I Found Something Worse Than A Brain Tumor - Way Worse!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

A good thing and a disturbing thing happened this week.  I'll describe them in the order that they happened.  During the previous week we re-watched "John Adams" on HBO with Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney as John and Abigail Adams.  It was a six part mini-series produced by Tom Hanks, so we figured it was the closest thing without actually being a book so we all watched it together thinking it might be something our resident eighth-grader would get something out of.  It didn't hurt that Giamatti, as Adams, bears an uncanny resemblance to Uncle Fester of "The Adaams Family".  Since I was a little fuzzy on the wit and wisdom of our Founding Fathers, I rewatched (in hindsight it was new to me) with my son even though it was pretty correct and pretty dry, or so I thought!

I'm watching Episode #5 of 6 of this snooze-fest and I'm happy to pick out a few other people I recognize one of which was Sarah Polley whose now a director but in "Adams" was relegated to portraying one of John Adam's daughters-in-law.  So, we're almost to the end and the doctor starts visiting the Adams' and tells this poor girl she has breast cancer and he "needs to operate immediately".  The next time we see the good doctor he has a huge scalpel and no anesthetic.  You know what they give this poor girl?  A stick!  No hospital, no medicine, just a sharpened scythe and a little, bitty, stick to bite down on!  Good grief!  I didn't think things could get much worse but finding medical care in the eighteenth century for women would be worse.  Way worse!

When the local Dr. is coming at you with sharpened farm implements and a twig where the anesthesiologist should be you know you're living in the wrong century.  Holy cow!  A stick?  And she dies anyway!  Poor girl!  A stick!  I thought that one of the few benefits of living in  the "olden days" was that was before Nixon and the drug schedules, and at least opiates would have been part of a doctor's bag, not necessarily so!  As it happens, morphine didn't come along for another hundred years.  What about Laudanum?  Also discovered another hundred years in the future! So not only were you required to churn your own butter you had better not develop some pre-existing condition or any condition because that was it!  A stick, "Here you go!  This will help!  Actually, it won't help at all but it's all we've got!  Come back after the Civil War, we'll have sedation after 1865!"

Thankfully, I was able to shake off the heebie-jeebies long enough to discover something real and amazing!  I have been riding a stationary bike at least an hour a day, every day for years.  It was something I always did and believed I could do and needed to do.  Patient Spouse has been admonishing me daily on the futility of this particular activity.  I have increased my training and rehab schedule to include standing stretches that put all the pressure on my legs.  Without all the work I have been doing the last two years, I wouldn't be able to do any of these stretches!

Completely by accident another piece of the puzzle fell into place!   I've been biking endlessly to nowhere despite daily entreaties from my partner telling me I was wasting my time and more importantly my strength.  After my no-ideas-of-any-kind appointment at UCSF,  I had an unshakable feeling that I was "on the right track", and increased my speed and length of distance on this particular activity.  It never crossed my mind to do anything else!

I have to be ready for any type of disaster!  I might be someplace where all they have are sticks!  You never know...

How Does Moses Make Tea? Hebrews!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The previous "joke" was one that Patient Spouse just had to tell me, he saw it on Facebook.  I hardly ever look at Facebook or Social Media. I'm glad to see I'm not missing anything if that's any indication of what the brain trust thinks is funny. OK, it is a little funny, if you're twelve!  Nobody is twelve.  Not even twelve- year-olds are twelve, they're more like sixteen!

The innovators of our age and the next generation of great minds developed these mediums so there would be a faster method to distribute "knock, knock" jokes?  Apparently.

A long time ago, a good friend of mine and myself used to spend hours and hours trying to divine exactly what her husband was contemplating. Not much, as it turned out. Together, she and I could have come up with the theory of everything or at least a decent cookbook.  If channeled properly, maybe I could have written something epic and my friend most certainly would have cured cancer. But noooo. We had to spend countless hours speculating about what her man might be thinking.  In high school. When thinking, admittedly, occupies the smallest part of the brain.  He might have been thinking about knock-knock jokes!

The irony for me is using a computer is the only way I can effectively communicate.  Social media couldn't have happened at a more opportune time.

 What's funny to me is that we have reinvented the method by which we interact, yet we interact exactly the same way we always have. A few minds came up with this exciting, new, platform, and the rest of us learned how to use the new platform so PS can dazzle me with a Biblical joke? Presumably first told in Biblical times, too? It still amuses me that the dudes who raced to the world-wide impact of the internet used so much intellect to all meet up "in space" so they can say, "How's it going?"  Or one person actually says "how's it going?" and the others all ponder the wittiest possible response to "how's it going?" but don't actually respond.

I see my life as a marathon comprised of a series of smaller races; victories strung together.  Like logging each individual mile on a stationary bike that brings me closer to this goal of neuroplasticity. It makes me feel a little better, as I'm biking to nowhere or  relearning to do routine things for myself that I had never given any thought to before cancer, that the greatest minds of our time are meeting is some virtual room someplace to ask,"Hows it going?"  Then they wait with baited breath for a response. Oscar the Grouch isn't spinning in his trashcan, but Oscar Wilde is probably spinning in his grave at the wit and wisdom displayed on Facebook (that I've seen anyway).  All that genius and energy spent developing better and faster means of making sure that everyone receives, "How's it going?" at the same time. Can we move on to something really important... like shoes?

PS - Even though I have blown off most TV, I will look at "premium" channels when they are free and R-rated shows are appropriate.  For reasons long forgotten we started watching programming on Showtime and two of those shows were "Homeland" and "Shameless".  "Homeland" is a confused mess of a program about the CIA (which some would argue is a confused mess of a program) but I was looking slightly forward to seeing the latest season opener of "Shameless." For those of you not exposed to "Showtime"(and believe me SHO just makes you wish you had HBO) "Shameless" is a program about the trials and tribulations of a large family named Gallagher. William H. Macy plays the patriarch of this dysfunctional clan, and in Seasons 1-4 he was shameless.  He drank a lot and constantly put his family in some kind of danger. When the current season opens we find "Frank" looking much worse than usual and prevailing on one of his younger children to run to the "drug store" and "pick up a few things."  He's a great actor; they're a colorful family; I get it.  In this season's free opener we get to see "Frank" preparing to get an alcohol enema from his son.  I left then.  I couldn't imagine any circumstances where watching that play out would benefit me in some way.  I still get the heeby-jeebies just remembering it!  Yep, even I have a line. And it was crossed!  And it was gross!  Mr. Macy will probably get nominated for a Golden Globe or whatever, but I don't need to see it, and neither do you!  If we live to be 100, none of us ever need to see that! The whole experience just made me really happy we cancelled Showtime.  Sheesh!

I'll be the One with the NameTag: Abbey Normal

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was all ready to write on a topic that has held my attention for awhile now:  Zombies:  Does it hurt my feelings that imaginary zombies would reject my brain?  Or is it one less thing to worry about?  Then this happened.

Our largest TV carries Netflix on the remote.  So we watch a lot of Netflix.  We watched  "Breaking Bad" and started watching "The Walking Dead", I wanted to see how the primary character became the leader.  The primary character was a sheriff's deputy and he was in a hospital recovering from a gunshot wound.  That should be enough for anybody but one day he wakes up and figures out the hospital is deserted.  So, he drags himself, wounds and all, (he's still bleeding) out of the hospital and that's when the fun really starts!

I watched "Breaking Bad" on Netflix and the same thing happened.  This seemingly average guy gets horrible news and it changes all his priorities and perceptions.  I finally figured out why these series are so watchable for me (or were):  "Breaking Bad" and "The Walking Dead" center around lead characters dealing with extreme circumstances (cancer, gunshot wounds) anyway and then get thrown a curve that throws those extreme concerns right out of the window.  Being treated for cancer seems inconsequential when the extremely violent drug cartel is after you!  Gunshot wounds are nothing compared to zombies walking around the hospital!  Presumably looking for brains.  Not mine.  I'll wear a name tag "Abbey Normal".

And what about Tom Cruise in "War of the Worlds"?  He's a seemingly normal single dad trying forge some kind of relationship with his daughter and son.  And then the aliens attacked from below and above and all Tom's normal concerns flew out the window, along with many of his neighbors.  Having a "civil" relationship with your Ex isn't even in your top ten list when aliens are turning your neighbors into fine powder!  His first instinct is to get out of town! So again, we have a normal person dealing with average concerns and then all hell (H?) breaks loose and he has to manage a whole new set of issues. Aliens.  WTH?  Juggling chainsaws, is how I metaphorically think of it.  Tom's character, Walter White,  Deputy What's-his-name, all,juggling chainsaws.

What do these aliens ultimately do?  Just when things get really interesting (or hopeless depending on how you look at it) they stop and die.  It's never explained why (and by then, you don't care, they're gone and that's all that's important) they die but they do and he gets his daughter (Dakota Fanning) to his Ex.

This juggling of running chainsaws is what I can relate to.  I had plenty of normal concerns before someone (God) decided to start throwing chainsaws at me.  So now I'm fully committed to juggling chainsaws and Patient Spouse keeps them running and full of gas.   What I mean is that the bizarre circumstances in which I now find myself obliterated most of my previous concerns and reshaped the others.

And I'm maxed out on stress!  Even a comparatively small injury is more than I can handle.  The four chainsaws I'm currently keeping airborne are all I can deal with.  Last week I was told by UCSF's head of Neurology that he had no ideas.  No new ideas or old ideas, or any.  Now that wasn't an answer I'd even considered.  I guess I had expected a tangible solution (something along the lines of ,"Oh, we see this all the time!  Here's what we'll do:).  Since I was given the medical equivalent of "I dunno", I will persevere on my own, I doubled my efforts at rehabbing.

I am determined to walk by St. Patrick's Day.  I neither know or care when I'll speak again. ( Yes, I know that would make some people very happy, if I just shut the hell up.  To those people I say,"Never!" and "Oh, really, well, nuts to you too because I already have a Speech Therapist!")

For all of you who wish me well (and I hope that's most of you), thank you and I'll keep you posted on my progress.  The photo this week is my father in Cordova, Alaska in 1955, holding a couple of furry friends, and he will celebrate his 81st birthday in April.  I hope to celebrate it with him.

PS - Am I the only person who found The US Postal Service and UPS's excuses for not delivering packages and cards on or before December 25th  especially lame?  Both used the following excuse;  Ready?  "We had too much mail."  Really. They said that.  I kid you not.  And I'm the one with the brain injury.  Isn't it the primary function of both services to deliver cards and packages?  By Christmas?  And wouldn't both services, oh, I don't know, expect a lot of extra mail in the month of December?  Wouldn't December be like, oh, their busiest time of year?  Year after year?  "Too much mail?"  Isn't that like McDonalds' running out of French fries or Budweiser running out of beer?  "Too much mail!"  Come On!  There are exactly two reasons why women tolerate those brown trucks:  (1) They usually bring something good and (2) Their delivery drivers wear those cute, brown shorts.  And that's about it.  The Postal Service was established and is maintained by our Government to deliver mail and that is it.  That's all they have to do.  Move the mail around, get it from point (A) to point (B), that's it.   So I don't ever want to hear ridiculous claims like there was "too much mail" as the excuse issued to customers for late deliveries in December.  Because that would be like saying "there is too much Christmas", or something equally silly in December.

A True "American" Maritime Disaster (No Nazis or Stinky Cruise Ships)

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was going to write something serious this week:  Brain tumors:  Food for Thought?  Would Zombies still want your brain if you have a tumor?  Then I heard about this:

2014 is starting off in a positive direction with a real boat disaster we can all get behind and worry about: Tell me that you've heard about this! Fifty some odd  people of science, journalists, and tourists locked to the bottom of the planet by ice. In contrast to the Carnival Cruise disaster from a year ago, after several days they're still reportedly in good spirits, and there are no reports about raw sewage dripping down the walls! Since these people are braving the worst Antarctica can dish out, I'm going to re-watch "The March of the Penguins" and investigate "Penguin Research" online. They can only be rescued by helicopter, but they will be rescued! (at the time of publication, all 52 passengers were airlifted to an Australian ice breaker ship; 22 Russian crew members will stay behind until the ice breaks up.)

This is another example of how random the content we're being spoon-fed by the news media is. News ought only be as good or bad as the news itself.  It just didn't resonate with me when it was a "stinky cruise" liner in the Gulf of Mexico, ironically named "Carnival Triumph." It just confirmed everything I had always suspected about hotels in general and cruise lines in particular: a nasty hotel room is only slightly better than a stateroom on a cruise ship.

Was I surprised when the "floating buffet" started to vomit raw sewage down hallways and into kitchens? Amused, absolutely!  Surprised?  Not so much.  I was surprised it doesn't happen more often!  Maybe it happens all the time and we're mercifully unaware of it!  The adult passengers looked a little sheepish disembarking the "Vessel of Stench," but their kids were hilarious in their description of every disgusting detail!

The research vessel in the Antarctic?  Full of good people doing good deeds with other good people trapped by bad, old, ice!  A shipwreck we can be proud of!  The survivors (all) airlifted off the ice-locked vessel, but it got me thinking about what, exactly, defines a disaster and what is a punchline?

Disaster or punchline? I was online and had to watch a series of Humira ads to load an app.  Humira, apparently, is used to treat IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) or Crohn's Disease (also requires close access to a bathroom).  Why couldn't I get one of those embarrassing-but-understandable afflictions?  But noooo I get a brain tumor!  And just not any brain tumor either, I get a brain tumor only little kids should get (because their brains can grow out of it, not that any demographic should get this, no one should ever get this) and it's cancerous. I mean, WTH?  Shingles sound really painful, so I don't want that!  Any condition that Humira helps, I probably don't want.  But a cancerous brain tumor?  Come on!  Seriously?  The big "C" right out of the gate?  Go Big or Go Home, I guess.  OK, I went really big, so when can I go home?

PS - I watched a few minutes of "The Walking Dead".  You know what's not very scary?  Zombies!  I even saw a teen movie ("Warm Bodies") where a girl falls in love with a "walker".  The boy gets a lot better, less Zombie more Justin Timberlake as time goes on.  In "The Walking Dead" the zombies start out scary but by Season 3 they're mostly annoying.  They can be in any state of decay but their basic qualities have not changed - they eat brains and they move slow, really, really slow.  The humans that have to deal with "walkers" start off being in abject terror and were herding "walkers" by season 3 into spaces with chain-link fencing.  The programs that use zombies as a theme?  I only have seen one, and the humans on TWD don't even like to waste a bullet on a "walker".  They slowly shamble (and I mean slowly) along looking for more brains to snack on.  So unless your Post-Holocaust friends throw you at some zombies or they sneak up behind you zombies are just not that scary!