Apparently people are actually reading what I write. Several blogs ago I mentioned the New Moon was overhead that night (Wednesday, 15th) and I would go out and take a look and "remember". The night sky was overcast, unfortunately, but the moon was up there somewhere. I think I could detect a faint glow through the clouds. However, the point is that a reader mentioned that blog and the reference to the New Moon at the end of it. I think that reader may have gone out to look at that moon. I didn't ask, but I was touched deeply by the support and the fact that my thoughts meant something to another.
But something else took root in those kind words. It has to do with "coming to terms" with all that I have experienced in the last eight or nine weeks. I am tempted to call it a type of PTS, or Post Traumatic Stress.
A wave of emotion swept over me that evening when I looked at the scars and still-healing incisions that stretch across my chest and stomach and tears came to my eyes...... I cried.
I cried for myself, my body, and for all those who have loved and stood by me these past weeks. I have cried many times over the last several days. I really can't control the emotions that bring the tears. There is no use in that. A memory, a song, an aria, or just a few minutes of solitude will bring the tears. Writing about this brings tears to my eyes. So maybe I am coming to terms with the trials I have endured. It is all good. There is no shame in it. It is purifying. I am human and I can cry.
As I write this I am listening to one of Richard Strauss' lieders sung by Lucia Popp....a soprano who fell to brain cancer in the prime of her career. You can listen to it on YouTube...."Im Abendrot" (In the Sunset).
It is beautiful. Listen to it and let it carry you away. She's no Britney Spears I'll have you know.
I have been reminded of the "Phoenix".....the mythical bird that arises from the ashes of its own immolation.
I think this belongs to the "What's Next?" blog. Look forward to that one. LOL
Stephen
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Coming to Terms...."What's next?"...continued
As I write this, I am listening to an aria from the opera "Die Tote Stadt". I never tire of it. It often brings tears to my eyes. It is called "Marietta's Lied"....a duet sung by a soprano and a tenor that is hauntingly beautiful and very listenable for those intimidated by opera. You can find it on YouTube, sung by a number of artists.
For those unfamiliar with German, the translation is "The Dead City" or "The City of the Dead"...
I found music wonderfully therapeutic over these last nine weeks. I have spent hours wandering the "Cyber-Aisles" of Apple's iTunes store hunting for lieder, arias, adagios, sonatas, symphonies, concertos and movements that appealed to me. I often gaze out of the window overlooking our backyard while listening to my music and realize that I rarely see the yard at its most beautiful during the early and mid-hours of the day. We take our reality with us wherever we go, somehow thinking it is all before us and that is all there is. The few hours I enjoyed the yard in the past seemed the only time it existed, when, in reality, it was always there and always beautiful. Isn't there some expression about slowing down and "smelling the roses"?
I think my physical healing is almost complete...certainly, if the heart surgery had been the extent of my experience, I would be "recovered". For the last nine weeks my life has been defined by surgical procedure and recovery. But what is recovery? "Recovery" also means coming back from a state that might be
characterised as exile and embracing some semblance of one's previous life. Believe me....one's life is forever impacted and changed by what I have come through. This is part of "coming to terms", I think. One simply cannot go forward as that same pre-surgery person. There are the physical scars from incisions, and then there are the psychological and spiritual "scars" that set one apart from all others who have not suffered through the same battles. I am fortunate in one respect ......I do not have to face prolonged treatment or fear the return of the type of tumor found in my body. That is the indication to date, anyway.
I still can't tell you "what's next". And I still haven't covered the whole of "coming to terms".....
That will come later....I need to gather my thoughts and fathom my emotions.....and maybe cry a little.
Stephen
For those unfamiliar with German, the translation is "The Dead City" or "The City of the Dead"...
I found music wonderfully therapeutic over these last nine weeks. I have spent hours wandering the "Cyber-Aisles" of Apple's iTunes store hunting for lieder, arias, adagios, sonatas, symphonies, concertos and movements that appealed to me. I often gaze out of the window overlooking our backyard while listening to my music and realize that I rarely see the yard at its most beautiful during the early and mid-hours of the day. We take our reality with us wherever we go, somehow thinking it is all before us and that is all there is. The few hours I enjoyed the yard in the past seemed the only time it existed, when, in reality, it was always there and always beautiful. Isn't there some expression about slowing down and "smelling the roses"?
I think my physical healing is almost complete...certainly, if the heart surgery had been the extent of my experience, I would be "recovered". For the last nine weeks my life has been defined by surgical procedure and recovery. But what is recovery? "Recovery" also means coming back from a state that might be
characterised as exile and embracing some semblance of one's previous life. Believe me....one's life is forever impacted and changed by what I have come through. This is part of "coming to terms", I think. One simply cannot go forward as that same pre-surgery person. There are the physical scars from incisions, and then there are the psychological and spiritual "scars" that set one apart from all others who have not suffered through the same battles. I am fortunate in one respect ......I do not have to face prolonged treatment or fear the return of the type of tumor found in my body. That is the indication to date, anyway.
I still can't tell you "what's next". And I still haven't covered the whole of "coming to terms".....
That will come later....I need to gather my thoughts and fathom my emotions.....and maybe cry a little.
Stephen
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Coming to Terms....."What's Next?"
I have been at a loss for words to post on the blog....call it writer's block. But I'll give it a try and probably find myself loosening up.
The tumor surgery was three weeks ago yesterday. I am healing well and feeling about 90% of my old self...except when I feel about 70% toward the end of the day. I experienced "rebound"...that's what they call it....when I tried weaning myself off of the pain medication too quickly. It is part narcotic and can induce dependency. Some chronic pain sufferers take the same medication for years....no thanks, thank you. The overwhelming feeling is akin to an adrenaline rush. I reduced the dosage to one tablet every five hours, however I forgot to take one this afternoon, so it has been about thirteen hours since the last tablet and I am feeling a bit weird right now. Then again, I may be going through an anesthetic flashback. All the Doctors tell me that it takes weeks for the anesthetic to be purged from the body. A flashback is marked by drowsiness and a general "down" feeling. I may sound a mess, but, really, I am fine and enjoying writing about all of this.
A realization came to me earlier today. For some reason I consider the tumor surgery less an important event than the heart surgery....and therefore diminished in its impact on my life. It seems to have been an afterthought. The actuality is that it is one of the two bookends that prop up my story. It was "major surgery", as the Doctor reminds me each time I see her. The anesthetic used in that surgery is the culprit causing the flashbacks....not the anesthetic used in the heart surgery.
I wonder if I have come to terms with the events of the last eight weeks. When Dr Amersi left the exam room, after delivering her very good news, I dutifully began to put myself together so Sue and I could leave.
As I buttoned my shirt, I turned to Sue and saw a wave of emotion and relief sweep across her face. A few tears filled her eyes and she gave me a big hug. It was then I realized the significance of the news and felt some emotion. And it was then I understood the stress and the fear she had been living with. Maybe it was the anesthesia and the pain pills, but I had not been emotionally affected to the same degree. I had detached
myself and took a clinical perspective....... and still do today. Perhaps part of the reason for this is that recovery is comprised of small "victories" and demands a focus that is conscious and subconscious at the same time. A global perspective is difficult when one is preoccupied with water retention, regularity, medication levels, pain prevention, and finding comfortable sleeping positions. Then there is the unspoken concern about wound infection and re-opening the incision through stress or bending over the wrong way, and then the ultimate worry about the bowel re-section holding. I am human, after all.
I am asked, more and more frequently, what I want to do "next"........"What's next, Steve? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?" I don't have an answer to that question right now. I do know that I don't want to return to the grind and routine that was much of my life for many years. I remember my father
telling me shortly before he died that I must not let work dominate my life to the exclusion of enjoying my life.
It was one of his great regrets that he had not taken the time over the span of his years to make the time to do the things he wanted to do and see the things he always wanted to see.
Every night, before I go to sleep, I sit on the edge of my bed to gather my thoughts and settle my mind. It is a form of prayer. That is when I contemplate what I have endured these last eight weeks and what it all means.
It came to my mind several nights ago, as some near-revelation, that a gift has been given to me......call it a gift of life, or a gift of understanding and compassion, or maybe a gift of light. There is no darkness. There is no sadness. There is only calm.
There is a Full Moon tonight. It is the third Full Moon of the Journal. I am going outside to let the light shine down on me and remember.
Stephen
The tumor surgery was three weeks ago yesterday. I am healing well and feeling about 90% of my old self...except when I feel about 70% toward the end of the day. I experienced "rebound"...that's what they call it....when I tried weaning myself off of the pain medication too quickly. It is part narcotic and can induce dependency. Some chronic pain sufferers take the same medication for years....no thanks, thank you. The overwhelming feeling is akin to an adrenaline rush. I reduced the dosage to one tablet every five hours, however I forgot to take one this afternoon, so it has been about thirteen hours since the last tablet and I am feeling a bit weird right now. Then again, I may be going through an anesthetic flashback. All the Doctors tell me that it takes weeks for the anesthetic to be purged from the body. A flashback is marked by drowsiness and a general "down" feeling. I may sound a mess, but, really, I am fine and enjoying writing about all of this.
A realization came to me earlier today. For some reason I consider the tumor surgery less an important event than the heart surgery....and therefore diminished in its impact on my life. It seems to have been an afterthought. The actuality is that it is one of the two bookends that prop up my story. It was "major surgery", as the Doctor reminds me each time I see her. The anesthetic used in that surgery is the culprit causing the flashbacks....not the anesthetic used in the heart surgery.
I wonder if I have come to terms with the events of the last eight weeks. When Dr Amersi left the exam room, after delivering her very good news, I dutifully began to put myself together so Sue and I could leave.
As I buttoned my shirt, I turned to Sue and saw a wave of emotion and relief sweep across her face. A few tears filled her eyes and she gave me a big hug. It was then I realized the significance of the news and felt some emotion. And it was then I understood the stress and the fear she had been living with. Maybe it was the anesthesia and the pain pills, but I had not been emotionally affected to the same degree. I had detached
myself and took a clinical perspective....... and still do today. Perhaps part of the reason for this is that recovery is comprised of small "victories" and demands a focus that is conscious and subconscious at the same time. A global perspective is difficult when one is preoccupied with water retention, regularity, medication levels, pain prevention, and finding comfortable sleeping positions. Then there is the unspoken concern about wound infection and re-opening the incision through stress or bending over the wrong way, and then the ultimate worry about the bowel re-section holding. I am human, after all.
I am asked, more and more frequently, what I want to do "next"........"What's next, Steve? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?" I don't have an answer to that question right now. I do know that I don't want to return to the grind and routine that was much of my life for many years. I remember my father
telling me shortly before he died that I must not let work dominate my life to the exclusion of enjoying my life.
It was one of his great regrets that he had not taken the time over the span of his years to make the time to do the things he wanted to do and see the things he always wanted to see.
Every night, before I go to sleep, I sit on the edge of my bed to gather my thoughts and settle my mind. It is a form of prayer. That is when I contemplate what I have endured these last eight weeks and what it all means.
It came to my mind several nights ago, as some near-revelation, that a gift has been given to me......call it a gift of life, or a gift of understanding and compassion, or maybe a gift of light. There is no darkness. There is no sadness. There is only calm.
There is a Full Moon tonight. It is the third Full Moon of the Journal. I am going outside to let the light shine down on me and remember.
Stephen
Monday, June 6, 2011
"The Score"....Monday's Meeting and Lab Report
Tomorrow....June 7th....marks two weeks since my tumor surgery. At the time, the surgeon, Dr. Amersi, felt the operation was a success and there was no apparent spread of the tumors to other organs of the body. I've described the mass removed from my abdomen in previous posts. But Dr. Amersi could not draw any conclusions with certainty until the pathology reports came in from the lab.
Today, Sue and I met with Dr. Amersi to go over the lab analysis. It was just this morning when it began to dawn on me that I would hear the "final score" of this contest later in the day. So it was with some anxiety that we traveled across Los Angeles to Cedars/Sinai this early afternoon. I would know what my medical future was going to be like by the end of the day.
The Pathology Report affirmed Dr. Amersi's observations. However, there were SEVEN tumors in a cluster involving the mesentery and the small intestines. They ranged in size from about 1/4" to almost one inch in diameter. This is why Dr. Amersi had to remove a tangled "ball" of small intestine and mesentery tissue. The outlying tissue of the "ball" was clean and showed no sign of cancer. The bottom-line is that there are no cancer tumors left in the body. Future "treatment" will involve periodic scans (every six months) to detect any possible return of the carcinoid tumors.
I am walking the streets with a retuned heart and newly repaired plumbing. The healing process, initially feared to be more painful than the heart surgery, has proved to be rapid and less painful than feared.
I am a very fortunate man. The final score came out in my favor. What a game!!!
Stephen
Today, Sue and I met with Dr. Amersi to go over the lab analysis. It was just this morning when it began to dawn on me that I would hear the "final score" of this contest later in the day. So it was with some anxiety that we traveled across Los Angeles to Cedars/Sinai this early afternoon. I would know what my medical future was going to be like by the end of the day.
The Pathology Report affirmed Dr. Amersi's observations. However, there were SEVEN tumors in a cluster involving the mesentery and the small intestines. They ranged in size from about 1/4" to almost one inch in diameter. This is why Dr. Amersi had to remove a tangled "ball" of small intestine and mesentery tissue. The outlying tissue of the "ball" was clean and showed no sign of cancer. The bottom-line is that there are no cancer tumors left in the body. Future "treatment" will involve periodic scans (every six months) to detect any possible return of the carcinoid tumors.
I am walking the streets with a retuned heart and newly repaired plumbing. The healing process, initially feared to be more painful than the heart surgery, has proved to be rapid and less painful than feared.
I am a very fortunate man. The final score came out in my favor. What a game!!!
Stephen
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
"Good Morning, Mr. Hamrock.........."
I found the level of care at Cedars-Sinai to be excellent. Interestingly, the nursing staff was about 80% Philippino...a mix of male and female nurses and aides. To a person, all the staff treated me with patience, care, and genuine respect. The Philippino's were a particularly happy lot of people. By and large they were not a sophisticated group, but very true.
I have come to realize that each floor of a hospital is devoted to the recovery of patients suffering the same or similar illnesses. You don't have cardiac patients mixed in with cancer patients....their needs are different and the hospital concentrates resources accordingly. In the cardiac recovery section of Whittier Presbyterian the focus was on heart rates, blood pressure, circulation, preventing blood clots, etc....making sure that the patients' hearts were ticking properly. At Cedars, I was on a floor where the common denominator was bowel surgery. I, like others down the hallway, had a section of bowel removed and the two loose ends reconnected with sutures. The intestinal tract heals very quickly and this reconnected juncture is "ready" in twenty-four hours. However, one does not know how successful the re-section is until there is evidence that the tract is clear and allowing matter to flow past the re-sectioned juncture. It takes several days for this evidence to make itself apparent and indicate successful surgery. Hence there is a laser-like focus by all medical personnel in search of that evidence.
Very early on the fourth day after surgery I got up from my very uncomfortable bed and walked the hallways. Walking helps promote circulation and the elimination of retained fluids and it is encouraged from the day of surgery to the time you are released. As I approached the nurses' station I saw the diminutive aide who had attended to my needs through the nightshift discussing something with another male nurse. "Parri" looked up and with a bright smile greeted me in a voice for all to hear.."Good Morning, Mr. Hamrock!! Did you pass gas last night??". As I passed by him, I put my hand on his shoulder and laughingly told him that I had not, but expected to any hour. Everyone laughed and I proceeded down the hall chuckling to myself. From the nationally recognized surgeon to the night aide....the indication of a successful re-section was the passing of gas. All, including myself, were relieved once that happened (no pun intended).
It has been seven days since the surgery to remove the tumor was performed. I am feeling fine, though the recovery from this operation is different than the recovery from the heart surgery. As I wrote in an earlier blog, this last surgery caused me a good deal of anxiety. I had no idea what the surgeons would find once they got into my abdomen. As it is, the outcome was the best that I could ask for. No other organs were affected. The tumor infested area was restricted in scope and removed. The small intestine was re-sectioned and I was closed up after an operation that took no more than one and one-half hours to perform. They got me off the table in record time. My heart held up just fine and the anesthesiologist was amazed that all went so well and so quickly.
The tumor had attached itself to the outside walls of the small intestines and had bound up a section of them in a mass that, once removed, proved to be the size of a large grapefruit. The surgeon told me she was surprised that I could eat anything and not experience discomfort. The probability of a blockage in the very near future was real......and that would not have been a pretty situation.
My appetite is still repressed and food doesn't interest me like it once did. However, I am seriously thinking of making a pot of Chili Verde this weekend. I don't know if I will eat much of it, but everyone else is enthusiastic. I should feel up to the task by this Sunday.
Stephen
I have come to realize that each floor of a hospital is devoted to the recovery of patients suffering the same or similar illnesses. You don't have cardiac patients mixed in with cancer patients....their needs are different and the hospital concentrates resources accordingly. In the cardiac recovery section of Whittier Presbyterian the focus was on heart rates, blood pressure, circulation, preventing blood clots, etc....making sure that the patients' hearts were ticking properly. At Cedars, I was on a floor where the common denominator was bowel surgery. I, like others down the hallway, had a section of bowel removed and the two loose ends reconnected with sutures. The intestinal tract heals very quickly and this reconnected juncture is "ready" in twenty-four hours. However, one does not know how successful the re-section is until there is evidence that the tract is clear and allowing matter to flow past the re-sectioned juncture. It takes several days for this evidence to make itself apparent and indicate successful surgery. Hence there is a laser-like focus by all medical personnel in search of that evidence.
Very early on the fourth day after surgery I got up from my very uncomfortable bed and walked the hallways. Walking helps promote circulation and the elimination of retained fluids and it is encouraged from the day of surgery to the time you are released. As I approached the nurses' station I saw the diminutive aide who had attended to my needs through the nightshift discussing something with another male nurse. "Parri" looked up and with a bright smile greeted me in a voice for all to hear.."Good Morning, Mr. Hamrock!! Did you pass gas last night??". As I passed by him, I put my hand on his shoulder and laughingly told him that I had not, but expected to any hour. Everyone laughed and I proceeded down the hall chuckling to myself. From the nationally recognized surgeon to the night aide....the indication of a successful re-section was the passing of gas. All, including myself, were relieved once that happened (no pun intended).
It has been seven days since the surgery to remove the tumor was performed. I am feeling fine, though the recovery from this operation is different than the recovery from the heart surgery. As I wrote in an earlier blog, this last surgery caused me a good deal of anxiety. I had no idea what the surgeons would find once they got into my abdomen. As it is, the outcome was the best that I could ask for. No other organs were affected. The tumor infested area was restricted in scope and removed. The small intestine was re-sectioned and I was closed up after an operation that took no more than one and one-half hours to perform. They got me off the table in record time. My heart held up just fine and the anesthesiologist was amazed that all went so well and so quickly.
The tumor had attached itself to the outside walls of the small intestines and had bound up a section of them in a mass that, once removed, proved to be the size of a large grapefruit. The surgeon told me she was surprised that I could eat anything and not experience discomfort. The probability of a blockage in the very near future was real......and that would not have been a pretty situation.
My appetite is still repressed and food doesn't interest me like it once did. However, I am seriously thinking of making a pot of Chili Verde this weekend. I don't know if I will eat much of it, but everyone else is enthusiastic. I should feel up to the task by this Sunday.
Stephen
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Late Sunday Night......a Few Thoughts
It is 9:30 p.m. Sunday evening and I have settled down. I'll be sleeping in a sitted position for a few nights at least. The abdominal muscles now have a nice clean incision sweeping down vertically and these are the guys I counted on to help me get up early-on after the heart surgery. They are out-of-service for the next several weeks.
I am tired, so tonight's message will not be as witty and as long as I intended. I now think this recovery will not be as difficult or as painful as I expressed last week. We are experts at "pain management", or think we are, and maintaining the scheduled flow of the two little capsules seems to keep me in a tolerable comfort zone. I look forward to a decent night's sleep, though the medication induces weird little dream images that startle me awake.
Ooops!....I just drifted off....... so I will say goodnight with the promise of taking up "pen and paper" tomorrow.
Stephen
I am tired, so tonight's message will not be as witty and as long as I intended. I now think this recovery will not be as difficult or as painful as I expressed last week. We are experts at "pain management", or think we are, and maintaining the scheduled flow of the two little capsules seems to keep me in a tolerable comfort zone. I look forward to a decent night's sleep, though the medication induces weird little dream images that startle me awake.
Ooops!....I just drifted off....... so I will say goodnight with the promise of taking up "pen and paper" tomorrow.
Stephen
Going Home..........
I thought it a good idea to let everyone know that I am going home this early Sunday afternoon, and to express my thanks to all who have followed me on this blog, and to all who have prayed for or shown their support for a pilgrim that set out on a journey many weeks ago. That journey is still far from finished, indeed, I don't think it ever is completed.
I can never express in words my appreciation and love for my Sue, and for the devotion she has shown to me and my recovery. This has been no joy for her. She has ridden every foot of the way and endured every hour of each day of this journey. I have seen the fatigue in her face and the resolve in her manner. She has put up with things she has an extreme distaste for. We have grown together....kind of like soldiers in the
front line trenches of a very personal war.
I'll write more later today, after settling in at home and visiting Mom.
Stephen
I can never express in words my appreciation and love for my Sue, and for the devotion she has shown to me and my recovery. This has been no joy for her. She has ridden every foot of the way and endured every hour of each day of this journey. I have seen the fatigue in her face and the resolve in her manner. She has put up with things she has an extreme distaste for. We have grown together....kind of like soldiers in the
front line trenches of a very personal war.
I'll write more later today, after settling in at home and visiting Mom.
Stephen
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