Talking ‘bout a Resolution

A few years back I made a resolution that stuck, I resolved to NOT make any more New Year’s resolutions. Best dang resolution I ever made!

I find it increasingly ridiculous that we as a collective global society resolve to tackle personal challenges for which we have no resolve. Worse, is that we need a new calendar to jump start our initiatives. By February we can toss off all of the grand plans as we flip the page to a new month blaming our lack of resolve on a New Year’s Day hangover. “Oh, that was just the champagne talking.”

You need a little more at stake to make life changing choices than merely hopping to a new annum, more than drunken pledges. You need dreams. You’ve got to be able to dream what it would be like to cross that “one” off of your life list. You need FIRE, baby!

“Dreams die hard/ and we watch them erode/ but we can not be denied/ the fire inside.” - Bob Seger

This is just me, but I’ve found that you need to be less definitive in desired outcomes. Choose a dream and set out on a journey. Make many stops along the way, know that sometimes you must backtrack, detours are not roadblocks, simply side trips. There are few of us who can set a stopwatch on achievement. If you want to try something, try, that’s it. Try - no more, no less. You are not too old, you are not too anything. Set yourself up on the road to wherever it is you want to go and let the rest of your life get in the way. So what? Reposition and continue to move forward.

This is the chorus to the first song I wrote, “Unlock The Music.”

I’ve got a thousand songs inside me
Dying to come out
An old guitar beside me
I’m trying to figure out
I’m going to learn to sing and play
I’ve made this conscious choice
To unlock the music that’s inside
And give these songs a voice

It’s not much, pretty darn simple and step one on a new path. I waited until my mid-forties to address my fire inside. Now I’m just chasing sparklers down the trail to see where the fire is going to take me.

Perhaps 2010 will be your year to set out and unlock your music. Godspeed on your travels.

*****
While we’re on fire I should address 2009. What a year! Renee had that other fire burning. There were some other things going on around here but let’s face it, addressing that issue was the major theme throughout. It overshadowed everything else. It is the 800 pound gorilla in the room and oh, how we love monkeys! We did our best, with the help of surgeons and a whole host of medical personnel, to extinguish the flame. Still it smolders. Mid-January we’ll take another trip to Cleveland to investigate the pain and discomfort that continues to poke at her insides.

Resolve means a little more around here than getting in shape. Hey, I’m already in shape. It may not be the shape I want but it is a shape. Resolve is also more than giving up bad habits, of which I have none. Renee thinks differently, just ask her, she’ll tell you, but that’s just a women’s inherent desire to change a man into something he can never become. You see, around here resolve means survival. Resolve means getting up every darn day and facing whatever this life throws at you. Many of you had a rough year. You know what I’m talking about. Thanks for hanging tough.

So, we don’t need no stinking resolutions. We’ve got resolve and we approach 2010 resolutely.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas!

One week to Christmas and we’ve got a busy week ahead, snow’s in the forecast which we hope won’t get in the way of all there is to do. We have been blessed lately with some quiet on the medical front. There may be some more rough travel ahead but we’ve plowed clear down to the pavement and are just patching some potholes now, smooth sailing right into the new year. There is not a better present out there!

It has been 13 months since I started this blog and invited you in to witness some of the craziness that has surrounded our lives. The first site counter crashed and six months of counting was lost but the second is clicking at over four thousand hits so somebody is reading this. Thank you!

I hope it has been both informative and entertaining. I’ve had a lot of fun putting it all in writing. The feedback has been great and the best part is on some really low days I got a laugh out of Renee.

I must apologize to all for not sending out Christmas and Hannukah cards last year. We were pre-occupied with hospitals and trying to get Renee back to some semblance of health. If you remember, Renee had surgery on December 2, 2008, spent over two weeks in the hospital in Cleveland, developed a staff infection and landed back in the hospital here in Louisville on December 23rd after a miserable week at home. We were in the spirit last year but more of the haunting variety.

We missed a lot over the last year, vacations, holiday trips back to Jersey, nearly the entire summer stolen by that darn colon. Cassidy’s Christmas with her mom in the hospital was less than spectacular. She took it like a trooper, though. What we didn’t miss was quality time with doctors. Too bad there’s not a frequent flyer program for that. We would have racked up some major points.

We were carried through by spontaneous acts of kindness by neighbors and friends, an outpouring of caring by near and distant relatives and a few random deeds of thoughtfulness by complete strangers. We’ve got a great support group and I know we would not have been able to bear the burden were it not for all of you.

Over the last 13 months we have seen both the worst and the best of what life can dish out. There was much pain but there was no hardship. There was always room at the inn, there was always enough loaves and fishes, some friends even helped me turn water into wine (actually beer but you’ve got to stick to the script). We believe in miracles here. They may not have been of the magnitude of The Virgin Birth but were no less spectacular in bestowing saving grace upon us.

So, please rejoice with us in miracles and …..

Have a very Merry Christmas!

Love,
Bob, Renee and Cassidy

Celebrate! Celebrate!

Dance to the Music ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXI6CdTVJ-0&feature=related

Celebrate - Three Dog Night

Happy Hannukah!
Are we still allowed to say that or will it produce a court battle from the ACLU?

*******************

We were being extremely hopeful that our Cleveland excursions were complete except for routine annual checkups. Renee’s internal ring of fire dashed our hopes. The surgeon wants us to travel back north in January and see him and a gastroenterologist and perform some tests. A stabbing pain in the left side of her gut was the clincher. This is not the direction we wanted to be headed in 2010 but we’ll continue forward. What would we do with all that free time away from doctors and hospitals anyway?

*******************

Last night was the first night of Chanukkah (according to Jewish convention you may never spell it the same way twice), the devout Jewish ritual celebrating the miracle of burning oil. Yes, the oil crisis can also be blamed on the Jews and we have over five thousand years of spent candles to prove it. For those of you unfamiliar with this annual custom, it is appropriate for you to give me a gift per night for eight straight nights. Apparently you did not do your shopping early because you’ve already missed last night. I’m deeply disappointed that you have chosen to ignore this time honored tradition. You are probably concentrating all of your efforts on that Christian holiday that also falls in December. You know the one that gets all the press. What’s it called again? I always forget because the evil doers of the world have homogenized it so much by substituting the word holiday. Merry Holiday!

There will always be those who attempt to secularize religious observations but heathens are a greedy lot. They have figured out how to denounce the existence of a higher power but they want it both ways and wish to share in the gift exchange portion of the program. They also wish to participate in all of the festivities without a nod to the history of how these days have evolved into special occasions – suffering, hardship, persecution and martyrdom. History shows us that ignoring history is a dangerous thing.

In our household we choose to celebrate both the Old and the New Testaments. We celebrate thousands of years of both Jewish and Christian principles handed down through the ages. I joke about gifts but recognize the foundations upon which the gift giving was built upon, the base upon which is stacked all of our celebration. I do not fear the words “Season’s Greetings” or “Happy Holidays,” I know better. I know from whence they came.

Carry forward the traditions of your faith whatever it may be, tell the stories of miracles past. Bring families and friends together and spread the spirit that elevates us at this time of year. It is all good. Oh, and don’t forget to sing – even pagans can’t deny the power of melody and song.

Celebrate the season because when January comes around it is back to the grind and to health worries and to doctors and tests and hospitals and everything else that drains the spirit.

Celebrate any way you know how. Celebrate strong and hard so that it becomes part of your essence. Celebrate until it usurps any negativity. Celebrate so that it carries you through until next December.

Celebrate - ‘Tis the Season.

And don't forget to dance to the music!

Thansgiving Toast

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Required listening:
Alice’s Restaurant – Arlo Guthrie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_7C0QGkiVo

There will be one less plate set at the table today. Nettie passed quietly yesterday afternoon. I am hoping that the solemnity that accompanies the loss does not overshadow the feistiness that she always brought to the table. Thanksgiving is a celebration of all that we have and we enjoy gifts aplenty. We may take a longer pause in remembrance but in order to honor Other Nana correctly we should not delay the feast too long. She would have wanted us all to eat and to eat heartily. Make an extra toast today and then indulge, it’s what Nana would have wanted.

Earlier this year, Nettie’s battle with dementia inspired me to write the song Raggedy Annie. Here’s a link to the words.
http://invasivemaneuvers.blogspot.com/2009/04/backtracking.html

So what does this leave us on this holiday? It leaves us with all that we had and more; more because we get to again acknowledge and cherish the gift of life that we enjoy. In this house it has been a fairly rough year but we persevered. Troubling times look to be passing. We will grieve and then we will continue to live. I pray we do not squander these precious gifts on things that are neither enjoyable nor meaningful.

Slainté! (Cheers!)
Le-chaim! (To Life!)

Sitting Vigil

Time is on my side but I can’t trace time.
Time marches on but where has the time gone?
Ain’t it funny how time slips away?

A combination of clichés and song lyrics can not describe the emotions of a family as they watch time takes its toll. We got the panicked call on Sunday that Nettie, the Other Nana, Renee's grandmother, was being taken from the nursing home to the hospital via ambulance. Again we find ourselves at Baptist Hospital East.

Nettie is racked with pneumonia, fluid has built up around her heart, kidneys have ceased to function, oxygen levels dropping. Still her grip is like a vice. Just try to pry the bag she holds away from her, you’ll lose, amazing.

Ninety two years is a long time. According to government statistics the life expectancy of a female born in 1917 was 54 years. Exceeding expectations does not make this any easier. Sons and daughters and grand-children and great-grand-children hover and try to ease the suffering of both the patient and each other. Just like Nettie, no one wants to let go.

Last evening we got to see the spark in Nettie's eyes when Renee woke her to let her know Cassidy was there. Elation came over Other, she brightened the whole room and for a minute we all forgot about the time.

Snake in the Grass

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since I came ashore with me plunder
I've seen centipedes and snakes and me head is full of aches
And I think I’ll set a path for way out yonder - All For Me Grog, Irish trad.

Who goes to Cleveland for lunch? There’s probably a few folks in northern Ohio who’ll do it, but from Louisville? The things I do for Renee!

I was just coming off a 48 hour fever burst. I don’t know what I had but it made for one real unpleasant night and a couple of days of stomach ills, chills and acetaminophen pills but luckily no spills. Renee made sure the spill bucket was handy, though. What a sport! Oh, don’t swoon over how she’s taking care of me now. She offered the bucket then flew the coop to run errands. I play nursemaid for a year and the first chance she gets to reciprocate she goes shopping. Then, as soon as the fever breaks, I climb into the driver’s seat and chauffeur Renee to Cleveland and back for her post-op check up. I think this maidservant relationship is a little one-sided don’t you?

Easy, I know what you’re thinking. You think I am trying to lay the whole Jewish guilt trip on Renee right before the holidays. You’re wrong. I am laying the Catholic guilt trip on her because I know that she can’t just run to confession, say a couple of Hail Mary’s and an Our Father and feel absolved for her inconsiderations. She’s going to have to carry it until Yom Kippur. And now I have almost a whole year to milk this one. Bless me Father for I have sinned …

If you are going to Cleveland for lunch, I highly recommend The Flat Iron, an Irish pub in the Flats section. The menu is more extensive than the usual pub fare, the service is spot on and they know how to pour and serve Guinness. That’s three for three, add the best pierogies in town and it’s a can’t miss meal.

At the hospital, Renee explained all that has been happening in the six weeks since surgery to the doctor. Leaving out of course all of the parts where she has ignored post-op instructions on diet and exercise. There is some continuing pain and frequency of bathroom visits is way above the levels where it should be. The doctor was concerned. He immediately ordered a pouch scope. Renee was whisked away to the facilities to get an assisted enema. I was escorted to the room where the procedure would be performed. Woo hoo! I get to watch!

I entered the room and the nurse thought I was the customer. Yikes! Not me lady, that area is off limits – except to my personal physician whom I have chosen specifically based on her small fingers. Guys, if you’re over forty you’re going to have to do it. Just bend over and take it like a man. But first pick the right doctor to do the probing.

Renee came in following her cleansing and they had her climb up on the table. The doctor performed a finger examination. I am not sure why. He was just about to stick a camera up there. I guess he was just trying to get a feel for it. Ass doctors are a strange lot.

Then … then … then they pulled out the camera. Holy Periscope Batman! It’s the size of an anaconda! There are really not enough exclamation points to show my surprise. It’s a darn good thing Renee had her back turned and couldn’t see what he was about to jam up her hind quarters. Hi-di-ho, here we go!

They had two separate monitors hooked up so we could all see what was going on. The doctor explained what we were looking at. He pointed out the staples holding the whole thing together. He pointed out the pink healthy tissue that means the J-pouch is working like it should. He showed us a large ring of irritation where a three centimeter piece of the colon was left in order to connect the small intestine to the rectum. There’s the problem. Renee’s got what the surgeon called an “angry cuff,” medically termed cuffitits.

Renee asked, “who is it angry at?” The doc said, “YOU.” The doctor made a joke. He’s lightened up a bit since the first time we met him but I guess he needed to get into his element before he could relax enough to start making jokes. Now he’s yukking it up while checking Renee’s pipes. I’m sure we’ll see him on Comedy Central doing stand up next. Though for props he’ll need a live patient willing to take a rear probe. Any volunteers?

The best part of this whole uncomfortable procedure though was the look on Renee’s face when the doctor, after explaining that the angry cuff was a small and simply curable irritation, used the sentence “the next time you come back...” Renee thought this was it, no more Cleveland, no more Double C. She thought she was done. She looked like I must’ve when I saw them pull out the anaconda camera. It ain’t over till it’s over, Yogi.

Buried in all of this was the good news we received. The pouch is working. There were no signs of Crohn’s Disease, dysplasia or cancer in the colon that was removed or any of the surrounding tissue. A month taking suppositories before bedtime and the cuffitis should clear up. Way back in July 2008, the doctor gave us a projection of returning to some type of medical normalcy for Renee. It was this coming January. We’re still on track to make it. But there will still be follow up visits and scopes and scans just like in the months and years following the kidney cancer. Renee’s plans to cut the cord with the Cleveland Clinic were premature just as mine to retire my paper nursemaid’s cap were.

If we’re both feeling a little snake bitten I think you can understand why.

Balance

Required listening:
I searched for an appropriate balance song but couldn’t find one. If you have suggestions please send them. I may have to write one myself, until then listen to these, they're kind of on topic and are just great songs.

The Weight – The Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfyjhtOTy1s

Tightrope - Stevie Ray Vaughn
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8e0pO2fBGLY

Tightrope - Leon Russell
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2Z9qN8R9Bg

Baseball season has left us. The Yankees take their rightful place at the top of the heap and balance can now return to the planet. If you’re paying attention you’ll notice things have been off center since the season following the Yanks 26th World Series victory in 2000. It is now time for the rest of the world to get back on track.

This is what we are trying to do here on our little slice of earth - center, balance, return to normalcy, or at least to the level of functionality we enjoyed before Renee’s organs began piping out disharmony. We thought we were getting all of this under control. We thought Renee was on track to return to work following Thanksgiving break. And then …. and then … the letter came.

Renee got selected for jury duty the first two weeks of December. Maybe Big Brother knows better than us when Renee should return to work. Maybe the great and good government realizes that the daycare center, uh hmm, I mean pre-school, is nothing but a germ-inator. They are teaching the kids letters and numbers like H1N1 but when the swine invades the temple you know it’s a good idea to stay away, at least until they can get a kosher flu bug to spread.

Medically, Renee makes progress daily, except for those days following the iron infusions then she is asking if I got the number of the truck that hit her. Three more intravenous helpings and her stores should be filled. When the post-op body trauma has calmed the iron storage mechanisms should return also.

We got word this week that her B-12 is way below where it should be though. B-12 deficiency is definitely not what you want to hear when you are in post-op recovery. When this little vitamin stops being absorbed it can cause a dozen problems. We’re waiting on the blood doc to tell us what the course of action will be to deal with this. Hopefully it is just a blip but our radar is working overtime.

The accountant in me is trying to work in a balance sheet metaphor but this is about a different type of reckoning. It is all just a balancing act by a confirmed klutz who is angling for the scales to tip her way. Maybe she needs one of those poles the highwire artists carry - Yes! The ideas for the mandatory giving of useless presents season are formulating.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can ….

The road to recovery is paved with iron rails. The patient is a fully loaded freight train trying to fire up the engine and build enough steam to get those steel wheels moving on down the track.

Required listening:
Life is Like a Mountain Railroad - Johnny Cash
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQ-T_tryaE0

In mitten drinen (in MIT-en DRINE-en) adv. phr. suddenly; the midst of; along with everything else

The above is a Yiddish phrase Renee used to use a lot, except she pronounces it, im-mitten-din-nen-nen, and said it means, in the middle of everything.

In the middle of everything thing else, Renee has been battling iron deficiency, I told you about it a few weeks back. Not your average take an iron supplement deficiency, her body will not absorb and store it properly. This can set you up for all types of further complications especially while in a post-operative state. We found out recently through our own research that this is common in Ulcerative Colitis patients. It has to be fixed.

On Thursday, in the midst of her recuperation from her take-down surgery, she began Iron Infusion Therapy. Don’t you love how they come up with the names for these procedures? There is no therapy involved, here is what really happens: You present yourself at the BEeast at the same unit cancer patients report for chemotherapy. You go through a barrage of blood tests to re-check your iron levels, they sit you in a big blue chair and attach intravenous cables to your arm. The iron formula is then hung and dripped into your veins for a half hour to six hours depending upon your deficiency level and your insurance company. Insurance company you ask? Yes, they decide the type of treatment you get, not the professional medical staff at the hospital. There is a one shot session that is available and has been approved by the FDA. Our insurance company said, “Nooooooo! We’re going to make you stretch it out to six weekly sessions.”

The formula itself, as described by Renee, looks like liver in a pouch. Apparently, they take what is probably pig’s liver - direct from the JB Swift Pork Processing Plant here in town, I’m sure -place it in a food processor on liquefy, whirrrrr it up, and Well-a!, pour it into a clear plastic IV sack. I’m sure there is a Rabbi overseeing the operation, or at least an insurance executive, so the whole thing is completely kosher.

The session itself drains the patient in a similar fashion as chemotherapy. The after effects, of which there was no warning, include further fatigue, flu-like symptoms and aching bones and joints. I wonder, is there another bout of hair loss in the cards for Renee? When you go to the pharmacy and pick up your prescription you get a six page 4 point instruction sheet of do’s and don’ts and every possible side effect that is imaginable. You go for IV iron infusion and you get nothing. The more intrusive the procedure the less information they give you. You’ve got to go to the great library of bits and bytes to try to figure out what’s going on. And we all know how well documented and verifiable everything on the internet is. Take this blog, I’ve got thousands of fact-checkers working around the clock to corroborate every piece of BS I make up. It is an awesome backroom operation.

Five more sessions to go, it will take us right to the point where Renee should be returning to work. Hopefully all is back on track by then.

Hot, Hot, Hot

Required listening:
Hot Hot Hot – Buster Poindexter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrhf_zgtmAg

Yes, it is a long road and, as they say here in Kentucky, Renee’s got a hard way to go. I think I’ve got the context wrong on that one but what do I know I’m from Jersey.

This recuperation is different than the previous surgeries. It is more covert. There are things going on behind the scenes that are murky to even the most keen observers. Renee expects so much from her body so soon after her procedure and is suffering letdown when her body does not comply with her expectations. There is one thing for certain, the body, especially certain parts involved in waste management, do not react well when put back on line after a year hiatus.

I’m going to try to put this in perspective for you. Do you like Mexican food? Do you like it spicy? Do you like to add Tabasco to everything and order jalapeno poppers for appetizers? Do you use habaneros as breath mints? Have you ever had the unfortunate experience of getting hit in the eyes by a massive dose of pepper spray? Well, if you’ve felt the effects of this heat then increase the worst you can stand tenfold and point it toward the business end of your digestive tract and WHOAHH! Man that’s HOT!

Since our bodies are conditioned to the daily rigors of excretion, we take for granted the tolerance developed for the acids which are expelled. When her gastro-doc warned Renee of some of the upcoming hurdles to anticipate, he said nothing about the burning. The hospital sent Renee home with some industrial strength butt paste and advised her to take Epsom baths but they didn’t give any real warning about the level of heat. Toss into this fire the abdominal effects of food re-introduction and you’ve got a code red on the hind quarter fever meter.

Continued use is the only thing that can re-build the calluses that protect the external area from the internal expulsion. Not even Extreme Makeover Home Edition could get this project done in a week. Renee’s going to be hurting for a while. At least until things cool down down-under she can go around acting like she’s hot shit.

Another Hospital Trip

Wow, the new Norton Brownsboro Crossing Hospital is pretty nice. We’re not talking BEast Park Tower nice but it’s nicer than the shared rooms at the Cleveland Clinic. While the hospitals here are going toward the hotel look, the newly remodeled floor at the Double C is going old style psycho ward look. White walls, white floors, industrial artwork, the only thing missing is the straightjacket hangars. It’s no wonder we wanted to get the heck out of there.

Did I leave something out? Why am I telling you about the new hospital? Why do you think? I’m telling you because Renee just can’t stay away. Four days out of Cleveland and she just couldn’t help herself. She must have been going through withdrawals. Just because we came home does not mean all is well. Take the patient, she expects complete recovery overnight. She is getting frustrated with the continuing pain and the inability to eat like she did before the surgery. Uh, hello! Abdominal surgery equals abdominal pain and appetite and diet may be affected by this. Do you think? Cream of wheat and tea have been her staples. Boy she likes her tea, I wonder why she doesn’t have a cup out when it is offered?

I started back to work Tuesday so I’m juggling car pool, housemaid and nursing duties along with my regular shift. Juggling is easy, it’s just keeping all of the balls in the air at the same time that is tough. Wednesday was a tough day of fielding panic calls about an ambulance and hospitals from Renee and her mom. Now I must confess that for a change none of this was about Renee. It’s about Other Nana, her 92 year old grandmother, and her admittance to the hospital. For a change Renee is not the patient but the visitor. Sorry folks I just couldn’t resist leading you on a bit.

Other fell in the bathroom, needed x-rays and some other tests so took an ambulance ride to Norton. The fall has knocked her further out of lucidity and raised her level of care to 24/7. Not that she wasn’t there before the fall but now I think her primary caregiver, Renee’s mom, is finally accepting that this has reached a degree beyond her abilities to handle at home.

Renee must be feeling little better because one, she got out of the house to visit Other and two, she was arguing with her nurse, me, over a bandage versus a band-aid. She has two incisions, one being the stoma site which is pretty large and the other a small slit to drain the knot that wasn’t a knot. Both sites are healing nicely. It was my turn to change the dressing, since it’s always my turn, and Renee felt the need to tell me how to do my job. Which one of us went to nursing school here? I think I can tell when a tiny wound requires only a band-aid rather than a 4x4 bandage with enough tape to wrap a mummy. OK, so maybe I didn’t go to nursing school but I have almost a full year of on-the-job-training with Renee and, at least I looked at the wound before I decided what size band-aid to pick. Just to make Renee happy I picked the biggest in the box.

I’ll allow a certain amount of post-op antics as I understand the frustration of the patient, but if she pulls a stunt like that again I’m going all Nurse Ratched on her. Nurse Ratched guys? C’mon do I have to explain everything? One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest? Ring a bell? You should know that if you’re reading this blog that there’s going to a heck of a lot of insanity references. It helps keeps me sane – and not a word from you hecklers.

The good news is that Renee is slowly progressing rather than going in the opposite direction like her previous surgeries. The bad news is that she has the added stress of her sick grandmother and we just can’t seem to distance ourselves from those dang hospitals.

My Old Kentucky Home

We finally made a break for it and left Cleveland behind. Don’t think it was easy. Renee was feeling good and did fine with breakfast and lunch. Her body was telling her it was time to go but her head was a little reluctant to cut the cord. The other shoe has dropped so many times before that the prospect of standing up on her own two feet produced queasiness. Facing that long drive made me a little nauseas too so I can understand her trepidation. She was expecting something else to go wrong. It didn’t. It was time.

Required listening:
Same Kind Of Crazy - Delbert McClinton
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTZaO4BMfPc

We can debate the psychology factor all day long but I’m not sure who with. I read a report in yesterday’s paper that less than one-third of psychologists receive the proper training needed to adequately diagnose and treat their patients. If this is the track you’re taking to get some control over that aspect of your wellbeing than you’ve got better than a 67% chance of picking a quack and spending the rest of your days walking around in your duck pajamas. That’s why I’ve carefully researched the situation. My shrink is Dr. Guinness. Brilliant! I keep sending those bills to my insurance company but they refuse to reimburse me. And speaking of refusals, although there is no denying the high quality of the results, Renee refuses to use my doctor. She says he smells and his prescriptions make me snore – from both ends. That may be true but he makes house calls and as long as I’m not engaged in that bizarre activity called work I can take advantage of his services almost any time.

The drive back was uneventful on the traffic front. All of the construction tie-ups were north bound. We did get a good glimpse of the Ohio Autumn color spectrum and the sunset over Northern Kentucky, although it was mostly with the visors down to shield our eyes from the blinding orb. One stop is all we made. One stop! Not bad for a post-op patient and a bladder challenged old man. We arrived back in the ‘Ville about half past eight. We picked up the child, dog and hermit crab, - yes, Cassidy’s got a crawling crustacean – at the Nanas. “We” unpacked the car and I made it to the couch in time for the ninth inning of the Yankees’ brooming of the Twins. I felt more sapped than the fans at the Metrodome, it took all my strength to carry my eyelids upstairs to bed.

This may sound strange from a couple of Jersey-breds but the Old Kentucky Home sure feels good.

Oh, Fickle!

Required listening for today:
Closer to Fine – Indigo Girls

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsU57x59ejM


This is a fickle business. It’s all ups and downs and back and forths, I feel good, I feel lousy. I’m going home, I’m staying. We search for definitives but there are none. Heck the darn wordprocessor doesn’t even recognize the word. The doctor comes in and asks, “Do you want to go home?” “No Doc, it’s such a great place I want to stay here forever. You’re kidding right?” The doc is asking Renee to see where she stands on the issue, hoping the patient has some better insight. It’s a strange little tennis match. “You’re the doctor, am I going home?” Here’s some more fickle for you. “Well, let’s see how you do with breakfast and lunch.” This is a fill in doctor, the surgeon went on vacation after yesterday’s visit. “Bye, see ya, have a good time, we’ll be here trying to figure this stuff out on our own.”

Renee’s got her appetite back. She was supposed to get a normal meal for breakfast but she got the soft diet tray with nothing heavier than cream of wheat. Now we’ve got to order a fresh tray so that we can get food in her system and see if it stays down and flows through. Monitoring this operation is called the Lipton Tea Bag method.

Doctor Fill-in ordered a bedside ultrasound to make sure that Renee’s spasms are just part of the normal healing process and there is nothing else causing the pain. They’ll do that test sometime this morning. Its wait and see, hem and haw - we’re standing on the edge of the diving board listening for the lifeguard to blow the whistle saying it is safe to go in the water and swim down I-71 home.

True to form Renee has surpassed the estimated in hospital recovery time. And for a few moments the other day we doubted her. Is there no trust in the world? She may be fickle but she is consistent. Consistently fickle? Is that possible?

We might be headed home today and we mightn’t. Right now we are dancing on top of the fence. It’s a fickle business and things can go either way.

For Pete's Sake

Renee's getting pretty chummy with a nursing assistant. The new aide signed in last night and is a nursing student who only works weekends. I’ll call this NA Peter because Peter’s packing equipment most of the other NA’s are not. After I left last night to get some grub and watch the Yanks – I hope you watched the whole game – Peter comforted my girl here with a little backrub. He handed her some mouthwash first, not making this up folks, because, I guess, a guy named Pete just doesn’t want to get in that close with a girl who’s still got ralph on her breath. First she’s hanging with Ralph and now rubbing with Peter, maybe I should be concerned. I’m not. Hey Pete, next time don’t just rub, scrub. She’s been lying in the bed since Tuesday, set your stinkometer a little higher than bad breath and clean her up completely, dang part-timer.

Renee’s feeling a lot better today. She’s doing her laps, joking, making comments on the blog and facebook and even ate a whole banana. She’s still hooked up to the IV and is still experiencing abdominal spasms but the contraction like pains are a lot less frequent. The banana was not part of the liquid diet they have her on but she got hungry and ate it without asking. So far Ralph has not returned, I think Peter chased him off.

Progress is the word of the day. The culture results came back negative for the UTI. The surgeon stopped in early this morning and said everything is moving in the right direction. Now, if Renee can hold down her food, which should come on tonight’s dinner tray, we may be out of here before the Designated Discoverer of America Day. Maybe we can get her cleaned up before then too, for Pete’s sake!

Anybody Got A Match?

Despite what some of you may believe I try to keep this blog pretty clean. It is very rare when I purposefully try to gross you out. This is not a pleasant subject, it is something that is more natural than just about anything else we do but still no one is real comfortable talking about it. Taking out the garbage at home is no big deal. But talking about human waste, ewe, I don’t want to hear it. Can we please change the subject? Uh, no. You can not realize what an important subject this is until your body says, I’m not doing it anymore.

I’m not going to go crazy here describing stool and consistencies and the like. But we do need to have a word about flatulence. So hold your noses and let’s get to it. Flatulence as you all know is the gas that is produced as a by-product of the digestive process. It can be expelled two ways via the mouth or via the … a …. other end. See I can’t even write it. Why don’t we go British for a few moments and call it a bum. Great now the bums are going to protest. They’ll probably hold one of those sit-ins in Central Park. I can see the headlines. Dumbass Offends Bums - Bums Park On Bums In Park.

For the last 10 months Renee has not been able to produce any flatulence. Oh, there was still the expulsion of gas into her colostomy bag but it’s not the same when you can’t just rip one off. Easy girls, you know you’ve all done it. And guys, you’ve done it with a lit match against your bum. Don’t deny it. Since the surgery Tuesday, Renee has had serious cramps. The doctor says it is due to the sewing up of the muscles and how they are trying to adjust to their new configuration. The muscles are just now figuring out how to work again. The whole system that points south has been dormant for a long time. It is jerking itself awake in fits and starts. It has been trapping the gas while it stretches and contracts. The gas didn’t know whether to move up or down so it just sat and increased the discomfort that came with the violent spasms. Then last night it started working its way out. Renee can fart again. Ahhh! What a relief!

Renee’s pain level immediately diminished. Her nausea has quieted. We can genuinely start thinking about discharge, maybe tomorrow if the re-introduction of food has no ill effects.

The moral of this story? Let her rip!

It's All Good

Don’t get me wrong here folks, it’s not all bad news, this is post operative abdominal surgery recovery and remember who the patient is. This is Renee, at least one of us knew what to expect. Routine expectations are three to four days in hospital, for a resident to get Renee all hyped up about going home without even a visit from the surgeon on the second day was just wishful thinking and not medical pragmatism. Wednesday’s fabulous feelings were just the calm before the storm. If any of you are road racers, be it running or cycling, you know that the day after the race is never as bad as the second. That is just how the body works. There are exceptions but in post-op situations you’ve got to pay attention to the rule more than the exception, especially when you’ve got a patient history file thickerer than a twelve-stack of Chunky bars. It is her modus operandi, it is right there in the manual. I should have cut the whole thing off but I got swept up in the notion that maybe just once Renee would change her methods. Nope, I just extended my hotel stay. We’re back to chapter one.

The good news - I got Renee out of bed for a walk this morning. She was attacked by the dreaded hiccups but the walk cleared them up. (You can scan the posts from December’s visit for clues on why I think hiccups may be the worst post-op affliction that Renee has dealt with. The red allergy bracelet she’s sporting is a not so gentle reminder as to how not to treat them. Really Bob, hiccups vs. renal failure? OK How about the most entertaining, life threatening, post-op affliction?) Renee’s back on the IV since she’s not taking in much during meals. Her stomach is in knots and they have started antibiotics due to a possible urinary tract infection. I say possible because the lab tests haven’t come back yet but all the symptoms are pointing that way. There was no catheter insertion this time around so how this happened we’re not sure, but it is a hospital and Renee is an infection magnet. I put this in the good news category because this is a pretty simple and manageable post-op problem.

Also in the good news category is the fact that all of Renee’s plumbing is continuing to work. The urine stream is pretty low but hopefully we’ve got that addressed. The back-end renovation has been working well since Wednesday night. So far there have been no surprises there as Renee has recognized the urges and has managed to control them until she gets to the porcelain pew. Controlling them once we get on the road will be a whole other adventure. Now, if we can get the upset stomach under control we’re probably back to where we were before we called in the bucket brigade on Thursday morning.

Tomorrow is day 4, still within the projected range. Can we make it out of here without doubling the normal patient discharge expectation range? One day at a time folks, one day at a time.

Renee is doing better today than yesterday. The zofran for nausea and the morphine for pain bring drowsiness which holds her back from doing the exercise laps that she should do. The treatment causes delays all on its own or masks progress due to the dulling of the senses. Renee’s coloring tells a better tale of how she’s progressing. She’s got some pink back in her cheeks and she just changed over to her own pajamas so its all good.

A Three Hour Tour

There is a girl in New York City
Who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I’m falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Oh, so this is what she means - Paul Simon

We go through our lives and we watch other people slide down. Sometimes it is a child gleefully steering their Flexible Flyer into the bumps on the snow covered slope. Sometimes it is a relative who has lost a job and can’t stop the downward spiral. I once stood there inches away from Cassidy as she rode her bike with training wheels in the driveway. She was three and had the same smile on her face as that child on the sled. Then she hit the edge of the driveway and tipped and fell – FLASH – that quick, broken arm. You can do your best for everyone around you, you can be right where you are supposed to be, still you are left watching as others go down. You are a spectator, the best you can hope for is being there on the sidelines, waving the pom poms with all the youthful enthusiasm of a high school cheerleader, willing them to get the hell up!

I am again caught watching one of those slides. The lady who was practically dancing around the halls yesterday has again taken to the bed and her face has assumed the same ashen grey complexion of a Halloween ghoul. She is grabbing her side like a boxer who has taken one too many body blows. She is clutching the bucket like a college girl after her first frat party. She was given false hope by trained professionals who should know better. She now lays drugged and dejected and guilt-ridden because she thinks somehow this is her fault that she felt so good and now feels so bad. And I am doing my best to root her on but I just don’t have the legs for those skimpy outfits.

It feels like we’re stuck in a whole season of Gilligan’s Island episodes. We somehow booked a cruise on the S.S. Minnow. This morning, we started out on a pleasure cruise. We were three hours from homebound. Then the tidal wave hit and sliding down the side of it was the Minnow. I’m still trying to figure out which of the characters we are. The Howell’s, Thurston and Lovey? Nah, ain’t got the bucks. The Skipper, Gilligan? Nah, we’re not part of the crew. The movie star? Not even close. So that’s it, we’re the rest. You remember the song right? The first season it didn’t even mention the Professor and Mary Ann, they were “and the rest.”

We are shipwrecked in Cleveland. The surgeon is the Skipper, a man who has so much sea and medical experience but can’t relay how the tides and routine recovery work to his passengers. Gilligan is any one of the surgeon’s first mate residents who try their best but come off only as clowns with their misdiagnoses and their accelerated optimism, not yet experienced enough to know the dangers of the seas and post-op recovery. Renee is Mary Ann, she is running around half naked without a darn clue as to what is happening. I am the Professor, I can build a radio from coconuts but it will only receive and not transmit. I can build huts that can withstand hurricanes but I can’t fix a 3x3 hole in a boat or build a raft that will hold together in calm seas. I can do almost anything to simulate the creature comforts of home, I just can’t get us off of this dang island.

At the end of every episode of Gilligan’s Island, no matter how close they were to going home or how high their hopes were for getting off that island, there was always some setback that placed them right back where they were at the beginning of the show. That is where Renee and I are now, and the worst part, no laugh track. I’ve got to supply that all on my own. I hope its working.

Tune in tomorrow to see if this crew can somehow overcome this 60’s sitcom curse.

We Have All Been Here Before

Just once, just once, just once, that’s all we were asking, that just once things would go smoothly, no complications, no setbacks. The car was packed, the discharge papers started. We were all waiting for Renee to get through lunch and to see how things went and then … ralphhhhhhhh. That guy will get you every time.

This isn’t déjà vu. We have been here before and this is really happening again. If I wasn’t expecting it and wasn’t prepared for it I might be upset but still ….. just once. Cleveland’s a fine city but it’s not the best place to watch Yankee playoff baseball. The Double C is a fine hospital but the novelty has worn off. I’d head back for the rooftop and the good karma zone but it’s raining on that parade too.

Ralph wasn’t even big, just a little guy. You’ve got to watch out for the little guys they’ll get you every time. Ralph carried a big wrench though, and he tossed it right into the going-home-works. Direct hit, how come when you’re trying to fix something with that same wrench it never works that well?

Stay tuned, we have all been here before.

Check this out while you're waiting: CSN live - Deja Vu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiDOMuhpqUo

Surprise, Surprise

About 10:00 P.M. last night Renee got the call. It came from the nether-reaches, the dark area hidden from sunlight that has been silent since last December. She rejoiced with the same enthusiasm as a parent who has been attempting to potty train a reluctant toddler observing the child handle things on her own for the first time. Somewhere on the near horizon lies the diaper free zone, the colostomy bag free zone, the gut-wrenching pain free zone, the operating room free zone, the gastroenterologist free zone.

We are not quite there yet. We are hoping this is not one of those false positives that faked us out following previous surgeries. The nurses and doctors are very upbeat about the progress. Renee got placed on solid food this morning and had no problem with an omelet. Someone mentioned the big D word, discharge. One meal at a time is where we’re at.

Renee said the pain is worse today and there seems to be more swelling from the stoma site than yesterday. She’s sleeping more today also. Was yesterday just an adrenalin rush day? Was this patient so overwhelmed that she wasn’t knocked completely out of it by this surgery that she overdid it? I will tell you that I prefer the Renee from yesterday. Both of us were completely surprised at how quickly she popped out of the anesthesia fog. Both of us were completely surprised that she didn’t get and didn’t need the morphine pump. They said she would. Both of us were completely surprised that she was able to get out of bed and walk upright as if no-one had been poking around inside her abdomen the day before. Don’t you just love surprises? Let’s not let anything go and spoil it.

Bionic Butt Woman

It’s Renee’s birthday month. I got her what she’s been asking for the whole year, a bionic butt. She loves that line and uses it often. I think I’ll start calling her Jaime. C’mon guys, Jaime … you remember, Lyndsay Wagner played Jaime Sommers, the Bionic Woman. It’s a classic, better than the Six Million Dollar Man with Lee Majors, basically because you had slow motion shots of a nubile Lyndsay Wagner running and kicking everyone’s non-bionic butts to that stuttered metallic soundtrack - dunnunnununununun. (That’s metallic, not Metallica, you metal heads.) http://tinyd.net/70bionic.wav There was a short lived remake last year that was pretty good but it faded quickly. So it’s Jaime from now on. Everyone play along.

And catch all the shows here:
http://www.hulu.com/the-bionic-woman-classic

I got to the hospital before nine this morning, Renee was awake and had color in her cheeks and had already finished breakfast. No solid food yet but she’s doing well with the liquid diet. She got cleaned up and was about to take a walk when the nurse came in and asked if she wanted her IV disconnected first. Yes folks, less than 24 hours after surgery and she is tube free. It took a while to cut away all of the tape holding the line in place. Whoever set it up didn’t want that line to move a hair of a centimeter, it took the nurse about fifteen minutes to liberate Renee. It was like watching Greenpeace cut a dolphin free from a tuna net, quite a production.

Following Renee’s unshackling she practically ran away from the bed. She did three full laps in the outside lane of the fifth floor loop and was passing other patients like she was in the Nascar Cup Chase. Dunnunnununununun, you go Jaime. Where’s the slo-mo shot?

The best part of the morning is they let me watch them change the dressing. Yes, I heard that many of you were complaining about the lack of graphic descriptions of the unpleasant medical stuff this session. Don’t fret, I haven’t lost my touch and you really need to know. For example, you need to know what a stoma site looks like after it is reversed – a pair of raw, red pursed lips sewn together. There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? That’s because I lied, it looks more like a stitched up anus. That is after all what it was. I’ve told you before folks, this stuff ain’t pretty. You knew it was coming. You were waiting for it. Deep down you really wanted it. I could not disappoint.

Now, should we go into the description of the impending output from the new plumbing set up? Nah, I’ll save that one until we’ve got some more solid info for you.

The worst part this time around is there are no staples in Renee’s incision. You know I have a staple fascination and tried unsuccessfully to get Renee to let me pull them. She just wouldn’t let me have any fun. This time I can’t even play that game. Say awwww.

Remember the boom boom boom brawl I told you about that kept us up the other night? The culprit was a Cleveland Browns player who because of his antics got kicked out of town to the NY Jets, another episode of Celebrity Fringe for Renee and me. If this happened post-op rather than before, Bionic Butt Woman could have broken the whole thing up before the cops got there. Dunnunnununununun, Bionic Butt Woman to the rescue! Now we’ve just got to come up with the right costume.

Second Season

11:33 A.M. – pre-surgery
Sitting in the pre-surgery waiting room I was reading a collection of tributes to departed friends and celebrities by an Eastern Kentucky writer, Anne Shelby, who I met a few months back. Wow! I’m telling you this is absolutely the wrong thing to read while your loved one is having intravenous tubes hooked up in preparation for major surgery. Damn! You just don’t want to be stirring up that kind of emotion at a time like this. You want positive survival energy going, no negative vibes, no descriptions of how someone who has passed touched your life. I had to put it down.

12: 25 P.M. – transport to surgery
After they transported Renee away for surgery, I then moved over to the P20 surgery waiting room. Oops, I mean the Surgical Center Family Lounge. Really? The lounge? I love how they try to soften every bit of authentically descriptive phraseology in the language. A new twist here, they had a violinist providing what I guess they thought would be soothing classical compositions to the overstressed masses awaiting word on their loved one. How about choosing something a little more upbeat, buddy. I like classical music as much as anyone but the sound of a singular violin scratching out a hundred year old score was haunting. I don’t think this was the result they were looking for. Couple that with my mis-chosen reading material and as Christine Lavin put it in Rockaway, her song about the end of summer, “it’s enough to make me lay down and cry.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXk_Lt9GIWQ

I believe in karma - good karma, bad karma – so I had to break free of the negative forces pushing on my fragile nerves. Without even telling the P20 desk attendant I was leaving – I was told twice to inform them if I was leaving the lounge - I went and grabbed a sandwich and headed for the rooftop. I needed some air. I’ve told you about the pavilion on the roof of the Cleveland Clinic before. Oh by the way, I’m not calling it the Cleveland Clinic anymore, it’s now the Double C. Continually using the word clinic sounds like we’re having a sexually transmitted disease looked at. We’re not talking about a case of the crabs here. This is a triple dose of majorly invasive maneuvers. And, since we’re removing the possibility of psychologically damaging connotations from everything, I can’t go around calling it a clinic. Someone might get the idea that sick people are here. We must remove all reference to real life situations from real life situations. If you want reality you’re going to have to watch it on TV in between a bunch of laundry detergent ads.

Now back to the rooftop – It’s a beautiful autumn day in Cleveland. Visibility is good and the downtown skyline is framed by Lake Erie and some low hanging clouds passing lazily above the points of the hi-rise cluster. The clouds are casting a few shadows, hiding the reflections in the glass and granite, but the sun is winning the battle between light and dark - fresh air and a fresh view, just what the doctor ordered. I took a few good deep breaths and headed back to the lounge and settled in with a new book.

01:39 P.M. – surgery has begun
Estimated surgery time is two hours, I roost in to a chair away from the bustle of parading patients and impatient family members.

03:58 P.M. – Paged to the P20 desk for a doctor’s call.
The surgeon said all went well. For once he only performed the basic surgery as advertised without any complications. The knot he thought he would have to remove turned out to be a fluid filled sac and it only needed to be drained. Renee is doing fine.

4:26 P.M. – Renee was taken to the recovery room.

5:45 P.M. – received page - Patient is stable, in recovery – they will page again when I can see her.

6:20 P.M. – Report to P20 for room assignment – Renee was being moved from recovery to Room H50/15. They validate my parking. I beat Renee there by about three minutes. She reported that her pain level was a 3 out of 10. She got up on her own and went to the bathroom. She said yes when they asked about dinner. She was fairly coherent and in pretty good spirits. All right, what did you guys do with my wife?

9:00 P.M. – Bob leaves a groggy Renee to get some dinner and some rest.

9:25 P.M. – Bob hits pub across the street from hotel and catches the 12th inning of the Twins/Tigers marathon. Tigers choke with bases loaded and less than 2 out. Twins don’t choke.

The baseball playoffs start tomorrow, what some call the second season. Renee did well today and tomorrow …., tomorrow starts her second season.

Good night and Go Yanks!

Bucking the Trend?

Everyone keeps saying how easy this surgery will be, the nurses, the surgeon, staff, is this the first time they’ve dealt with Renee? The surgeon was pretty cagey when trying to describe the surgery and the possibilities. He tried to nonchalant the chances of splitting Renee up the gut. Give us the darn worse case scenario doc. There is a good amount of muscle stitching in this operation, he already knows he’s got to deal with a knot that has formed on the incision from the previous surgery, handling all of that through the stoma access hole will be tricky. Renee’s got a long history of adhesions, it’d be pretty surprising if he didn’t have to clear some of these that have formed on important tubing. I’m not trying to jinx anything, I just know our girl. I told the doctor that I booked the hotel for six weeks just in case. This got a laugh out of him, I didn’t think he had it in ‘em.

We’re off to the hospital now. I nearly finished a whole book in the waiting room yesterday and I forgot two more that I thought I had packed. I am under-literaturized. A trip to the book store will happen soon but not today. The doc did give an estimate of three days post-surgery in the hospital. Renee has doubled the estimate on both previous surgeries, we’re hoping she’ll buck the trend on this one. Later.

A Boom Boom Boom

A Boom Boom Boom,
A Boom Boom Boom,
All night long

We got a late start on a Sunday so you would have thought traffic would be light for the trip up to Cleveland, but no, it was a slow, stop and go filled ride. Construction and breakdowns and accidents brought three lanes of highway down to one too many times to count. We pulled into the hotel after 11:00 P.M. so that nice restaurant dinner we had planned was replaced with pretzels and beer cheese, two things you should never travel without. We got a room on the front side of the hotel close to the elevators and turned in. Our sleep was disturbed by the booming bass of the nightclub across the street. Their patrons then decided to spill into the street about 3:00 A.M. and have a brawl. I watched the cops break it up from the bedroom window. They quickly disbursed at the site of the taser. No arrests and even better no cops hurt. Good for them but for us not a good start to the visit.

I complained today about the noise from across the street and the front desk assured me that the nightclub does not operate during the week. We’ll see. They tried to find another room on the other side of the hotel but none were available so they comped last night’s stay. It pays to complain.

Renee had a list of places for pre-op appointments. We started at 8:30 A.M. in the basement of the H Building in Radiology. Her only clue to what they had in store was the word procedure. She got a real how-do-you-do-good-morning when informed “procedure” means Water Soluble Enema with X-Ray. The technician said, “at least we’re using the pediatric tip.” Hoo-ah! There’s nothing like the smell of enema in the morning. This test was done to check for seepage in the piping structure that was built during the last surgery. They filled her posterior canal with water and took a bunch of pictures, kind of the inverse method to checking an inner tube for leaks. We got to carry the x-rays of this over to her next appointment with the surgeon. I’ll be posting them later.

The surgeon, after reviewing Renee’s history file of her post-op troubles, regaled us with stories about how common dehydration in J-Pouch* build patients is. Merrily we played along. Renee was also a victim and it landed her back in the hospital for another week after the last surgery. Why the heck didn’t he tell us these stories before when we really needed this information? If it is so common how about preparing us to deal with it rather than skipping that part and have your patient end up in renal failure? I wanted to slug the lug but I figured I shouldn’t damage the doc a day before surgery.

(*J-Pouch – a refresher, this is the internal pouch built from the small intestine which will serve as the replacement to the large intestine which was removed last December.)

The rest of the morning was filled with routine blood tests and surveys and consultations and CYA paperwork for the hospital. We left the compound and headed for lunch. Renee was given until noon for her last meal but the nurse who gave her the instruction advised us to be flexible with that timing since she knew Renee would not get out of the pre-op maze until well after. We sat down at the lunch table about 2:30 P.M.

Renee’s now on a fluid only diet. We report to the surgery center at 11:30 A.M. which means they won’t start the operation until mid-afternoon. We’re going to try and do a little better on sleep tonight. If I hear one peep out of that nightclub I’m going to go boom, boom, boom …..

Ducks in a Row

Getting ready for these surgery trips is a lot like preparing for vacation with the grand exception being we’re not planning any fun into it. This time around we’ve got Renee’s family living here so kennel and child care arrangements are a little less cumbersome to negotiate. Renee, unlike vacations, is packing light. Most of her fancy gowns will be supplied by her fastidious fashion designer at the Cleveland Clinic. The one-size-fits-none ensembles are perfect for those red carpet moments, especially when accentuated by the plasticized wristband and conduit accoutrements. You can hear Joan Rivers and her churlish offspring just drooling the word, “Exquisite!”

I topped off the anti-freeze in the X-Country and the house watcher has arrived. We’re all set. Now we’ve just got to time our arrival around the Cleveland Browns vs. Cincinnati Bengals game. Every one in Ohio is planning their day around this game. We’ll have to be extra diligent about moving road hazards as we near Cleveland.

Renee said good-bye to her Ducks on Friday, her last day of work for a while. That’s her pre-school class handle, named after a California hockey team I guess, because there are so many hockey fans here in Louisville. (That’s outright sarcasm folks, the only ice they know about here comes in plastic bags and gets put in a cooler for tailgating at high school football games.) It’s cute for the kids but Renee’s gone overboard with duck themed clothing and jewelry. The last thing Renee needs right now with all of her medical problems is to be inundated by quacks.

Renee gets two nights in a real hotel this time. She’s facing a full day of outpatient pre-op testing tomorrow and reports Tuesday morning for surgery. We’re hoping for a good restaurant dinner tonight as Renee has no meal restrictions or fasting requirements for tomorrow. We’ll catch you on the north end of I-71.

I am Iron (Wo)Man

We found out today why Renee has been so fatigued for the last few weeks. The results are back from the blood doctor and she doesn’t have any. “She doesn’t have any blood,” you ask? Well yes of course she’s got blood but there’s no iron in it. Iron is not a very precious metal until you can’t store it in your blood then it’s more precious than gold. She’s taking mega-doses of the stuff via supplements and it’s just not sticking. After her upcoming surgery, she’ll have to go for an intravenous helping. I wonder if we’ll have to go to Pittsburgh for that? Do they still make iron ore in Pittsburgh or has it been completely outsourced to Asia?

Renee gets to face the next surgery with an extreme iron deficiency. Isn’t that just precious? Six days is not enough time to fix her. Heck, it’s been close to two years with all of these medications and procedures and she’s still not fixed. I’ve got to look into the Lemon Laws. Maybe her mats are all in a bunch causing her system to crash. Is there a recall I’ve missed? She’s not a Lexus but she is a certified JAP. Wait, that’s American made, it’s right on the label, Jewish American Princess. A princess deficient in a precious metal, my darn father-in-law must have cheaped me on the dowry! He gets a Cadillac and I get Cleveland. I call foul!

Despite being deficient (and not having any iron in her blood), Renee is in good spirits and healthier than she was prior to the other two related surgeries. She says she’s not scared and I believe her. She just wants this over with.

Renee’s blood doctor says that she doesn’t have the right amount of metal in her cells but she’s sure got the right amount of mettle to get through this next little procedure. She’s our Iron Woman.

Speaking of …

The rain finally let up. It had been going nearly non-stop since early Sunday. At least it has washed away a lot of the pollen that was floating around so I don’t have to move to Canada to take a breath.

Speaking of Canada, there is a new website that I just added to my links on the right called The Sweet One. It is all about Noonan Syndrome and contains great info and numerous links to even more. The webmaster, who I’ve met electronically through this blog, is a mother in Ontario who’s youngest child has NS. Cassidy has also been diagnosed with Noonan’s which I’ve just touched the surface on here. Check it out and let anyone you know who needs this info know about it.

http://www.thesweetone.ca/noonansyndrome.html

Speaking of Cassidy, she did some shadowing yesterday. Not boxing or hiding things from sunlight, she shadowed a freshman to check out a prospective high school. One of the things we have learned with Noonan’s is that learning differences are common. It took us a while to find the right grammar school that had teaching methods which deal with her specific difficulties in processing and memory. Now that she’s in eighth grade we’ve got to go shopping all over again for the next right school. The pickings are slim so we’re hoping we get it right on the first shot.

The high school is an “all girls.” They wear plaid skirts and, as a Rabbi during a recent sermon said (quite humorously even to goyim in his Bat Mitzvah audience), “there’s plus signs all over the place.” Yes, it’s a Catholic High - I hear my mother yelling Wahoooo! – so Cass can now hear from the new half of the Good Book if we decide this is the right fit. She said this morning that that’s where she’s going. There’s one solid vote.

Still speaking of Cassidy, her volleyball season is officially over. Her team went up against the best in the league during today’s tournament and put up the good fight. They were eliminated but showed great competitive spirit in defeat. We now get to re-claim two evenings and Saturdays mornings back as ours. We’re all winners.

Speaking of winning, the Yankees clinched a playoff berth this week and the Giants beat the Cowboys at their new house in Dallas. How good is that? And this morning, I won because I got to go watch volleyball rather than do the neighborhood garage sale. Renee thinks she won because she loves garage sales. That’s a three-fer, it’s all good.

Speaking of Renee, she is now pre-registered for her upcoming surgery. Preparations for the trip north are well under way. The countdown is on. One week from tomorrow and we hit the road. We’re optimistic that this surgery three-fer will wash away the bad health karma that has plagued Renee like the rain has washed away the pollen.

Speaking of rain, it is threatening again ...

Your Spin, Renee

Just two short weeks until the next trip north to the Mistake by the Lake, our dear sister city, Cleveland, Ohio.

Renee’s energy level has been pretty low for the last few weeks. Maybe it’s due to allergies or a mild case of the flu or anxiety over the next phase of this crazy game of slice and dice. Or maybe it’s just her family moving to town that’s wearing her out. She is spending a lot of time running back and forth between houses. It sure as heck couldn’t have anything to do with me.

Another thing wearing her out is the big post-Surgery Two frustration. Renee has not gotten used to the new stoma and how it drains. The site is still raw and constantly reminds her it is there. Going from the highly complimented and easy to deal with stoma that she had following Surgery One to this evil looking sewage snake that refuses to heal has been quite maddening. She’s looking forward to the reversal of the temporary ileostomy and getting her plumbing re-connected.

Renee’s gastro-doc has warned her of some of the drawbacks of the new set-up. She’s got to re-train all of those muscles in her behind to work like they should. She is supposed to be doing kegel exercises. Are you Renee?

One of the strange side effects the doctor did not warn us about has taken complete hold of Renee. It seems that the temporary need to holster her rump in incontinence catchers has pushed her psyche higher up into the AARP range. Her new favorite TV show is Wheel Of Fortune. I’m thinking of dropping her off at the Senior Center every evening at 7:00 so she has some like minded folks to enjoy Pat and Vanna with. If I catch her watching Murder, She Wrote, Quincy, M.E. or Matlock, I’m just dropping her at the dog track with a note pinned to her sweater. I think her new curls are wound a little too tight. Hopefully, like her hair loss this is a temporary malady.

As we’ve found out with the previous surgeries, the future is all a mystery. You can read all about what may happen but every patient handles their own set up differently. It works great for some and fails for others. After all Renee’s been through we’re hoping the third surgery's a charm. Whatever the final level of success, I can guarantee you that there will be plenty of sh** to talk about.

[That's the second post in a row I've used that same dirty word. You'd never hear that kind of language on any of those shows mentioned above. That salty tone has no place here either so don't get used to it. Oh never mind, anyone who was offended stopped reading at the Wheel of Fortune paragraph. Have a great day!]

The Nobel Peace Sign

L’Shana Tovah! - Happy New Year to all of our Jewish friends and family. Get ready to atone for a whole year of the things you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.

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The University of Louisville Cardinals versus the University of Kentucky Wildcats game is on right now. This game is not being shown on my TV system. What’s up with that?

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I should probably snap a few photos of Renee for you all to see. A few months ago I told you about her hair loss. That was all the way back during Surgery One recovery. Well, her hair has made an amazing comeback. We’re talking white-fro comeback and she doesn’t even own a pick-comb. With the 70’s retro look making a comeback also she is stylin’ and groovy baby.

While we’re on the subject of retro ridiculousness, here’s my rant on that other hippie era symbol that’s popped back into the mainstream.

Flush With Peace

Isn’t it great how everything comes around again? We grow up and become our parents and our kids start doing the same things we did. Lately, my daughter has been giving the peace sign. Yes, the peace sign is back in full force. Everywhere you go someone is flashing it at you. Boy, that’s done a lot to stop war, hasn’t it? Bell-bottoms are back, Tie-dyes are back and peace signs are back, now I feel safe.

Where did the peace sign come from? I’ll show you. Go ahead and take your two fingers and make the familiar “V.” Now, point them down and then point them back up. Whoosh, that’s the two fingers you use to flush.

You know what peace is? Flush toilets! That’s right, flush toilets, the ability to go into a private little room and do your business and wave goodbye to yesterday’s taco.

Why didn’t Thomas Crapper win the Nobel Peace Prize? They gave the prize to Yassar Arrafat. Why wasn’t the guy who brought the indoor water closet to the general public so honored? Who do you think has done more for peace?

Don’t you think there would be a lot less suicide bombers if once a day these lunatics could sit down on a clean commode, grab a Reader’s Digest, read a couple of quips from Humor In Tunic, and have ten minutes of alone time to … a … you know … and think twice about strapping a bomb to their freshly wiped butts.

What is the most basic thing that we have that your average cave dwelling terrorists don’t? Flush toilets! You know the saying, flush all your troubles? Well, it’s pretty hard to do that without a toilet. So forget all those other tactics. Just sit down at the negotiation table and say two words, flush toilets. Nobody doesn’t want flush toilets.

If they can’t agree on flush toilets, then, they don’t want peace.

So, let’s bomb the shit out of them!

Peace out!

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And to completely change subjects: Two Kentucky related items hit the national news this week. One voice fell silent, Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary, was born here in Louisville. Another voice, out of the little town of Mayfield, resounded. Kevin Skinner took the America’s Got Talent top prize. I don’t pay much attention to this type of show but I looked at it as an unrehearsed passing of the torch. Let’s hope Kevin stays as true to his roots as Mary.

On the health front, despite all of the sniffles, we’re all feeling pretty good this week. Let’s hope the new year brings a continuation of good health to all of our families and friends and everyone else who isn’t trying to blow us up.

The Wonderful Wizard of Bob

Renee thinks I have mystical powers. You see just by mentioning that it may be time to trade in the car I can cause it to do strange things. Never mind that it was starting to do strange things before I said anything. I am still magical!

The Cash for Clunkers program got me to thinking about replacing at least one of the workhorses in our current fleet of vehicles. Fleet, you say? Yes, a fleet of two has been carting us around for years. Old Paint, my reliable little pick-up that is about to turn twenty, didn’t qualify for the program. Apparently, it is neither a car nor a truck. I’ve always known it was unique but now Congress has confirmed it. Now I need our fine legislators to pass a bill that gives me a big fat stimulus payment for my unclassifiable vehicle. Really, shouldn’t I receive some kind of special stipend for buying a fuel efficient vehicle back when it was en vogue to pilot the biggest darn gas guzzling land yacht around? I’m sure they know my address. Please spell my name right on the check.

Our other car, the one Renee thinks is hers, is an eight year old Volvo wagon. It is in pretty good shape but is starting to show its age. And yes, somehow this one qualified as a clunker despite the book value being well over the maximum rebate allowance. Every repair, no matter how minor, comes with a $1,000 price tag. It doesn’t matter what it is, $1,000. Bulb out in the back, well, you need a whole new light panel, $1,000. Squeak in the brake pedal, that’s a bad seal on the anti-lock compressor, $1,000. Car’s dirty, you need a soil demagnetizing solution rinse, $1,000. You get the picture, we’re getting hosed. It is not a bad car, we like it, but the repair bills are starting to mount up to where it may be costing us more to keep than a new car under warranty would. Renee also thinks I put a curse on the car by mentioning trade-in causing all of the recent problems. Praising the car doesn’t fix it though. My wizardry may only work one way.

We all know how much a new car costs these days so we’re going to try to milk a few more good years out of these two wonderful machines. I’ll need to come up with some enchanting incantations to reverse the curse on the Swedish import in order to make it happen, but not to worry, I’ve just picked up a book of spells for, you guessed it, $1,000.

Now what’s this got to do with this blog about family health you’re asking? Everything I say. This is September in the Ohio Valley. The pollen count is so high it affects everything, even our cars. The air is so thick it clogs up the car’s air filter along with everyone’s immune system. The schools are empty from all the allergy induced absences. The parents are hiding under the covers with belly aches and sniffles and low grade fevers. We’re all scratching at our eyeballs, sucking down Sudafed and clutching the Kleenex.

Renee and Cassidy have both been hit with flu-like symptoms. Renee’s immune system is so overworked she can’t fend off any of the bugs that the little buggers in the pre-school spread about. Cassidy has already spoiled her perfect attendance record. I have never experienced allergies before moving to Kentucky but now commiserate with the rest of the itchy sneezers.

Everyone is just miserable from the poor air quality. It brings out the worst in people. Normally calm drivers are blowing their horns and fighting their way through traffic like they’re crazed New York cab drivers. The weather has been great, coaxing us outside into the late summer sunshine, compounding the illness factor. Despite the near perfect temperature, I’m eager for that first frost so I may be able to take a breath without tasting ragweed.

Lately, my creative juices have all been directed toward battling this seasonal bombardment. Too clogged to blog I was. But I am back. And just in time to keep you up to speed with the countdown to what we hope is Renee’s final surgery. The culmination of the invasive triad is just a tad over three weeks away. I hope to use my new found magical powers to amaze you with the antics of our favorite patient. I’ll bet you’ve never seen anyone pull a rabbit out of an ostomy bag, have you? The tricks I have up my sleeve are endless and I know my faithful assistant will not let us down. The suspense is building. Don’t even think about taking your eyes off of the screen.

Weather I’m Right, or Weather I’m Wrong

Renee’s recovery seems to be as fickle as the weather. The surgeon said there would be up and down days but you can never be sure if it is just a down day or something worth calling the doctor over. The abdominal cramps and shooting pains have not subsided. One of her co-workers said she looks green. At least she’s got some color!

I made Renee call the doctor last week. The big question, which doctor? She got through to the gastroenterologist first but tomorrow is the first available appointment. Can this wait until Monday?

She has been experiencing chills and this morning was hit with what appears to be a return of her recurring eye infection. Her eye doctor has said relates to a weak immune system, another signal of something bigger going on. I had brought up the possibility of adhesions previously and a friend in the medical profession also brought it up yesterday. That knot that I told you about last week is a form of adhesion that poked its way through to the surface.

Adhesions are nothing but internal scar tissue. Some people are more susceptible to them than others. Following Renee’s kidney removal five years ago she experienced a life threatening bout when the scarring strangled her colon. About a month after the surgery, I brought Renee to the emergency room for severe abdominal cramping. She was standing on her head from the pain and I am not exaggerating. It was a Saturday morning. They ran a bunch of tests which lasted until nightfall. They sent me home and said the results would not be ready until morning. A little after midnight, a got a call that they were rushing Renee to surgery, NOW! I got to the hospital just as the on-call surgeon was having her final pep talk with Renee. The surgeon pulled me aside, looked me square in the eye and said, she’s got maybe 12 hours to live if we don’t operate. So, what are doing chatting with me? Get to work doc! Post-op, the surgeon made sure she hammered this little tidbit about twelve hours home. It was a not so subtle reminder not to ignore the things your body is telling you.

What I didn’t hammer home to the surgeon was that the ER doctor was ready to release Renee with some alka-seltzer or similar placebo like treatment. It was our family doctor who told them to run additional tests and that Renee isn’t one of those patients who just runs to the hospital for attention. Don’t get sick on the weekends folks.

What have we learned here kids? Healthcare is a lot like predicting the weather. Some are better at it than others and no one is so good that they can tell you absolutely what is going to happen. But if the signs are all there that a hurricane is coming, batten down the hatches! Here is my tribute to that profession that is more fickle than the weather itself. These people missed predicting two, not one but two, “storms of the century” this year alone.

Weatherman
By Bob Masterson

Thank God its Friday cause man, I just had a killer week
Whatever could go wrong just did and the job front’s looking bleak
To top it off that green screen clicking, TV talking head
Told me it’d be sunny
And now I’m soaking wet.

Never trust a weatherman or anything they say
I want that job where I can be wrong everyday
Sorry boss but Mother Nature just got in the way
Now my baby needs a new pair of boots
Thanks for that raise in pay

God Bless the soul
Who could land that role
And continue on un-phased
When they’re standing in
Two feet of snow,
Without predicting
One damn flake

I’ll get up Monday morning
Face the music at my workplace
Knowing I can’t blame the weather
For the screw-ups that I make
My boss’s needs change with the breeze
But he doesn’t see it that way
I always get hit with that high pressure system
When told a cold front’s on the way

So I’m riding out the storm
Blind to the next blast
And I don’t need a weatherman
To tell me
This too shall pass.


Any predictions on what's happening in Renee's gut? You've probably got as good a chance at diagnosing it as the weatherman has predicting the next storm of the century. Go ahead, give it a shot.

Gut Wrenching

I like to have fun here when celebrities pass away. They are easy targets and there is no collateral damage because we don’t really know these folks although the media acts like we do. It is different when someone close passes. You feel it in your core and it throws off your equilibrium. My father’s brother, William, Uncle Bill, has now moved on to his meeting with the Great Divine. He has gone on to join the ever growing circle of family celebrities that are doing their own version of a swarp in the great beyond. I bet he’s doing Mr. Bojangles on the harmonica as I write this. Our grief grows exponentially as the circle here on earth gets tighter and tighter. Here’s to you Uncle Bill! Say hey to the rest of the gang, especially Dad.

Renee started work this week at the pre-school. No kiddies yet as they don’t start until next week. She survived pretty well but last night was complaining of sharp pains from her lower abdomen. We’re not sure if it’s too much too soon or some other cause.

Stress maybe? We do have a house full of Renee’s family. Yes, the whole crew is here awaiting the arrival of the moving truck so they may move in to their new house just minutes away. Her mother, father, brother and grandmother are all here, four generations under one roof.

The level of care needed for “Other Nana” has increased dramatically since the last time we saw her in the Spring. She’s in her own world most of the time and can create the most elaborate stories of what is happening. Any novelist would be jealous of her flair for fiction, only she doesn’t realize it isn’t true. Physically, she is as bad, or worse, than her mental state. She is in need of supervision 24/7 and you can see the toll it is taking on all involved in tending to her needs. It is real work and despite best intentions has surpassed the abilities of Renee’s parents of handling this on their own. Professional care takers and facilities are being researched as I write.

Renee is still complaining of the pains in her gut and I can hear her saying “Ew, Ow, Ow, Ouch” from the other room. There is no visible indication of what is causing the pain and guess what? It is the weekend. This stuff always happens on the weekend. It is probably another knot, this time internal. This is the same post-op timeframe that her adhesions from her kidney surgery doubled her over – that was a Saturday too – so I’m watching this closely. I’m hoping it is nothing more than routine disruption stress from the whole family move thing and it will pass when the moving truck arrives. Until Monday I’ll be keeping the tool box with the big gut wrench at the ready.

Ex-Squeeze Me?

Renee and I are so sophisticated. We jet to exotic locations for lunch and head home. That is if Cleveland can be considered exotic and if you can consider an old Volvo that qualifies for “cash for clunkers” a jet. Sorry, but there are no pictures of me in my ascot and Renee in her scarf. And just between you and me, the stewardess’ service was terrible.

Yesterday, we did a road trip to Cleveland for Renee’s first official post-op with the surgeon. These follow ups are always an eye opener. The Cleveland Clinic just a few weeks ago was again rated as the number two hospital in the world for digestive diseases. The Mayo Clinic secured the number one spot. I know what you’re thinking, why didn’t you take Renee to the top hospital? Two reasons, one, number two tries harder to become number one and two, proximity, although Cleveland is five hours away by car, it is possible to do a day trip. Plus, the Mayo is somewhere in Minnesota. It’s likely that the same people who are voting it number one are the ones who stuffed the ballot box for Jesse Ventura and Al Franken. Can they really be relied upon for surgical matters?

Being a top hospital for a particular specialty though does not mean that they are the best at all things. Administration is also important. My scorecard for this last surgery has their rating very low this time around. One, they initially did not have a bed for Renee on the colorectal floor despite a three month heads up. The difference between the care on the general care floors and the colorectal unit is night and day, similar to the difference between Louisville Baptist East Hospital’s CDC Unit and the Park Towers. Two, the surgeon prescribed two medications for Renee to combat the high output and dehydration, these did not make it to the discharge papers. Three, it appears that the post-op letter from the surgeon advising of the importance of taking these medications was never mailed.

Three strikes you’re out. Or, in Renee’s case, you’re in, the hospital that is. Her trip to the BEast here was easily preventable if she had received the proper instruction and medication at the time of her release from Cleveland. In these days of high speed communication (yes, they have our email addresses), there is no excuse for some letter not to make it through and blaming snail mail. And, where are the prescriptions that you supposedly prescribed Doc? Saying this is common after this type of surgery and that you always prescribe these things to prevent it doesn’t cut it. You screwed up, admit it.

The rest of Renee’s check up went well. He gave her the old how-de-do with the finger probe to check out the rectal connections and said all is well. He had to add again how much trouble he had during surgery stretching everything out and hooking it all up. I ‘m not sure if he was looking for an “oh wow, you’re such a great surgeon” or trying to divert attention away from the fact that he failed to properly fill out the discharge paperwork. I don’t care how great your surgical skills are if your patients don’t make it through recovery. And the big question is, if these medications were so important and if Renee’s output was high in Cleveland why wasn’t she on them in the hospital?

He kind of scolded Renee for not taking these medications when she got home, like it was her fault she didn’t get the information she needed, the old the best defense is a good offense routine. Can you see my blood boiling?

For a little over a week Renee’s been sporting a blister like protrusion at the base of her incision. I made her go to our general practitioner on Monday to make sure it was not anything life threatening. The doctor schedule was full but due to Renee’s post-op history she squeezed her in, literally and medically. She, the doctor, called it a goober and played with it for a while like it was one of those slippery stress balls. She said it was so much fun she had a hard time stopping. I looked up goober in the medical journals but couldn’t find anything. I also don’t know of any diagnostic testing that involves squeezing things like a water balloon just for kicks. I’m going to have to put on my vision enhancement devices and check the fine print on her diploma the next time I’m in her office. She did act a little bit like a doctor and ordered blood drawn to check for infection. The infection test came back negative so she said wait until Friday to show the surgeon. The surgeon said it is a knot. It is caused by internal stitches rubbing under the skin. It should go away by itself. If it doesn’t he’ll splice it during the next surgery.

The next surgery, number three and hopefully the final in the series, is scheduled for October 6. Renee’s got two months more to recover and to suffer with the loop ileostomy which is a pain in the stoma. I won’t trouble you with a repetition of the discomfort, inflammation and mishaps related to the current setup but to say that Renee’s none to happy with it and is looking forward to the next surgery.

There you have it, the beginning of the next chapter is in sight. The surgeon said that only 5% of the final “takedown” procedures result in full abdominal surgery and it should be nothing more than making a small incision. The stoma is closed and reinserted inside the body. Piece of cake right? 95% chance of only a minor invasive maneuver, right? Stay tuned, you know our gal’s problem with going along with the majority.

The surgeon also told Renee that between now and takedown she’s got to do Kegel exercises. She’s got to redevelop the muscle memory so she may have some control once her plumbing is reconnected. We’ve decided to work on this as a family. It shouldn’t be hard we’re going to jump right into the butt clenching this week as the in-laws arrive to stay with us until their moving truck shows up. This coming week they will officially become Loui-villains. Spell check tells me there is something wrong with that but I don’t see it.

All together now,

Scrunch, hold, release!
Scrunch, hold, release!
Scrunch, hold, release!

Oh Summertime, Where For Art Thou?

It’s been a long time since I did the blog whoah-oh-oh
Been a long time since I webbed and logged oh-oh –oh-whoah
Let me get it back, let me get it back, let me get it back
Back to reportin’ on, whoaha- oh –oh –oh
Been a long time
Been a long time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, time!

Renee does not like Led Zeppelin, you’d think someone who has at least twice laid a down payment on the Stairway to Heaven would appreciate them a little more. Nonetheless, We’re sure glad the lawyers found a loophole in those contracts.
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Yikes! There was a Huffnpuff sighting yesterday. She showed up to release Renee from home health care. I can’t believe Renee let her back in the house, even if it was to officially tell her to go away. I hope it was a happy ending for her. Not so for me - nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

July has ended without a day of 90 degree weather, first in Louisville’s recorded history. This is nothing to complain about although most of it was more moist than Spring with close to record setting rainfall.

Last Saturday, the sun broke through after a week of rain. I dragged Renee out of the house. The sunshine didn’t last though, rain was past threatening and was falling intermittently. Mike’s band, Pope Lick Swills, was playing a fundraising gig - Mike’s one of the founding BierWerkes brewers - and managed to squeeze in a set in between the thunderstorms. It was a benefit for autism and I hope they raised loads of money. Despite being uncomfortable in the wicker chair I think Renee enjoyed herself. After dinner Renee shuffled over to the neighbors and chatted until way past her bedtime. It was her big day out. She commented on Facebook that she had a great weekend. It is amazing what a couple hours away from hospitals or beds will do for you.

Cassidy started volleyball practice this week. She’s on the school team which is brand new this year. I had shuttle duty since Renee was out of energy by the time the evening practice time rolled around.

Renee went to the Gastro Doc on Monday and he cleared her to drive. She’s been taking Cassidy back-to-school shopping as strength will allow.

We’ve fallen into Fall prep mode with only one slight sunburn to our credit. So there it went, Summer I mean. We get to cap it off by traveling back to Cleveland for a post-op visit on Friday. The scheduling of the next surgery should be known by the end of next week.

Although much cooler than usual, July was National Ice Cream Month. We’ve still got a couple of solid weeks of summer before school so here’s my tribute to that sweet sensation.

Love, War and Ice Cream Cones
By Bob Masterson

Down at the Clip Joint
The cut-ups do not disappoint
Have a seat at number three
I’ll clean you up real nice

She talked about her cravings
While she was snippin and shavin
But then started into raving
At some friendly advice

We had a heated convention
‘bout a frozen confection
And now her missed workouts
somehow were my fault

She called me Satan
Quite an overstatement
I replied, it’s good to know
I own your soul

Didn’t mean nothing by it
Just a comment on her diet
And all is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

All is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

Even Gandalf the Wizard
Comes ‘tween a woman n her Chocolate Truffle Blizzard
Look out, she’s got the scissors
It was just a joke

Put down that hair dryer
I swear your eyes could melt fire
Don’t tease a woman ‘bout her desire
For her comfort food

Didn’t mean nothing by it
Just a comment on her diet
And all is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

All is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

Is the moral of this song
Can’t we all just get along?
Nah! It’s never eat ice cream
while someone cuts your hair

And don’t comment on her diet
Even if you don’t mean nothing by it
Cause she don’t fight fair when she’s cutting hair
Or eating ice cream cones

No she don’t fight fair when she’s cutting hair
Or eating ice cream cones

Didn’t mean nothing by it
Just a comment on her diet
And all is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

All is fair in love and war
And ice cream cones

The above is based on a conversation with my barber and contains some verbatim quotes. The real question is, should I ever return there for a hair cut?

Put Me In Coach

Required listening: Centerfield by John Fogerty

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Bmukj1YFLg&feature=related


We’ve made it to Thursday without any major medical events since Renee returned home on Sunday. She has managed to sleep at night and is starting to move about the house. She is back to Tylenol for pain which is being taken occasionally rather than routinely. There are no signs of dehydration although the output is still much higher in volume and thinner in consistency than previous to surgery. Post-surgery pains and weakness are still persistent reminders that there’s still a long way to go, but she may have stuck the landing on her vault from the hospital this time.

This week has been a series of battles waged in an effort to distance this unit from the month of chaos we have just endured. This house has been operating like the Yankees did at the beginning of the season, just getting by and struggling to keep near .500. One of our star players is on the disabled list. She’s not even ready for her rehab stint in the minors. I feel like Mark Texiera batting near the Mendoza line. The pitching has been thin and the defense full of holes. We thought we’d have her back by the all-star break but that didn’t happen.

The rest of the summer will be dedicated to getting Renee back in the lineup. This means Cassidy and I need to carry this team to the playoffs. Cassidy’s rookie colors have shown through this week which is part of the battle. She’s our Joba Chamberlain and the crack baseball committee is still debating whether to put her in the starting rotation or keep her in the bullpen. She’s resisting the advice of the seasoned veteran as teenagers will do but every now and then she shows off that 98 mile per hour fastball by doing something she wasn’t asked to do. Our main goal though is to get Renee play-off ready, ‘cause we’re going baby, and then it’s another off-season surgery.

Have I hit you with enough sports metaphors yet? I can’t help it, the Yanks are alone in first place and Renee seems to be in solid recovery mode. It’s a good week. So good in fact that tonight I’m going to bail out of the house for a little while and try to drum up some material for the BeerWerkes blog. It has been sorely neglected.

(raising beer glass) Here’s to your good health!

And Go Yankees!

And Go Renee!