Hospital Staff is Diverse

Still on schedule for Monday release. My last chemo bag will finish Sunday night. I’m feeling excited and am ready for some of mine and Terry’s home cooking. I’m sure it will not come as a news flash to you that my opinion is hospital food is not so good. An alleged cheese omelet from here would probably bounce four feet in the air if dropped. You want that the egg to be a little soft with cheese oozing on the plate, no? with a nice pice of toast to sop up. 

Also, the hospital’s most basic of basic cable t.v. leaves the sports fan frustrated. No ESPN, for example.

I thought I’d blog about the hospital staff today. Especially in California and especially in Oakland and Berkeley, the ethnic diversity of hospital staff could hardly be greater. I’ve been too sick and polite to question everyone at length, but there are Chinese, Filipinos, Central Americans, Mexicans, Africans, Tibetans etc. all working in harmony. It’s a glimpse of the future and positive one. One nurse I hook up with a lot shared his story. His father tried twice to walk from El Salvador to the States. The first time the Mexicans turned him back, but he made it the second time. He asked for and eventually was granted political asylum. He eventually brought over his family including our guy who studied hard and is a damn good nurse. He’s promised to bring me in some of his sister’s pupusas - yum.

You know, one of the conservatives’ old sayings is that we humans are drawn to our own kind because we feel so comfortable there. Well, that’s true, but so is the opposite. We humans are also curious and are perhaps equally drawn to find out what’s going on with the “other” kind. It’s fun, it’s challenging, and it makes life much more interesting. Here in the hospital they are making it work and it makes me happy about the future of California, the nation and the world.

Guitar Playing

Moving along with chemo. Gained four pounds. I’m up for visitors this weekend if they can stand the 20 lbs lighter hairless me.

I’m going to blog about guitar playing today. First of all, for those who have noticed that I’m pretty much not gigging anymore, be assured that I've been playing an hour or more a day steadily for the last few years. I have arranged a lot of new guitar solos and recorded and posted a lot of videos on YouTube including what I would rate as a nice version of Dylan’s “Duquesne Whistle” which has been viewed over 8000 times and received feedback from youngsters who don’t have a clue about my fingerpicking hot shot identity. I have gone to a couple of open mics under the pseudonym “Don Fulano”, which Spanish speakers will realize means, more or less, Sir What’s His Name. Another alias I was kicking around was "Funky Wagnells", which works only for folks over 30 or more.

As I got sicker in February, I began losing energy and was able to play about only 20 minutes before wanting to head back to bed. When Terry took me to the hospital I didn’t even bring a guitar. However, after a couple of days I felt better and had her bring one down. I was able to put in 15 or 20 minutes a day and was at least not losing my calluses. 

The operation obviously threw me for a major loop. It was hard to even sit up for four or five days, but finally I’m playing again, with cooperating abdominal muscles. The calluses are not entirely gone and the counter drugs that are part of the chemo mix are giving me enough energy to play for a few 20 minute stretches a day. I’m now able to think of things I’ll be arranging and playing which is a big boost to my psychological well being. When I’m able to ignore finger tip owwies, I’m playing pretty well.

So, I wanted to get that info out there. It was too depressing to post about when I was unable to play.

Hospital Dreams

I’m about one day into my second round of chemo. I’m feeling okay and I’m the most optimistic I've been since the operation, which really set me back psychologically. It went from “i’m going home tomorrow” to “Off to the operating room”.

I thought I’d blog a bit about my dreams here in the hospital. The night of my breakout from the ICU, I had an absolutely transcendental short dream. They gave me some Ativan and I put on my iPod. A tune by The Cure came on. 

For those who don’t know this band, they were hugely popular in the post punk 1980s. They would create a huge wall of sound drone background and sing angst ridden lyrics. Those who aren’t too crazy about them (e.g. my wife) complain their music never goes anywhere. But, as with many things, their weakness is their strength. One (this one at any rate) can lose him or herself in the the lush, repeating droning wall of sound. 

That’s what happened in this instance. I was transported to some alternate universe where I was floating through some multi colored liquid at perfect peace. All of The Cure’s tunes are pretty long. I don’t know if something else by them or a similar band came on next, but I remained in this state for what seemed to be a long time. In any event, I came back to reality in a much more relaxed and mellow state. 

Some of my other dreams have been more on the humorous side. Early last night I dreamed I was an Olympic athlete. My sport was sort of undefined, but I wasn’t young in the dream. I must have been a marksman of some kind. What was fun, though, was wandering around the village and meeting famous athletes, who were also ill defined, at least in my memory at this point. Hopefully, I met Alex Morgan.

Another from last night had me making a couple of espressos on a machine that looked like the pole with all the pumps attached to it that is my permanent companion here in the hospital. Not a surprising dream, but where did the espresso come from? I told the nurse about this and she said they hadn’t made that attachment yet.

Review of the Movie Flight - Spoiler Alert

First, a quick medical update - my staples from the operation are out and I’m about to start the next round of chemo. In fact, the chemo will probably have started before I finish this blog post.

I’m still in the hospital, for one reason only, there is no room in the Cancer Center. It’s okay, though, I’ve got a terrific room and I’m getting along with the staff okay.

In the meantime, I’ll review the movie Flight. (Major Spoiler Alert - don’t read this unless you have already seen the movie or are sure you aren’t going to). 

Denzel Washington, in a superb performance, plays an airline pilot with a serious alcohol addiction. (He’s also into cocaine for the occasional pick-me-up). How serious is his alcohol addiction? He mixes three mini-bottles of vodka with some o.j. and takes it into the cockpit with him for the flight. 

As soon as the movie establishes Denzel’s status, we are swept into a nail biting, mind boggling flying action sequence. If I have it right, the lifters on the plane stop working. Denzel has to fly the plane upside down using the do-dads that normally take the plane down to lift it up. Then, at the last second, he flips the plane back upright and crash lands in a field. Denzel is totally calm and in control the whole time and saves the plane and almost everyone’s life.

As the movie plays out everyone who goes to the trouble to study what happened is convinced that Denzel is one of the few if not the only pilot who could have pulled off what he did. X number of pilots try simulations and none can save the plane.

Inevitably, his addiction becomes known and the lawyers, and agencies start hovering. Denzel is in a typical addict’s denial that he has a problem. I was really enjoying the whole thing, but I was having trouble figuring out if the movie was going to have a point other than the one that some people, no matter how screwed up, are capable of performing in a crisis. Then came crucial scene -

The young copilot had been in a coma since the crash. Denzel gets the word the young man has come out of his coma and rushes to the hospital. Denzel starts to lobby the young co-pilot to his side, but finds it unnecessary The young man, who we have known from early on is a devout Christian, tells Denzel that what he did was a miracle, and that Jesus had put him there for a purpose - not only to save the people on the plane but to be forced to confront his addiction. Now, most of you know that I’m not a religious person and don’t think Jesus puts anybody anywhere for any reason, but for the purposes of the movie plot, this scene really worked for me and tied the movie together. 

Rather than try to tap dance his way out of things, Denzel faces up, admits he’s an addict and goes to the slammer for a bit. He seems okay with it as the last scene shows him at the prison AA meeting. Four out of five stars for me.

Taking a Break for a Movie Review

Terry chastised me for obsessing on one particular body part in the last blog, and I hear her complaint. It’s hard to avoid the body part / body function trap in my current condition, so why don’t I review a video I just watched on my iPad mini.

Moonrise Kingdom - Wes Anderson is one of those quirky film makers who does what he does with what appears to be little if any thought of what’s popular or profitable or trendy. He creates extremely likable but flawed characters and puts them in exotic settings. I rarely laugh out loud during one of his movies, but I seem to have a smile of my face from beginning to end. 

Here, all the action takes place on a island off the northeast United States coast in 1965. The basic plot is that a misfit scout in a scout troupe and the daughter of the lawyers run away to live in a deserted cove. The two young actors work well together. Their characters are about 14. They’re cute as they practice French kissing. He’s brought all the correct scout survival gear and she’s brought her favorite books and a portable record player. He nods sagely at her choices rather than berate her impracticality. I’ll stop there. Suffice to say - sh*t happens, things get more complex etc.

The cast is excellent - Edward Norton as the strict but sweet scoutmaster; Bruce Willis as the island’s entire police force; Bill Murray and Francis McDormand as the married couple lawyers who call each other counsellor; Tilda Swinton, ominously referred to by everyone, including herself, as Social Services, who is hinting at electro shock for the young hero; Bob Balaban as a sort of Shakespearian narrator who speaks into the camera (though he’s also appears to be a real character). Harvey Keitel adds a funny cameo as the senile head of the scouting group.

Anyway, I give it 4 of 5 stars and say “Rent it”. It’s as good a movie as any to start your Wes Anderson foray. 

Coming up, baring another inspiration - Argo, Flight and t.v. series Justified, Elementary, and Project Runway - as we leave body parts and functions behind for now.

Just learned I will do next round of chemo here in hospital, so I won't be released for a week or so.

The Big Breakout

I couldn't stand the i.c.u. There's no privacy. People are hovering over you all the time. There's chaos and tragedy in the air. The nurses are too rushed to be polite. Visiting hours are limited. Terry was there as soon as possible and spent a lot of time by my side knitting. I hung in there as best I could, feeling weak as a kitten.

The hospital evidently has a procedure for leaving i.c.u. You must convince them you're fit enough by passing certain breathing and other tasks. Well, with a combination of me being firm - (i.e. being a bit of a whining brat), Terry's advocacy and sympathetic medical pros, including one particular nurse, we short circuited procedure, and got me back to the oncology ward after a couple of nights in i.c.u. There was a shouting match just prior to the actual move, but we prevailed. This is a story better told by Terry, who was out in the front lines.

Back in my old digs I began to relax. In my new better mood, I pulled off one, I think, pretty good quip. Not long after my arrival they unhooked the catheter. Then the nurse said, "I've got to remove this label." "Oh," quipped myself, "the one that says 'Do Not Amputate!'" Didn't get an LOL, but I did get one later. Let me explain -

In my weakened condition (since improved to where this doesn't happen), when sliding along the bed in a sitting position, I'd have to reach down and pull my scrotum to catch up. I explained to the nurse, "It's important to Honore de Balzac." I got a chuckle for that one.

Sorry, I never mentioned the actual results of the surgery. They fixed the problem with the bowel, but gave me an ileostomy, which can later be reversed. So I've been learning all sorts of fun maintenance techniques. Currently, my stomach feels much better than before the whole thing started. In fact, it feels normal, but I have to be very careful not to eat too much.

Okay, signing off for now.

Filling in the Blank Days Part One

I’m back, blogging from the hospital. I won’t lie and say the intervening days have not been tough, but I’m better now and optimistic to go forward. 

I suppose I might as well just go chronologically, but first, let me stress something - if you are sure something is wrong with you even though you are able to function normally, don’t ignore it. Get checked out! If I had had a CT scan when my surgeon told me to I would have entered the hospital with a much smaller tumor, a good appetite, and 15 extra pounds. 

So here’s the first part of my story -

Terry checked me in bright and early to the hospital March 18. I was feeling weak and suffering pretty severe stomach pain. My first trip was to surgery where they installed a Bard Dual Power Port system that fits under the collar bone to access a major blood vessel and avoid i.v.’s. Various tests followed. I started Rituxin on Wednesday and chemo soon after. Because of my situation where the chemo was the cure I was feeling better. I thought I could feel the tumor actually shrinking.

Things were looking good until I had this mother of all stomach aches on Sunday night. It eventually went away but returned with vigor the next morning. My oncologist digested all this news and had the Monday chemo treatment accelerated. I was unhooked finally in mid afternoon and sent for a CT scan, When I got back, I was given the no food and drink order and began to get this feeling of doom.

Dr Krijanovski had mentioned to us a small possibility that my tumor would shrink so fast it would collapse and perforate the bowel. This thought was on my mind. I turned to Terry and said, “Know what. Dr Upadhyay (surgeon) will be the next guy through the door. Well, actually Dr. K beat him by a couple of minutes. In a very cool gesture, Dr. U was wearing a guitar themed tie. Sure enough, my bowel had been perforated, I was really depressed as they rolled me to the operating room.