or fourteen years now (WOW, it has been that long hasn't it!). She knows me pretty well, but still had to lecture me about overdoing it this weekend. Through all the various medical experiments that I have been subjected to, she knows that I pretty much always do more than what I am supposed to do on each and every one. When they tell me to eat a small meal after my scope, I would stop by Ponderosa, Ryan's, Golden Corral, or anywhere else that would allow someone coming out of a Demerol stupor to make several trips to the buffet, followed a short time later by several trips to the bathroom (so that's why they tell you to take it easy). For my stomach surgery, I don't know how many times I busted a stitch by doing stuff too early. It was a little embarrassing when the doctor questioned how he screwed up one of the incisions and I had to admit that it was healing fine until I started codeine-induced flying tackles in my sister's yard on her roommate. The point is that my friend has known me long enough that if I doctor says, "Come in take this test" or "Don't drink alcohol or you'll die", I listen, but if at any point during the sentence he says the words "take it easy", I tend to delete that whole sentence from my memory.
And taking it easy is a lot easier said than done. Even with six hundred channels, there is only so much you can watch. There is only so much you can surf on the web until you find yourself just repeatedly hitting "refresh" on your favorite pages to see if anything has changed. I have so many projects I want to finish and start, and I can't do any of them right now! I feel like that guy from the Twilight Zone that was the only guy left on Earth and finally had time to read books and he broke his glasses. I have time, lots of time to do whatever I want, so long as it doesn't involve lifting, twisting, running, walking, moving, blinking, or breathing moderately hard. I am little afraid to see my "Can do and Can't do" list for chemo on Thursday. Sure, I should be more healed when it's time to start that, but then they knock you immune system so low that you can't step on a bug without laying a paper towel over the bug first, then put on snow boots with two pair of socks, wear rubber gloves, a surgical mask, and a hairnet, then take a shower with antibacterial soap after you throw the ex-bug away.
I guess deep down I know my friend is probably right, and deep down I know that I will probably do more than I should again before this is all over. But I still feel like, as far as my cancer fight is concerned, I am heading in the right direction, even if I am heading in that direction hunched over, dragging my foot, and screaming the "F-word".
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