It's been one week

Time flies when you’re having fun here at St. John’s Infirmary and I can hardly believe it’s been one week since I looked at you. My sister has been blogging more than me? MCARP blogging more than me? No No No, that’s just not possible. It is? Drat!

So, what up? Well, it ain’t my tale to tell, but both my son and my daughter received some good news lately. I can’t take any credit for it, but I really find it easy to enjoy it. I love my family, so both me and MindOverMary got that going for us.

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That image a bunch a y’all got of me in a convertible? Trash it. I am currently driving an old Ford pickemuptruck. Blue with wheezy noises and no air conditioning. Not exactly the rakish figure I once sported, but it gets me to the grocery store to buy Sinatra cat food, which seems at this point to be my sole purpose in life.

I keep following uber-webmaster Fastpipe’s Twitter feed, but I’ll be darned if I can understand what he’s got his panties all twisted up about except that I certainly get the part about being on tech support and not being able to fix the problem. My problem is that if Fastpipe can’t figure it out, what’s the chances for a guy like me? Maybe my friend MichaelH’s idea of just moving out to the lake and being off the grid ain’t such rotten potatoes after all…

Speaking of going to the company store, to which I owe my soul, the other day I was there getting some cat food and coffee when I bumped into a display of cans and some started falling. I instinctively twisted and reached out to stem the damage. Not only didn’t I catch any of the cans, but that twist and reach move with my right arm was not the thing for me to do. It hurt like the dickens and I don’t mean Charles Dickens. Not even my beloved Lortabs makes it go away. Ouch and I do mean ouch.

Also, while I absolutely LOVE Oklahoma thunderstorms and lightening and rain, when it all stops and it’s 90F and that rain starts being humidity, this is not a good formula for my daily walks. Seems I can’t get up early enough or stay up late enough to walk in the cool and/or there just ain’t any cool under these conditions. I’ve been lucky lately to get in 8 blocks before I’m tuckered.

Politics has me bumfuzzled and gobsmacked lately. Are the Republicans not only going to win but also repeal the entire New Deal? In the name of cutting deficits will we really get rid of the Department of Education and Department of Health and Human Services? What do they think will happen if they try to balance the budget during the worst recession since 1937? How is it possible that such nonsense is so popular? I can’t even comment any more. There isn’t anything to say. No one listens to anyone they don’t already agree with. I will certainly be casting a whole bunch of throw-away votes this time, but by gosh and by golly, I will be casting my votes.

One last thing about that rakish, convertible driving image … have you ever seen kids draw stick figures? That’s what I look like in summer shorts. I am literally a lightweight these days, even if you thought I was skinny before.

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My fat Tuesday

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Happy BDay Sis

Yesterday was my birthday and I went out to eat twice: to The Metro with Mom and to Zorba’s with Kim. I’m down to 141 llbs and I’m eating my way back to “fighting weight”, so I indulged in all the beurberry sauce and real butter and lamb grease and french fries that I could stand. To all those watching their weight, all I have to say is: I eat and eat and eat and still can’t gain a pound. Nyah Nyah Nyah. I look like the stick figures some children draw. If you thought I was skinny before, you should see me now when my pants are falling down over my non-existent booty.

Received the requisite phone calls from children, sisters and friends and a couple of mailed cards, so it was all good.

Here at St. John’s Infirmary, I’ve finally decided after much deliberation and consultation and intertubes research to decline to take chemotherapy and accept enhanced scanning. I’m comfortable with the decision and if anyone is horrified, let me know and I’ll listen and try to explain my thinking.

I’m actually feeling pretty good and cutting back on my Lortab intake as a result. I’m still walking a good bit, but mostly early in the a.m. and late in the p.m. when it’s cooler and a bit less humid. I’ve loved this rain, although I find it unexpected. I don’t care what Gary England says, it seems to me that we are really and in fact experiencing climate change. I noticed that in today’s news, it seems a British inquiry has cleared the climatologists from all charges of “cooking the books” as the Inhofe people asserted.

Very soon, I think, I’ll be back to the place where I have my life restored, although what life that will be is somewhat a mystery to me. I feel that I have overcome three deadly diseases — alcoholism, depression and cancer — and that there is something more I can do with my life other than merely spill out a few sentences on this blog for less than two dozen people to read. Some parts of my life seem to be falling back into place, but I see no need to speed up matters until after I see my children, grandchildren and youngest sister next month when they all visit. I’m still spending at least part of every day taking naps because I still tire fairly easily and the Lortab keeps me … shall we say? … quite relaxed. I continue to think almost everyone would benefit from a few hundred of these little white pills; they seem to make the day to day world rather pleasant, for a time. I’m told they have a bite if you try and break up with them, but I’m not there yet.

Last year, with my zero birthday, I was committed to changing things to achieve a “bucket list” since I felt quite young for my chronology. This year, I don’t feel that way. I feel every single one of my sixty one years. On the other hand, I’m grateful to have those years and this one day past that. Every single day seems like a gift. It’s not such a bad way to live, to see each day as a chance to live and enjoy. You might try it; I suspect it will turn out better advice than the whole Lortab suggestion.

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July 2, 2010

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Seems like a pretty good day here at St. John’s Infirmary. For one thing, I didn’t have to go to morgue and see my old lady laid out all cold like at St. James.

For another thing, I went to the doctors’ office today and came home with a wildly happy report. “Remarkable” and “Very Fortunate” were some of the words they used. Seems like the little walks I’m taking are better than anyone expected of a skinny old man like me.

All my tests are coming back clear including the chest x-rays and my scars are all healing nicely.

In fact, the surgeons released me and I won’t have to go back and see them. They refused to express an opinion on chemotherapy except to say it depends on what I work out with oncology and the amount of risk I’m prepared to take that the cancer will show up again somewhere else.

The “morgue” reference isn’t totally off the wall. My mighty hunter and self-appointed security guard raided a bird’s nest yesterday and it was my sad duty to interr a couple of featherless fledglings, to the howling displeasure of Sinatra. To say he’s “pissed” (not in the British sense of the slang word, but the American one) is a distinct understatement. My own sense of trying to coexist peacefully with our feathered friends has taken a blow, but I was out of the house too early today to catch the mockingbird. I hope the fledglings weren’t mockingbirds, because I would hate to think of feline sin.

So, I’m just trying to enjoy the purple Rose of Sharon (gosh, I hope for Woody Allen’s sake they’re not from Cairo since that was one of his worst films) presently blossoming in my back yard.

Hope everybody blows something up real good for the holiday and happy birthday Tuesday for me. I’m giving up on trying to do anything for the next four days since everyone I called this morning was already on their way to their four day holiday weekends, presumably at the lake.

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July 1, 2010

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Vintage RayBans

It’s a lovely day to recover here at St. John’s Infirmary. The temperatures are a moderate low 80s, the sky is partly cloudy and there’s a slight breeze to make it even more comfortable out on the back patio drinking my morning coffee.

I’d be remiss not to mention that today’s mockingbird morning concerto was particularly beautiful with a rousing crescendo for an end around 9:30 a.m.

While musing in my canvas chair, I think I’ve developed A MODEST PROPOSAL!

As most of my readers know, I have suffered in the past from alcoholism and depression long before this whole cancer surgery thing cropped up. Not long ago, I celebrated 15 sober years and I think I’m in my 30th year of some kind of intermittent therapy, either talk or antidepressant drugs.

I’ve noticed that my depression and my alcoholism haven’t bothered me much and that I have found fighting my nicotine addiction as well as pain has also been well managed by the application of sufficient amounts of opiates. First it was morphine, then Percoset and, lately, Lortabs, that have kept my mind off all these things and made it much easier to get through my days.

Well, my gosh, forget the lithium and copper, we’ve got a treasure trove in Afghanistan with all those poppies, it seems to me.

Think of all the mental health facilities and prisons we fund that could be shut down or converted to opium dens. All that money we spend on The War on Drugs. All those drug war deaths down on the Mexican borders. Think of the money we could save and how well we could stabilize Afghanistan with just a fraction of the cost of what we spend on Mexican pot and South American cocaine. Think of the prison savings alone. Not much guarding needs to be done on prisoners who are chasing the dragon with legal opium pipes, I expect.

In addition, instead of all that domestic spending on tobacco and all the heartache it causes, we could just export all that Virginia and Kentucky crop and help the balance of payments accounts and the imbalance in our exports and imports.

Think how much more productive this country would be if all those drug and alcohol counselors and shrinks were actually producing something instead of just sitting around talking to a bunch of sad sacks.

Can you even imagine a smoke-free America? No more bars, no more “snake pit” asylums and “black hole of Calcutta” prisons? It’d be paradise, wouldn’t it?

Seems like there’d be a lot less violent crime, too. Who wants to bash someone when you’ve got a nose full of opium?

Well, it’s just an idea. Y’all discuss amongst yourselves and get back to me. I’m gonna go take another pain pill and forget about it.

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June 29, 2010

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Pretty exciting morning here at St. John’s Infirmary.

I went outside to the back patio to enjoy my morning coffee in the cool of the day and was escorted by my personal feline security, Sinatra. Cunning predator that he is, he checked beneath all the nearby shrubs and bushes for any threatening squirrels, birds, crawling things or other evildoers. As cool breezes greeted the (7 a.m.) dawnings, he scampered and cavorted in the dewey grass, making sure I was safe from the swarm of gnats that hovers over the lawn. When he came to my ankles for his obligatory scratch between the ears, I knew it was safe to go in for a second cup.

Ordinarily, I’m serenaded by a particular male mockingbird in the mornings and again in the evening, but as I settled in with my second cup I noticed he was down the block today. Instead of his melodious morning concert, my yard was invaded by a raucous bluejay mafia making the territory their own. These four thugs of the sky didn’t need no stinkin’ badges, I’m tellin’ you. They clearly had no fear of me — one took the high lookout while the other three scoured the ground for anything that moved, each trading places from time to time. Later, these same four took notice of one of their second cousins twice removed, a crow much bigger than any of them, and they chased him from the entire neighborhood’s sky like World War II spitfires strafing a bomber. The bigger bird hadn’t a chance against these four blue ruffians.

I don’t drink as much coffee as I once did and I went inside for a true pleasure: I got to take a shower, wash my hair and shave myself all by my lonesome, just like a big boy. Even dried myself off with my own towel. Yep. Just like a grownup, I’m telling you. Big advance over just a couple of weeks ago, so I’m pretty proud of that landmark occasion.

Before it got too hot, I went for my daily walk. I’m up to 8 blocks now. Continuous blocks, mind you, not four 2-block walks or anything like that, a real walk for eight straight blocks without stopping. Gosh, there’s no where from here but up, right?

I closed out the early part of the day with a rousing read of an international best seller of a thriller called … er … something or another by someone I’ve never heard of.

Well, that’s the day’s dispatch. Don’t want to keep up this pace since I know some of my older readers must already be feeling the angina from the excitement.

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The oilspill in perspective (updated)

hat tip to The Duty

A strategic perspective on the oil spill and outrage HERE.

A representative quote:

We Americans have been abused again and again by those we trusted. First it was the banks. Now it’s the oil companies. It’s not that we had some wide-eyed innocence about how moral and ethical they were – this is business after all.

But we expected them to have a clue how to do their jobs. We expected the banks to be smart enough to know not to put the entire world’s financial system at risk just for a few extra winnings at the gambling table. We expected the oil companies, who were engaging in acts of simply astounding engineering prowess, to have worked out contingency plans to mitigate the obvious risks of drilling holes in the ocean floor 5,000 feet down.

It’s not even that mistakes were made or things went wrong. What’s enraging Americans is the completely cavalier attitude these ultra-rich executives have shown in the face of their utter stupidity. Watching these executives give testimony, it feels like we’re watching teenagers claim “I dunno” after they wrecked the family car in a joyride.

In today’s news, the spew goes unchecked as capping failed and nine miles of beach in Pensacola was covered in sludge, per Anderson Cooper.

June 21, 2010

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Summer’s solstice, the longest day and not a beach in sight. Ah, well.

I spent most of the day in bed, either sleeping or playing on the internet.

I’ve been out of the hospital about 2 weeks now, but some times are better for me than others.

I had hopes I could go play a little poker or at least get some gnosh and gossip with the gang Saturday night, but that was not in the cards for me. I had some fluid drained out from around my incisions and it seemed to drain a lot of my energy with it. I got a little of the gnosh and gossip any way, if belated, when Marcy dropped by with some chicken salad and brownies. Congratulations to the newcomers to the poker table who, as I understand it, cleaned the clocks of the old timers. I’m glad to still be in possession of my shirt.

I had some hopes to do some things today, but I had an up and down night with very little “good” sleep, so today was a rest day for me. Now, I’m pinning my hopes on getting to spend an hour at an AA meeting tomorrow because it’s my 15th AA anniversary. I’ve made arrangements for my long-time sponsor to come pick me up and take me to the meeting and I’ll get a little brass medallion with Roman Numeral XV on it. All I really did was not drink and not die for a bunch of consecutive days, but that “don’t die” part seemed dicey a few days last month.

My “belly button” birthday is next month on the 6th and I hope I’ll feel good enough to do a little celebrating then, but that’s too long a timeline for me to contemplate right now.

For a long time, I’ve neglected a couple of thank you notes and I’d like to make up for that. For two months now, my Mom has spent every single day with me. She’s nurtured and cared for me and been my companion. For those same two months, my nights have been spent with Kim, who has fed me, bathed me, cleaned me and my house and my hospital room, monitored my medicines and advocated for me with nurses and sundry when I couldn’t do it for myself. I could not have done this without their support. No idiotic internet blog comment by me can say how integral they have been to my life. I simply would have lost my mind and what little health I’ve still got without them.

Since yesterday was Father’s Day, I’d like to proudly report that both my son Jack and my daughter Rebecca called from their respective homes in New Orleans and Tucson. They are such great people and their calls cheered me up and choked me up with gratitude and love.

I’m sorry that I still seem to be too weak to have much company, but I can see a time when I’m more robust right around the corner. I look forward to seeing familiar faces soon.

Now, go have some pagan ritual, dammit. It’s what I’d do.

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Sick of health news?

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BECAUSE I SAID SO

I had a followup appointment with my surgeons Friday and there was only one piece of news I didn’t want to hear. I had built up a habit of wanting cigarets 200-400 puffs a day over 4 decades and it isn’t going to go away in two weeks just because I would find it convenient.

Bleg.

Other than that, the news was pretty darn good. Chest X rays were clear and so was the blood workup. The head chest cutter, Dr. Peyton, told me he thought I was making a “remarkablly good” recovery and that I should take it easy and not push it so hard.

I have referrals to endocrinology and oncology in a couple weeks to get through their hoops.

While there’s an elevated risk that somewhere in my body there are a few cancer cells in doublets or triplets just looking for a niche, no test is fine enough to track them down and all the tests show me as clear of cancer at this point.

Any day now, I’ll be able to walk around the block by myself and maybe even go to the bathroom regularly and — wonder of wonders — soon, I may be able to shower like a big boy.

As it is, some days are pretty good and I can stay awake most of the day and some days are like last Thursday when I slept 20 of the 24 hours. I’m terribly behind on answering phone calls and emails and such, but I try to do better as much as I can. A special shout out to Rush on the left coast — I’m not ducking you, my friend, just be patient with me please since you know what it’s like to be hospitalized and be sick.

Never before in my life have I ever ever been this sick this long and I want all y’all to know it really really sucks. If you are ever given the choice between being sick and being well, choose well.

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A Meme Too Far

Just want to make a short observation about political reporting. For weeks, the “meme” (a sort of made up word I don’t particularly like, but which is serviceable for this purpose) has been that it’s an anti-incumbent year and that the Dems, being the incumbents, will have more than the normal share of problems for a White House in an off-year election. A Deepwater Horizon of digital ink has been spilled about this idea.

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Vintage RayBans

I respectfully dissent.

Look at last night’s election results without any coloring.

On the East Coast in So. Car., Mrs. Nikki Haley is cruising towards being elected the first woman governor of that state.

In Arkansas, Sen. Blanche Lincoln fought off a stiff male challenge from the left (yes, I intended that).

In Nevada, Sue Lowden and Sharron Angles vied for the right to challenge Majority Leader Harry Reid.

In California, the Republican Party nominated Meg Whitman for Governor and Carley Fiorina to face incumbent U.S. Sen. Barbara Boxer.

I’m not inclined to make too much of this, except to say I think too little has been made of an election in which so many women have played such a prominent role and been so successful at such a high level. I’ll also note that Oklahoma is very likely to have its first woman governor. With the exception of Sen. Lincoln, all those women are Republicans, which seems counterintuitive on several levels considering the policy stances of that party vis the Democratic Party.

Something is going on that has little to do with incumbency, it seems to me, but it also seems that it may be too difficult for political writers to think and write about.

I’m going to leave it there and let you guys draw your own conclusions.

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