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.