For more than a decade, late fall and early winter have meant Seasonal Affective Disorder (or "SAD") for me.
Typically, I get a constant level of fatigue that sleeping doesn't relieve. I get cranky and have been known to yell at co-workers, friends, fellow jugglers and even my wonderful wife. I get hypoglycemic, which means low blood sugar -- and eating candy bars or other high-sugar foods only drives my blood sugar even lower.
And I can identify this condition as SAD, because using an intensive light source (designed specifically for treating SAD) first thing in the morning alleviates the entire package of symptoms. Every year, I've started using the light source shortly after I feel a building sense of anger that I can't explain. And I tell Deb that it's that time again, and please ignore any grousing that I direct her way.
But strangely enough, this year I seem to be immune to the symptoms completely without any use of the SAD light. (Okay, so I've been sleeping in some the last week or two, but I think that's pretty normal and I've been getting to bed late.) But no hypoglycemia and no anger. It's been delightful. Things have been so normal that it's taken me a month or so to realize that... well, that things are normal.
I might tie this to my changed attitude about autumn -- a change I blogged about a month or so ago. (I used to dread autumn, but have come to accept it and even enjoy it!)
I might tie this to my recovery from cancer treatment and all the physical, mental and spiritual changes that has entailed.
I might credit this to what I've been learning about myself and the universe at the Meadville school.
I might assume that I'm simply changing with age, and that my SAD time has simply passed.
Or I might just accept the gift of non-SADness and be grateful.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Blanche Update #3
Several of you have asked about Blanche -- the orchid that was presented to us last summer by my wonderful sister.
You may recall that Blanche originally came with a set of 10 beautiful, pure white blossoms. She shed these after several weeks and proceeded to produce a new set of 10 beautiful, pure white blossoms.
Roughly two months ago, she shed them as well and looked as if she were going into a dormant state for the winter. Deb stopped into our local florist to find out if there was anything we should do to keep the plant healthy through the winter. The florist was surprised to hear that Blanche would produce two full sets of blossoms in a single season -- and that whatever we were doing was clearly the right thing. So we've been placing her in direct sunlight every day, and the large green leaves at the base of the plant look perfectly healthy and busy doing that photosynthesis thingy that plants do.
Aaaand we were a bit surprised, but delighted, when Blanche started to produce yet another branch with buds on it a week or so ago. She clearly has in mind to produce a new set of blossoms mid-winter.
(The branch in question is the green "stick" at the top of the plant, pointing off to the left. As before, you can click on the photo to get a full-size view.)
There's a metaphor available here -- about renewal and determination to live life fully at the height of summer or the depths of winter. I leave the details of the metaphor up to you, dear reader, to fill in as feels best to you.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
A Poem -- courtesy of a dear friend
Anne Higgins is one of Deb's oldest and dearest friends and, through the years, has become one of mine as well. Anne is a published poet with numerous collections of her work in print. (You can find several of them on Amazon.com if you're interested...)
In her latest collection of poems, titled How the Hand Behaves, she includes one describing her response to a juggling performance of mine at a local street fair.
It's titled (not surprisingly) "The Juggler," and she's given me permission to reproduce it for you here. It goes like this:
********************
The Juggler
Spinning a tin plate
on a drumstick,
he beckons the little girl
put up your finger.
He transfers the tin plate from the drumstick
to her finger.
There's a serious intensity
to his whimsy.
His face red with exertion,
heat of the summer evening
at the street fair.
Two deep ridges furrow his brow.
His hair short, shoe brush bristly,
wired with gray as
his stubbly beard.
All his brainpower
poured into the juggling.
Hand-eye coordination,
two knife sharp eyes.
At sixty, he maintains his body
like a fine old Volvo -- running smooth.
Introvert who juggles
time, cash, yardwork,
computer,
all of that.
Now there's a lovely silver ball,
tangerine sized, translucent,
which rolls along his hand,
up his forearm,
twisting at his elbow,
down the other side and
back into the palm,
rolling of its own volition.
********************
In her latest collection of poems, titled How the Hand Behaves, she includes one describing her response to a juggling performance of mine at a local street fair.
It's titled (not surprisingly) "The Juggler," and she's given me permission to reproduce it for you here. It goes like this:
********************
The Juggler
Spinning a tin plate
on a drumstick,
he beckons the little girl
put up your finger.
He transfers the tin plate from the drumstick
to her finger.
There's a serious intensity
to his whimsy.
His face red with exertion,
heat of the summer evening
at the street fair.
Two deep ridges furrow his brow.
His hair short, shoe brush bristly,
wired with gray as
his stubbly beard.
All his brainpower
poured into the juggling.
Hand-eye coordination,
two knife sharp eyes.
At sixty, he maintains his body
like a fine old Volvo -- running smooth.
Introvert who juggles
time, cash, yardwork,
computer,
all of that.
Now there's a lovely silver ball,
tangerine sized, translucent,
which rolls along his hand,
up his forearm,
twisting at his elbow,
down the other side and
back into the palm,
rolling of its own volition.
********************
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Words That Sustained Me
Last Spring and Summer, a remarkable number of people sent me "Get Well" cards. To me anyway, it was certainly a remarkable and totally unexpected number: there were over 40 of them. And there were all the sweet and supportive things folks wrote here in the blog. And then there were many e-mails -- often written by folks whose software wouldn't let them comment on the blog.
But I'm writing today about the cards.
The cards have been displayed on our mantelpiece since they arrived, but it's time now to collect them and tuck them into an envelope for safe keeping. Christmas cards are arriving -- and the "Get Well" cards have already worked their magic.
Many of the cards contained words that slipped right through all my defenses and neuroses, my anxieties and fears, and touched my heart. There were phrases in these cards that would echo through my mind as Deb and I drove to yet another treatment session, yet another doctor's appointment.
And I thought I would share some of them with you, with the hope that you will never need them. Some of these words were pre-printed on the card and some of them were written by the sender. When you think about it, it probably doesn't matter...
The first one is the one that touched me most deeply -- and still brings tears to my eyes:
"At the times when it's most difficult to believe that there will ever be better days ahead, I will be here to do the believing for you..."
Others (in no particular order) include:
"Recovery is more than a mending of the body... It is an easing of the mind, a calming of the heart, and a healing of the spirit."
"Remember that with lots of hair or some hair or no hair, you are still Randy!"
"Wishing you tranquility, and hoping you know how much you are loved."
"May you have strength at your backdoor, so you have it when you need it... May you have courage in your pocket, so you know where to find it... And, always, may you have hope in your heart, so you never misplace it."
"Sending you support and encouragement... Know that I care."
"Rest. Renew. Restore. Heal. Be well."
"I'm not sure what to do, I'm not sure what to say. But one thing's for sure... I promise to pray."
"I know you are strong. You have a dear, caring helpmate and many friends who are hoping and praying for your full recovery. Count me as one of them."
"I believe in mystery and miracles and the magic of a new day. I believe in angels and natural wonders and the beauty inside people. I believe in rainbows and happy endings and dreams-come-true... I believe in a bright-and-shining tomorrow ahead for you."
"There is a circle of caring all around... and you are right in the middle."
"The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it."
Last, but certainly not least, I received a card from my dino-hunting buddies in Alberta. Eight folks wrote notes inside the card and signed it. And almost all of the messages included the magic phrase: "next year."
It is, I think, unavoidable that -- from time to time during an extended series of treatments like mine -- you will feel utterly alone and that no one could possibly understand what you were going through. And it was during these times that the evidence of the cards came roaring into my life and said: "You are not alone! Not now. Not ever."
But I'm writing today about the cards.
The cards have been displayed on our mantelpiece since they arrived, but it's time now to collect them and tuck them into an envelope for safe keeping. Christmas cards are arriving -- and the "Get Well" cards have already worked their magic.
Many of the cards contained words that slipped right through all my defenses and neuroses, my anxieties and fears, and touched my heart. There were phrases in these cards that would echo through my mind as Deb and I drove to yet another treatment session, yet another doctor's appointment.
And I thought I would share some of them with you, with the hope that you will never need them. Some of these words were pre-printed on the card and some of them were written by the sender. When you think about it, it probably doesn't matter...
The first one is the one that touched me most deeply -- and still brings tears to my eyes:
"At the times when it's most difficult to believe that there will ever be better days ahead, I will be here to do the believing for you..."
Others (in no particular order) include:
"Recovery is more than a mending of the body... It is an easing of the mind, a calming of the heart, and a healing of the spirit."
"Remember that with lots of hair or some hair or no hair, you are still Randy!"
"Wishing you tranquility, and hoping you know how much you are loved."
"May you have strength at your backdoor, so you have it when you need it... May you have courage in your pocket, so you know where to find it... And, always, may you have hope in your heart, so you never misplace it."
"Sending you support and encouragement... Know that I care."
"Rest. Renew. Restore. Heal. Be well."
"I'm not sure what to do, I'm not sure what to say. But one thing's for sure... I promise to pray."
"I know you are strong. You have a dear, caring helpmate and many friends who are hoping and praying for your full recovery. Count me as one of them."
"I believe in mystery and miracles and the magic of a new day. I believe in angels and natural wonders and the beauty inside people. I believe in rainbows and happy endings and dreams-come-true... I believe in a bright-and-shining tomorrow ahead for you."
"There is a circle of caring all around... and you are right in the middle."
"The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it."
Last, but certainly not least, I received a card from my dino-hunting buddies in Alberta. Eight folks wrote notes inside the card and signed it. And almost all of the messages included the magic phrase: "next year."
It is, I think, unavoidable that -- from time to time during an extended series of treatments like mine -- you will feel utterly alone and that no one could possibly understand what you were going through. And it was during these times that the evidence of the cards came roaring into my life and said: "You are not alone! Not now. Not ever."
Friday, December 18, 2009
Another Step
Deb and I visited with my radiation doc this morning for a regularly scheduled check-up. He seemed genuinely pleased to see us, I think because he likes us and because my progress has been so positive since I had my last radiation session back in early August.
(You may recall that radiation was a vital part of my overall treatment regimen: We weren't sure that the major surgery had removed the entire primary tumor, and that my recovery from cancer needed the radiation to eliminate any part of the tumor that might still be in my head/neck area. So the rad doc worked up a specific area-vs-radiation-intensity program for his machine to follow -- to treat a cancer type with which he was less-than-familiar. So my recovery says that his program worked. Hurray for him! Hurray for me! Hurray for all of us!)
He told me I looked really well, and he was pleased that I continued to gain weight.
We talked about the numbness and tingling that I'm feeling in my right foot and both my hands (which is called a "small-fiber neuropathy," I think...), and he said we should keep an eye on it. He said it probably wouldn't get any worse and might well go away. And both of us agreed that, if this were my biggest problem, I was one fortunate dude. (Although he didn't use the word "dude." I doubt he's ever used the word "dude." And, although I''ve never met them, I doubt that his kids will ever use the word "dude." At least not in his hearing...)
He asked me whether my ability to taste foods was returning, and I told him definitely yes, but that I still had to avoid spicy foods.
He told me: "Then don't eat them."
I said: "But this means no Szechuan food!"
He brightened visibly and said: "Oh, you like Chinese food?!?" and I said yes. (He's Chinese -- very Chinese -- and I felt like I had just pitched him a belt-high fastball.) He's a busy man, so we avoided talking Szechuan food. But I would like to have got some recommendations for future use...
He probed my head/neck area very completely and told me he couldn't find anything to indicate a return of the cancer. I told him that I had been waiting for him to say that, and he smiled.
Then, he anesthetized my nose and throat and put a long lighted probe (laryngoscope?) into my nose and down the back of my throat. As he was doing this, he told me that my larynx looked perfectly normal and that my pharynx also looked perfectly normal. As he withdrew the instrument, he told Deb and me that "It looks like you haven't had any radiation treatment at all."
Oh, baby!
After so many sessions with this guy which were sometimes rather grim and determined "We just gotta keep grinding this out" sessions, it was wonderful to visit him and his marvelous staff and have nothing but good news and warm feelings all the way around.
Just in time for the holidays.
(You may recall that radiation was a vital part of my overall treatment regimen: We weren't sure that the major surgery had removed the entire primary tumor, and that my recovery from cancer needed the radiation to eliminate any part of the tumor that might still be in my head/neck area. So the rad doc worked up a specific area-vs-radiation-intensity program for his machine to follow -- to treat a cancer type with which he was less-than-familiar. So my recovery says that his program worked. Hurray for him! Hurray for me! Hurray for all of us!)
He told me I looked really well, and he was pleased that I continued to gain weight.
We talked about the numbness and tingling that I'm feeling in my right foot and both my hands (which is called a "small-fiber neuropathy," I think...), and he said we should keep an eye on it. He said it probably wouldn't get any worse and might well go away. And both of us agreed that, if this were my biggest problem, I was one fortunate dude. (Although he didn't use the word "dude." I doubt he's ever used the word "dude." And, although I''ve never met them, I doubt that his kids will ever use the word "dude." At least not in his hearing...)
He asked me whether my ability to taste foods was returning, and I told him definitely yes, but that I still had to avoid spicy foods.
He told me: "Then don't eat them."
I said: "But this means no Szechuan food!"
He brightened visibly and said: "Oh, you like Chinese food?!?" and I said yes. (He's Chinese -- very Chinese -- and I felt like I had just pitched him a belt-high fastball.) He's a busy man, so we avoided talking Szechuan food. But I would like to have got some recommendations for future use...
He probed my head/neck area very completely and told me he couldn't find anything to indicate a return of the cancer. I told him that I had been waiting for him to say that, and he smiled.
Then, he anesthetized my nose and throat and put a long lighted probe (laryngoscope?) into my nose and down the back of my throat. As he was doing this, he told me that my larynx looked perfectly normal and that my pharynx also looked perfectly normal. As he withdrew the instrument, he told Deb and me that "It looks like you haven't had any radiation treatment at all."
Oh, baby!
After so many sessions with this guy which were sometimes rather grim and determined "We just gotta keep grinding this out" sessions, it was wonderful to visit him and his marvelous staff and have nothing but good news and warm feelings all the way around.
Just in time for the holidays.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Confluence
Okay, this is like, so cool. No, it's way beyond cool. It's like five degrees Kelvin. And it was totally unexpected. But first, a little background. In two parcels:
Parcel A: Hadrosaurus Foulkii was the first reasonably complete dinosaur skeleton ever found. It was found in a marl pit close to Haddonfield, NJ in 1858 and is now on permanent display at the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. Which is where I volunteer and clean dinosaur bones and talk with visitors to the museum. The Academy recently did a beautiful job of giving the animal its own exhibit, replete with all sorts of valuable background information. Click here: http://www.levins.com/dinosaur.shtml for more information about the critter.
Parcel B: When I tell people that I'm currently offering dinosaur lectures and juggling performances, they ask me: "What do these two things have in common?" or something like that. Or else they just stare at me for a while as if I'm a bit too weird to believe.
So here's what's so cool: today, the Curator of Dinosaurs at the Academy sidled up to me and asked if I would like to juggle for the museum's Paleopalooza extravaganza, which takes place in mid-February.
Aaaaand what do you suppose the Curator has in mind for me to juggle?
Hmmmm?
Anyone who did not answer "Dinosaur Bones!!" please go back up this posting and read the two Parcels shown above.
The Curator plans to make castings of three or more bones from the Hadrosuarus fossils specifically for me to juggle. At Paleopalooza. (Juggling the real bones is, of course, out of the question!) He and I went to Hadrosaurus display to figure out which bones would work best. (We chose three caudal vertebrae and either a radius or ulna.) He will do one casting to confirm size and weight, then go for the entire set.
He's very excited about this. I'm very excited about this. I hope that you are very excited about this. And I will, of course, let you know more about this as we get closer to Paleopalooza time.
I don't know what I could possibly have done to deserve this.
If I knew, I would do it more often.
Parcel A: Hadrosaurus Foulkii was the first reasonably complete dinosaur skeleton ever found. It was found in a marl pit close to Haddonfield, NJ in 1858 and is now on permanent display at the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. Which is where I volunteer and clean dinosaur bones and talk with visitors to the museum. The Academy recently did a beautiful job of giving the animal its own exhibit, replete with all sorts of valuable background information. Click here: http://www.levins.com/dinosaur.shtml for more information about the critter.
Parcel B: When I tell people that I'm currently offering dinosaur lectures and juggling performances, they ask me: "What do these two things have in common?" or something like that. Or else they just stare at me for a while as if I'm a bit too weird to believe.
So here's what's so cool: today, the Curator of Dinosaurs at the Academy sidled up to me and asked if I would like to juggle for the museum's Paleopalooza extravaganza, which takes place in mid-February.
Aaaaand what do you suppose the Curator has in mind for me to juggle?
Hmmmm?
Anyone who did not answer "Dinosaur Bones!!" please go back up this posting and read the two Parcels shown above.
The Curator plans to make castings of three or more bones from the Hadrosuarus fossils specifically for me to juggle. At Paleopalooza. (Juggling the real bones is, of course, out of the question!) He and I went to Hadrosaurus display to figure out which bones would work best. (We chose three caudal vertebrae and either a radius or ulna.) He will do one casting to confirm size and weight, then go for the entire set.
He's very excited about this. I'm very excited about this. I hope that you are very excited about this. And I will, of course, let you know more about this as we get closer to Paleopalooza time.
I don't know what I could possibly have done to deserve this.
If I knew, I would do it more often.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Blanche Update #2
Many of you will -- I hope -- recall that last summer, my ever-so-thoughtful sister sent Deb and me a beautiful orchid with pure white blossoms. As is our habit, we gave the plant a name: Blanche.
Blance luxuriated on our porch for the last half of the summer and all of the fall. During this time, she produced several new blossoms, for a grand total of ten: five per branch on each of her two stems.
In late summer or early fall, Blanche withdrew her support for each of the blossoms -- gradually over the course of several days -- from the distal to the proximal end of each branch. She then withdrew her support from each of the two branches, while growing a new branch on each stem.
She then produced five new blossoms on each of her two new branches. And they were every bit as lovely as the original set of ten.
We have, of course, brought Blanche inside as the weather got colder, and now have her sitting in the light from a south-facing window, to keep her four large, still-healthy leaves properly nourished with sunlight.
Several weeks ago, Blanche decided to withdraw support from the second set of ten blossoms. This leaves her looking rather austere, but still healthy, and the memory of her beautiful blossoms remains vivid in our memories.
And just the other day, she started growing a new branch on one of the two stems. So we may get yet another set of blossoms sometime in the next month or so. But we're not placing any goals or expectations on her. She is now, as she has always been, a splendid addition to our house.
Just as she is. Just as she decides to be.
Blance luxuriated on our porch for the last half of the summer and all of the fall. During this time, she produced several new blossoms, for a grand total of ten: five per branch on each of her two stems.
In late summer or early fall, Blanche withdrew her support for each of the blossoms -- gradually over the course of several days -- from the distal to the proximal end of each branch. She then withdrew her support from each of the two branches, while growing a new branch on each stem.
She then produced five new blossoms on each of her two new branches. And they were every bit as lovely as the original set of ten.
We have, of course, brought Blanche inside as the weather got colder, and now have her sitting in the light from a south-facing window, to keep her four large, still-healthy leaves properly nourished with sunlight.
Several weeks ago, Blanche decided to withdraw support from the second set of ten blossoms. This leaves her looking rather austere, but still healthy, and the memory of her beautiful blossoms remains vivid in our memories.
And just the other day, she started growing a new branch on one of the two stems. So we may get yet another set of blossoms sometime in the next month or so. But we're not placing any goals or expectations on her. She is now, as she has always been, a splendid addition to our house.
Just as she is. Just as she decides to be.
Joke #1
(With the understanding that there may or may not be a Joke #2 in the future of this blog.)
I was performing somewhere recently (can't for the life of me recall where) when this lady came up to me and -- with no encouragement on my part -- told me the following joke. She insisted that she made it up herself.
The joke coincides so much with my sense of what's funny that I wanted to share it with all of you:
This chicken goes into a bar and walks up to the bartender.
The barkeep asks, "What can I do for you?"
The chicken says, "I hope you can help me. I've forgotten the punchline to this joke."
The bartender says, "Hmmm... I think you'd better ask at the other bar in town."
Chicken says, "Okay, I will. Where's the other bar?"
Barkeep says, "It's just over there. On the other side of the road."
I was performing somewhere recently (can't for the life of me recall where) when this lady came up to me and -- with no encouragement on my part -- told me the following joke. She insisted that she made it up herself.
The joke coincides so much with my sense of what's funny that I wanted to share it with all of you:
This chicken goes into a bar and walks up to the bartender.
The barkeep asks, "What can I do for you?"
The chicken says, "I hope you can help me. I've forgotten the punchline to this joke."
The bartender says, "Hmmm... I think you'd better ask at the other bar in town."
Chicken says, "Okay, I will. Where's the other bar?"
Barkeep says, "It's just over there. On the other side of the road."
Friday, December 4, 2009
Presents in Presence
It's getting late and I need to be up at 4:30 or so to drive to Meadville, but I just had to tell you about this evening:
This weekend is the "Old Fashioned Christmas in West Chester" celebration, and I performed this evening at the local YMCA as part of the event. This is a new venue for me, but I've performed for the OFC for the last 8 or 10 years. There's no financial compensation, but it's a wonderful opportunity to particpate in the joys of the season and of living in a lovely small town like West Chester. I would gladly pay for the pleasure of doing this gig, but please don't tell that to the West Chester Chamber of Commerce...
This OFC gig was the first juggling performance I ever did 'way back then. And for the first time since then, I was paired this evening with Jody -- a very polished and professional local folksinger who was an enormous help in getting me through the "first performance jitters." So she and I had a chance to catch up with each other and reminisce and chat about stuff, like the fact that our hair has changed colors since 'way back then...
Attending this evening's performance were:
-- Ron and Pam, two very dear people whom I haven't seen in several years. I think they drove back to West Chester from a considerable distance specifically to watch me perform.
-- Jimmy and his family. Jimmy hasn't been at the Turks Head Jugglers practice sessions for several years, but he tells me he's keeping up with his juggling. He's taller by half a foot at least since I saw him last, and his voice has dropped at least half an octave. And, hard as it is for me to believe, he's even handsomer now than he was back then.
-- Matt and Melinda and their three kids. Matt is the Head of the West Chester Friends School, which is where our juggling group meets for practice. Matt has been tremendously supportive of the Turks Heads, but I'm not sure he's ever had a chance to see me perform. So that felt really good -- to see him in the audience.
-- Dot and Serita, two Quaker friends we hadn't seen in a long time.
-- Keira and Lily, two very talented young jugglers who have been too caught up in other activities to join us at the gym for our practice sessions for the last year or so. I told them I was going to try to schedule another Saturday unicycle session before the weather closes in, and they both got very excited. Very cool.
All of the above people stayed after the performance to talk to Deb and me. And it felt so very good to be surrounded by all this warmth and caring. And people that I haven't seen recently -- and could never see too much of.
Jimmy's mom was kind enough to ask how my health was, which gave me the opportunity to tell folks how well things are going. (See previous posting: "Green Lights.")
Oh, and here's the punch line: today is my birthday.
Can't do much better than this for birthday gifts!
This weekend is the "Old Fashioned Christmas in West Chester" celebration, and I performed this evening at the local YMCA as part of the event. This is a new venue for me, but I've performed for the OFC for the last 8 or 10 years. There's no financial compensation, but it's a wonderful opportunity to particpate in the joys of the season and of living in a lovely small town like West Chester. I would gladly pay for the pleasure of doing this gig, but please don't tell that to the West Chester Chamber of Commerce...
This OFC gig was the first juggling performance I ever did 'way back then. And for the first time since then, I was paired this evening with Jody -- a very polished and professional local folksinger who was an enormous help in getting me through the "first performance jitters." So she and I had a chance to catch up with each other and reminisce and chat about stuff, like the fact that our hair has changed colors since 'way back then...
Attending this evening's performance were:
-- Ron and Pam, two very dear people whom I haven't seen in several years. I think they drove back to West Chester from a considerable distance specifically to watch me perform.
-- Jimmy and his family. Jimmy hasn't been at the Turks Head Jugglers practice sessions for several years, but he tells me he's keeping up with his juggling. He's taller by half a foot at least since I saw him last, and his voice has dropped at least half an octave. And, hard as it is for me to believe, he's even handsomer now than he was back then.
-- Matt and Melinda and their three kids. Matt is the Head of the West Chester Friends School, which is where our juggling group meets for practice. Matt has been tremendously supportive of the Turks Heads, but I'm not sure he's ever had a chance to see me perform. So that felt really good -- to see him in the audience.
-- Dot and Serita, two Quaker friends we hadn't seen in a long time.
-- Keira and Lily, two very talented young jugglers who have been too caught up in other activities to join us at the gym for our practice sessions for the last year or so. I told them I was going to try to schedule another Saturday unicycle session before the weather closes in, and they both got very excited. Very cool.
All of the above people stayed after the performance to talk to Deb and me. And it felt so very good to be surrounded by all this warmth and caring. And people that I haven't seen recently -- and could never see too much of.
Jimmy's mom was kind enough to ask how my health was, which gave me the opportunity to tell folks how well things are going. (See previous posting: "Green Lights.")
Oh, and here's the punch line: today is my birthday.
Can't do much better than this for birthday gifts!
Green Lights
Well, I've just seen three members of my Medical Team over the last three days:
-- My E/N/T guy on Wednesday
-- My chemo doc on Thursday
-- My neurologist on Friday
and all three of them have the same message for me: Although we will monitor your situation for months or years, there continues to be no evidence of cancer in your head/neck area. And it's quite possible that your salivary duct cancer is something to be seen only in the rear-view mirror.
And I will be getting a scan of one sort or another in the next couple of weeks to check on the possibility that the cancer has metasticized and spread. But there's certainly no sign of that having happened.
It's not completely "clear sailing," however. My E/N/T doc (who has a wonderful sense of humor, even though he's Canadian) thinks I'm being obsessive/compulsive about staying hydrated and keeping my teeth clean -- thereby giving me something new to obsess about. (I told him that I was concerned about a small bump on my chin, and he told me "Aw, you've like an old dog -- lumps and bumps everywhere. You're fine!") My chemo doc says I should stay on the Coumadin blood thinner for another couple of weeks, and continue to use the compression stockings. And the neurologist says I have minor nerve damage -- probably from the Cisplatin chemotherapy -- in my right leg and arms (resulting in some numbness and tingling), although this may heal and in any case, shouldn't get any worse.
But compared to where I might have been at this point in my health, things are splendidly good.
And I thought you'd like to know that.
-- My E/N/T guy on Wednesday
-- My chemo doc on Thursday
-- My neurologist on Friday
and all three of them have the same message for me: Although we will monitor your situation for months or years, there continues to be no evidence of cancer in your head/neck area. And it's quite possible that your salivary duct cancer is something to be seen only in the rear-view mirror.
And I will be getting a scan of one sort or another in the next couple of weeks to check on the possibility that the cancer has metasticized and spread. But there's certainly no sign of that having happened.
It's not completely "clear sailing," however. My E/N/T doc (who has a wonderful sense of humor, even though he's Canadian) thinks I'm being obsessive/compulsive about staying hydrated and keeping my teeth clean -- thereby giving me something new to obsess about. (I told him that I was concerned about a small bump on my chin, and he told me "Aw, you've like an old dog -- lumps and bumps everywhere. You're fine!") My chemo doc says I should stay on the Coumadin blood thinner for another couple of weeks, and continue to use the compression stockings. And the neurologist says I have minor nerve damage -- probably from the Cisplatin chemotherapy -- in my right leg and arms (resulting in some numbness and tingling), although this may heal and in any case, shouldn't get any worse.
But compared to where I might have been at this point in my health, things are splendidly good.
And I thought you'd like to know that.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Blood Clot? What Blood Clot?
Well, it's almost that good!
I had a sonogram on my right leg yesterday. The technician was very meticulous -- moving the probe back and forth, stopping often, going back over territory she had already examined. And I figured that this was not good news -- that she was finding all sorts of interesting stuff that she wanted to image thoroughly.
Boy, was I wrong. If anything, she was probably looking to find anything interesting and abnormal to image.
My experience with sonograms has been that, after the probe session is over, the technician conducting the probe won't comment on what he/she has seen, saying something along the lines of "The results are for the doctor to determine and explain to you." But this young lady felt quite comfortable in voluneteering "The blood clot is almost completely cleared. And it looks much better than your last scan. So it's quite likely that it will continue to dissolve and then just disappear."
Wow.
She also said that my body had been producing new veins to bypass the area that had been blocked by the clot. I was truly amazed and delighted: anything that my 62-year-old body does that's new and helpful is something to be celebrated.
So, final word on this may come on Thursday, when I see my doc responsible for treating the clot. And he may tell me to stop taking the blood thinner (Coumadin) and ditch the compression stockings. While only a minor nuisance compared to the other stuff I've had to do over the last six months, it would certainly be a relief to hear him say that these two clot treatment procedures are officially done with.
I will let you know in a couple of days how it goes.
Hoping that your holiday season is going well -- and that you truly have much to be thankful for.
I know I do.
I had a sonogram on my right leg yesterday. The technician was very meticulous -- moving the probe back and forth, stopping often, going back over territory she had already examined. And I figured that this was not good news -- that she was finding all sorts of interesting stuff that she wanted to image thoroughly.
Boy, was I wrong. If anything, she was probably looking to find anything interesting and abnormal to image.
My experience with sonograms has been that, after the probe session is over, the technician conducting the probe won't comment on what he/she has seen, saying something along the lines of "The results are for the doctor to determine and explain to you." But this young lady felt quite comfortable in voluneteering "The blood clot is almost completely cleared. And it looks much better than your last scan. So it's quite likely that it will continue to dissolve and then just disappear."
Wow.
She also said that my body had been producing new veins to bypass the area that had been blocked by the clot. I was truly amazed and delighted: anything that my 62-year-old body does that's new and helpful is something to be celebrated.
So, final word on this may come on Thursday, when I see my doc responsible for treating the clot. And he may tell me to stop taking the blood thinner (Coumadin) and ditch the compression stockings. While only a minor nuisance compared to the other stuff I've had to do over the last six months, it would certainly be a relief to hear him say that these two clot treatment procedures are officially done with.
I will let you know in a couple of days how it goes.
Hoping that your holiday season is going well -- and that you truly have much to be thankful for.
I know I do.
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