I got a most unusual gift in the mail the other day: a mass card.
For you non-Catholics, that's notification that a group of religious people, in this case Brothers from a seminary in Western New York, is going to be saying prayers for me. They're doing it at the request of a lobbyist at the Capitol I've known and respected for years.
I shed Catholicism before I turned 20, and have been an ardent Unitarian-Universalist (not an oxymoron) for close to 30 years. To me that church, or society as we call ourselves in Albany, provides among other things a forum to think and talk about death and life and ethics and the other big questions of existence without having to swallow any dogma.
I haven't had much contact with Catholicism for decades, beyond weddings and funerals, but I still found the gesture of getting me a mass card very touching.
I don't think it's just some Catholic remnant from deep in my DNA, (one of the first things I did after being diagnosed with cancer in June was to contact a cousin who is a priest and asked him to pray for me) but a belief that there is a spiritual dimension to life. Isn't there? How we have lived our lives does matter. Doesn't it?
The last time I remember praying was when I was unceremoniously thrown into a dank prison cell by the police after I was arrested on a picket line during a Newspaper Guild strike against the Providence Journal 1973. I had said a bad word, actually a bad phrase, , ending in "you,'' to a cop, who took offense. Nothing like a little fear to inspire someone to get down on his knees. Maybe it worked. I was released shaken but unharmed the next morning.
So today's message: for those of you so inclined, please pray for me. For those who aren't, any and all kinds of positive thoughts are greatly appreciated. Denominational distinctions, at this point, are not important.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
The more things change...
Twenty-five years ago tomorrow, I reported for my first day at work at Gannett's Albany bureau after 10 years at the Rochester Times Union.
Biggest running story in the summer of 1984 was how, if at all, New York's popular new Democratic governor, Mario Cuomo, would figure in Democrats' attempt to oust former b-movie actor Ronald Reagan from the White House.
Just a few weeks later, I was in San Francisco to hear Cuomo deliver his poetic and passionate critique of the President's policies in his famous keynote address at the Democratic convention. There was talk briefly that the delegates would dump solid-but-boring Walter Mondale (Cuomo said the Minnesota senator was like "polenta,'' a plain but nurtitious Italian dish) for the flashy native of Queens. But nothing happened. Cuomo went back to running New York and Mondale got swamped.
For the first 22 years I was here, New York had only two governors, Cuomo for 10 and George Pataki for 12. The pace of new people serving as governor has picked up recently, as many of you have probably noticed.
State lawmakers, lobbyists, commisioners and others have come and gone, providing me along the way with fodder for among other things more than 1,000 columns (weekly from 1989 to this June 18) and multiple thousand news articles and one book.
While the personalities have changed, the basic issues - high taxes compared to other states and generally laggard economic growth - have remained the same, and in fact have intensified. Upstate has never been in worse shape. The the frequency of corruption seems to have picked up. The level of Sexual hijinks has stayed about the same.
In other words, I have been accorded all of these years a ringside seat to view the vivid, high-stakes collision of interests, ideas, power and money of a large and diverse state trying to regain its tarnished glory in a new world.
My hopes 25 years ago was that Albany would prove to be a big enough sandbox to keep me interested, while at the same time small enough for me to get my journalistic arms around it (unlike Washington). And also unlike Washington, it seemed to be a good place to raise a family, get around and live reasonably well on a reporter's salary.
I also thought it would be a fun place to be because most people have an interest in what happens at the Capitol, and most would want to talk about it, which is my idea of a good time.
It worked out on all of these levels.
In 2010 another Cuomo will probably take a shot at being elected governor, first having to get by the man currently sitting in the chair. Don't want to miss that.
Biggest running story in the summer of 1984 was how, if at all, New York's popular new Democratic governor, Mario Cuomo, would figure in Democrats' attempt to oust former b-movie actor Ronald Reagan from the White House.
Just a few weeks later, I was in San Francisco to hear Cuomo deliver his poetic and passionate critique of the President's policies in his famous keynote address at the Democratic convention. There was talk briefly that the delegates would dump solid-but-boring Walter Mondale (Cuomo said the Minnesota senator was like "polenta,'' a plain but nurtitious Italian dish) for the flashy native of Queens. But nothing happened. Cuomo went back to running New York and Mondale got swamped.
For the first 22 years I was here, New York had only two governors, Cuomo for 10 and George Pataki for 12. The pace of new people serving as governor has picked up recently, as many of you have probably noticed.
State lawmakers, lobbyists, commisioners and others have come and gone, providing me along the way with fodder for among other things more than 1,000 columns (weekly from 1989 to this June 18) and multiple thousand news articles and one book.
While the personalities have changed, the basic issues - high taxes compared to other states and generally laggard economic growth - have remained the same, and in fact have intensified. Upstate has never been in worse shape. The the frequency of corruption seems to have picked up. The level of Sexual hijinks has stayed about the same.
In other words, I have been accorded all of these years a ringside seat to view the vivid, high-stakes collision of interests, ideas, power and money of a large and diverse state trying to regain its tarnished glory in a new world.
My hopes 25 years ago was that Albany would prove to be a big enough sandbox to keep me interested, while at the same time small enough for me to get my journalistic arms around it (unlike Washington). And also unlike Washington, it seemed to be a good place to raise a family, get around and live reasonably well on a reporter's salary.
I also thought it would be a fun place to be because most people have an interest in what happens at the Capitol, and most would want to talk about it, which is my idea of a good time.
It worked out on all of these levels.
In 2010 another Cuomo will probably take a shot at being elected governor, first having to get by the man currently sitting in the chair. Don't want to miss that.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
O'er NH's sunlit hills...
I remember all of the words to my prep school alma mater because 1) they made us sing it regularly at the chapel services we had to attend four days a week and 2) because old friend Karl Fogel, who also went to Tilton and Colby College, and I would sing it together when we got drunk at Colby fraternity parties.
The words popped into my head the other day when we took a detour on our way to Boston from a resort in New Hampshire to visit the campus of The Tilton School, the prep school about 20 miles north of Concord from which I graduated 44 years ago.
While wandering through the dining hall (I swear the room has the same furniture it did in the '60s) I glanced up at the wall and saw plaques with the names of students who graduated with honors through the years. And there under the class of '64 was the name of Karl Arvedon Fogel. I didn't realize he was so smart. I have to admit we spent a lot more time dissecting the Celtics and Red Sox and our chances of getting a date the next time we went home than we did biological specimens or wobbly political theories.
The campus, which I last visited 14 years ago, still felt almost eerily familiar, with each of the rooms I lived in for those four years looking as spare and small as they did when I occupied them, even if the students now have sports, recreation and academic facilities (besides girls!) that we could only dream about in our day. I could almost see the faces and hear the laughs of the guys I roomed with.
And of course it brought back all sorts of memories of the faculty. Maybe the main advantage of the school for me was seeing the same men not just in the classroom or athletic field as would be the case in any school, but also in other life situations. Many of them lived with us (each dorm floor had a faculty apartment), we ate together (sit-down meals with assigned seating) and ran into each other constantly on the small, 250-student campus. We would even see their families sometimes - see our teachers being husbands and fathers.
Several of these men provided excellent role models, and for a while I thought teaching and coaching at a place like Tilton would be a nice life, and it might have been.
We certainly had a lot of laughs when I was there. I remember one math intructor/football-basketball coach whose style of teaching was dominated by him asking questions that typically prominently featured the word "what?" Such as "the area of a rectangle is equal to what? Length times width.''
This was tiresome almost beyond comprehension. But this style more than once got him into hilarious circumlocutions, as when he asked in class one day, "The answer is co-e-what? Co-e-fficient.''
Or on the basketball court, he was explaining how to run a certain play, and he said to one player, "So you cut off my what? My ass.''
Junie Carbonneau and most of the other men who helped mold me at Tilton are gone now. But they taught us about coefficents and teamwork and life. They have legacies I think almost any of us would envy.
The words popped into my head the other day when we took a detour on our way to Boston from a resort in New Hampshire to visit the campus of The Tilton School, the prep school about 20 miles north of Concord from which I graduated 44 years ago.
While wandering through the dining hall (I swear the room has the same furniture it did in the '60s) I glanced up at the wall and saw plaques with the names of students who graduated with honors through the years. And there under the class of '64 was the name of Karl Arvedon Fogel. I didn't realize he was so smart. I have to admit we spent a lot more time dissecting the Celtics and Red Sox and our chances of getting a date the next time we went home than we did biological specimens or wobbly political theories.
The campus, which I last visited 14 years ago, still felt almost eerily familiar, with each of the rooms I lived in for those four years looking as spare and small as they did when I occupied them, even if the students now have sports, recreation and academic facilities (besides girls!) that we could only dream about in our day. I could almost see the faces and hear the laughs of the guys I roomed with.
And of course it brought back all sorts of memories of the faculty. Maybe the main advantage of the school for me was seeing the same men not just in the classroom or athletic field as would be the case in any school, but also in other life situations. Many of them lived with us (each dorm floor had a faculty apartment), we ate together (sit-down meals with assigned seating) and ran into each other constantly on the small, 250-student campus. We would even see their families sometimes - see our teachers being husbands and fathers.
Several of these men provided excellent role models, and for a while I thought teaching and coaching at a place like Tilton would be a nice life, and it might have been.
We certainly had a lot of laughs when I was there. I remember one math intructor/football-basketball coach whose style of teaching was dominated by him asking questions that typically prominently featured the word "what?" Such as "the area of a rectangle is equal to what? Length times width.''
This was tiresome almost beyond comprehension. But this style more than once got him into hilarious circumlocutions, as when he asked in class one day, "The answer is co-e-what? Co-e-fficient.''
Or on the basketball court, he was explaining how to run a certain play, and he said to one player, "So you cut off my what? My ass.''
Junie Carbonneau and most of the other men who helped mold me at Tilton are gone now. But they taught us about coefficents and teamwork and life. They have legacies I think almost any of us would envy.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Mahad the Knife
The big event of the day was an interview in Boston with Dr. Anad Mahadevan, MD, FRCS, FRCR. I hope all of those initials mean he is a very smart guy.
He is the "cyberknife guru,'' the chief proponent and practitioner at Beth Israel of the new cancer-fighting technique that delivers high doses of radiation in short period of time. Essentially, they want to give me six weeks' worth of radiation in three days some time this fall. It depends on the chemo I will do first for three months being successful in stopping the spread of the cancer to other organs in my body.
I'm already somewhat invested in this, since during my surgery I had "fiducials'' (nothing to do with financial responsibility) placed in my tumor to direct the radiation with more precesion than would otherwise be the case. That's why they can give me a big dose, because if you miss by a little with the radiation, you do serious damage to surrounding healthy tissue, and it seems that everything around the pancreas is vital.
Will it help? Dr. Mahadevan said the technique is promising, but too new to say anything definitive about. But it might.
To say there are no guarantees with this is like saying the Red Sox aren't likely to win every game. But right now the risk-reward equation in having this done looks good.
I had no such ambivalent feelings about getting home today after being away since last Wednesday, especially in the heels of a delicious nap while Emily drove the last leg home. Boston is a great place, but the roads are narrow and windy and the drivers are nuts. Plus there are just too many people, even if most of them are Red Sox fans.
Home never looked better. Our new bay window in the dining room is finished and looks great, the lawn is mowed, there are fresh flowers on the table on the porch. Most important, the whole scene bespoke love and comfort and an end, at least temporarily, to cancer-related questions and interviews. I want to think about something else.
One of the first things I did was take a brief spin on my bike (newly allowed by my surgeon.) I listened to my body, as I was directed to do, and my body seemed to say, "You can do this.''
He is the "cyberknife guru,'' the chief proponent and practitioner at Beth Israel of the new cancer-fighting technique that delivers high doses of radiation in short period of time. Essentially, they want to give me six weeks' worth of radiation in three days some time this fall. It depends on the chemo I will do first for three months being successful in stopping the spread of the cancer to other organs in my body.
I'm already somewhat invested in this, since during my surgery I had "fiducials'' (nothing to do with financial responsibility) placed in my tumor to direct the radiation with more precesion than would otherwise be the case. That's why they can give me a big dose, because if you miss by a little with the radiation, you do serious damage to surrounding healthy tissue, and it seems that everything around the pancreas is vital.
Will it help? Dr. Mahadevan said the technique is promising, but too new to say anything definitive about. But it might.
To say there are no guarantees with this is like saying the Red Sox aren't likely to win every game. But right now the risk-reward equation in having this done looks good.
I had no such ambivalent feelings about getting home today after being away since last Wednesday, especially in the heels of a delicious nap while Emily drove the last leg home. Boston is a great place, but the roads are narrow and windy and the drivers are nuts. Plus there are just too many people, even if most of them are Red Sox fans.
Home never looked better. Our new bay window in the dining room is finished and looks great, the lawn is mowed, there are fresh flowers on the table on the porch. Most important, the whole scene bespoke love and comfort and an end, at least temporarily, to cancer-related questions and interviews. I want to think about something else.
One of the first things I did was take a brief spin on my bike (newly allowed by my surgeon.) I listened to my body, as I was directed to do, and my body seemed to say, "You can do this.''
Monday, July 27, 2009
My body is no GTO
Torque is bad.
That may surprise those of you who are still driving muscle cars (anyone else remember what a muscle car is?), where I think torque was prized because you could go from 0-60 in 30 seconds or something. But in the medical context, torque is the lateral strain placed on core muscles by such activities as, say, golf and kayaking. Because my abs are still recovering from the June 25th surgery, my surgeon said today that I should not engage in activities requiring lateral abdominal strain for at least another couple weeks.
On the other hand, he did clear me for swimming and biking. Above all, he said "listen to your body."
The surgeon, Mark Callery, was our first stop of the day. In the afternoon we visited the Dana Farber Comprehensive Cancer Care Center for another opinion.
I remember when I was as young as five years old listening to appeals from the Red Sox urging fans to contribute to the Jimmy Fund, which helps to support the Farber Center. I think the phrase "not in my wildest dreams" is appropriate here to describe what I thought of my chances of ever availing myself of Dana Farber's services.
The basic message from the Farber docs we talked to was essentailly that there is nothing new under the sun in terms of proven new treatments for pancreatic cancer. This makes the option of getting standard chemo in Albany followed by the "cyberknife" procedure back here in Boston sometime this fall look more appealing.
We have an appointment with the "cyberknife" guru tomorrow morning, and we hope he presents a compelling picture of its potential effectiveness.
That may surprise those of you who are still driving muscle cars (anyone else remember what a muscle car is?), where I think torque was prized because you could go from 0-60 in 30 seconds or something. But in the medical context, torque is the lateral strain placed on core muscles by such activities as, say, golf and kayaking. Because my abs are still recovering from the June 25th surgery, my surgeon said today that I should not engage in activities requiring lateral abdominal strain for at least another couple weeks.
On the other hand, he did clear me for swimming and biking. Above all, he said "listen to your body."
The surgeon, Mark Callery, was our first stop of the day. In the afternoon we visited the Dana Farber Comprehensive Cancer Care Center for another opinion.
I remember when I was as young as five years old listening to appeals from the Red Sox urging fans to contribute to the Jimmy Fund, which helps to support the Farber Center. I think the phrase "not in my wildest dreams" is appropriate here to describe what I thought of my chances of ever availing myself of Dana Farber's services.
The basic message from the Farber docs we talked to was essentailly that there is nothing new under the sun in terms of proven new treatments for pancreatic cancer. This makes the option of getting standard chemo in Albany followed by the "cyberknife" procedure back here in Boston sometime this fall look more appealing.
We have an appointment with the "cyberknife" guru tomorrow morning, and we hope he presents a compelling picture of its potential effectiveness.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The sun came out
To inaccurately paraphrase Little Orphan Annie, the sun came out today, and is suppposed to be out as well tomorrow - an unprecedented streak this summer. Since we're staying at an inn on a lake, this is good timing.
Today is also the one-month aniversary of my surgery. Of course, it seems like only about a lifetime ago, but who's counting? I count every day I'm further removed from it as a blessing.
The scar seems somewhat less angry now and the tightness in my gut a little less insistent, but in deference to my surgeon's wishes, I did not swim today in the lake where our inn is, but merely waded and allowed Ellen and Emily to take turns squiring me about in a row boat. Seems he's concerned that water seeping in through the wound would make an even bigger hash of my innards, and drowning is not the current standard of care for pancreatic tumors.
We hope when we meet with the surgeon Monday to get permission to fully submerge, and maybe even hop on a bike and hit a few golf balls. Seems like this time, while I'm largely recovered from the surgery but before chemo and radation start, might be a window for such activities.
Tomorow is also the first anniversary of Ellen's and Allyson's wedding. Unfortunately, Ellen has to go to Chicago to give a presentation for work. The plus: comp time.
Sorry I can't bitch about the Union Leader today. It doesn't publish any more on Saturdays. Doubt if I'll be able to bring myself to buy the Sunday edition.
Today is also the one-month aniversary of my surgery. Of course, it seems like only about a lifetime ago, but who's counting? I count every day I'm further removed from it as a blessing.
The scar seems somewhat less angry now and the tightness in my gut a little less insistent, but in deference to my surgeon's wishes, I did not swim today in the lake where our inn is, but merely waded and allowed Ellen and Emily to take turns squiring me about in a row boat. Seems he's concerned that water seeping in through the wound would make an even bigger hash of my innards, and drowning is not the current standard of care for pancreatic tumors.
We hope when we meet with the surgeon Monday to get permission to fully submerge, and maybe even hop on a bike and hit a few golf balls. Seems like this time, while I'm largely recovered from the surgery but before chemo and radation start, might be a window for such activities.
Tomorow is also the first anniversary of Ellen's and Allyson's wedding. Unfortunately, Ellen has to go to Chicago to give a presentation for work. The plus: comp time.
Sorry I can't bitch about the Union Leader today. It doesn't publish any more on Saturdays. Doubt if I'll be able to bring myself to buy the Sunday edition.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Rant time: Newspapers
Up here in New Hampshire, one of the daily pleasures is reading the Manchester Union Leader, the only statewide newspaper.
That's a joke, of course. The Union Leader is known as one of the more reactionary rags in the country. For example, it requires every candidate seeking its endorsement for state-wide office to "take the pledge," meaning they have to agree to oppose any broad-based, state-wide tax - leaving New Hampshire as the only state in the union with no sales or income tax. But this also means it's a lousy place to live if you need help from the government or pay property taxes. Anybody crossing the Union Leader on this issue is almost sure to fail to win the election.
The former long-time publisher, the late William Loeb, was famous for reducing then-Democratic presidential hopeful Edmund Muskie to tears through the paper's attacks on Muskie's wife in 1968. Muskie shortly after that dropped out of the race, which may or may not have been a good thing for the country. But it showed just how mean-spirited and personal Loeb and his paper could be, and typified how it's always gotten under the skin of liberal politicians.
Thursday's paper featured the return of a columnist who had taken a two-year hiatus while serving as the state's Republican party chairman. The topic of his first column was no surprise: he bashed the state's two Democratic US House members for their spending of public dollars. The columnist gave them no chance to defend themselves or respond, and the column read like a cheap partisan attack.
One would think that people like me, who have viewed the Union Leader dimly for decades, would cheer the paper's sliding circulation and ad revenue. But I mean to say exactly the opposite.
The Union Leader has survived all these years because it reflects the views of a lot of people, and has been an important forum for political debates and information-sharing. New Hampshire would be poorer without the Union Leader.
A more unambiguous example of the value of newspapers and the potential public calamity that their folding could bring is the Boston Globe.
The owner of the Globe, the New York Times Company, was talking openly only a few weeks ago about folding the paper, whose annual losses reach into eight figures. But the unions made concessions, and the immediate danger seems to have passed. The value of the Globe was seldom more apparent than this week, when it was filled with stories about the confrontation between a white Cambridge police officer and famous African American scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr. The Globe has covered every conceivable angle to this story, from reporting the fact that the cop in question tried and failed to save Celtics star Reggie Lewis' life in the 1980s, to extensive coverage of President Obama's remarks, to a profile of Gates, to columns and editorials that highlight the huge divide on the racially-charged issue.
What other news organization could possibly have filled the Globe's role in this story. Certainly not "Metro," the give-away tabloid that subway riders read. Certainly not talk radio, with its usual shouting and posturing. Certainly no website, which can't afford to pay a stable of journalists who are key to reporting a story like this. The Globe has seriously pulled back on its coverage of the world and of the country, but still seems to have the horsepower to do a good job on a big local story, which newspapers generally view as their last redoubt.
There. That felt good. Almost forgot I had cancer there for a few minutes.
That's a joke, of course. The Union Leader is known as one of the more reactionary rags in the country. For example, it requires every candidate seeking its endorsement for state-wide office to "take the pledge," meaning they have to agree to oppose any broad-based, state-wide tax - leaving New Hampshire as the only state in the union with no sales or income tax. But this also means it's a lousy place to live if you need help from the government or pay property taxes. Anybody crossing the Union Leader on this issue is almost sure to fail to win the election.
The former long-time publisher, the late William Loeb, was famous for reducing then-Democratic presidential hopeful Edmund Muskie to tears through the paper's attacks on Muskie's wife in 1968. Muskie shortly after that dropped out of the race, which may or may not have been a good thing for the country. But it showed just how mean-spirited and personal Loeb and his paper could be, and typified how it's always gotten under the skin of liberal politicians.
Thursday's paper featured the return of a columnist who had taken a two-year hiatus while serving as the state's Republican party chairman. The topic of his first column was no surprise: he bashed the state's two Democratic US House members for their spending of public dollars. The columnist gave them no chance to defend themselves or respond, and the column read like a cheap partisan attack.
One would think that people like me, who have viewed the Union Leader dimly for decades, would cheer the paper's sliding circulation and ad revenue. But I mean to say exactly the opposite.
The Union Leader has survived all these years because it reflects the views of a lot of people, and has been an important forum for political debates and information-sharing. New Hampshire would be poorer without the Union Leader.
A more unambiguous example of the value of newspapers and the potential public calamity that their folding could bring is the Boston Globe.
The owner of the Globe, the New York Times Company, was talking openly only a few weeks ago about folding the paper, whose annual losses reach into eight figures. But the unions made concessions, and the immediate danger seems to have passed. The value of the Globe was seldom more apparent than this week, when it was filled with stories about the confrontation between a white Cambridge police officer and famous African American scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr. The Globe has covered every conceivable angle to this story, from reporting the fact that the cop in question tried and failed to save Celtics star Reggie Lewis' life in the 1980s, to extensive coverage of President Obama's remarks, to a profile of Gates, to columns and editorials that highlight the huge divide on the racially-charged issue.
What other news organization could possibly have filled the Globe's role in this story. Certainly not "Metro," the give-away tabloid that subway riders read. Certainly not talk radio, with its usual shouting and posturing. Certainly no website, which can't afford to pay a stable of journalists who are key to reporting a story like this. The Globe has seriously pulled back on its coverage of the world and of the country, but still seems to have the horsepower to do a good job on a big local story, which newspapers generally view as their last redoubt.
There. That felt good. Almost forgot I had cancer there for a few minutes.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Off to NH
We're about to head up to New Hampshire this afternoon, in time to escape both the traffic and the raindrops which are descending on greater Boston. We heard much what we expected from the Beth Israel oncologist this morning. He recommends the standard chemo treatment protocol, which would preced the Cyberknife radiation treament. Thankfully, the chemo portion of this treament can be administered in Albany, and would start in about two weeks. We'll decide after later visits to other cancer centers whether this is the best option.
The unanswered question, of course, is how my body and the tumor will react to this chemo.
We have already learned several things on this trip, including the difference between the Pampas and Patagonia. The bar/restaurant where we had dinner last night sponsored a trivia contest which I, with my vast knowledge of mostly worthless information, thought would be easy. We ended up getting 1 out of 8 questions right, and tying for last among 26 teams.
Turns out, Patagonia is the southern most region of South America, rather than the Pampas; "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" was the Beatles first #1 hit in North America, not "Can't Buy Me Love"; and Greece threw off its monarchy in 1974, not Spain. The only one we got right, which I never would have imagined, was the photographer who took pictures of John Lennon just before he was shot - it was Annie Liebowitz, Allyson knew (based on the fact that Liebowitz was the only photographer she could name). So we didn't win the $750 first prize. Nice to still have some challenges ahead.
We're coming back to Boston Sunday night in preparation for more "fun" conversations with docs on Monday and Tuesday.
And, for the record, the four dimensions are length, width, depth, and time. That's something else we got wrong.
Too bad the questions wasn't about the Fifth Dimension. I know they recorded the "Age of Aquarius" in 1960s.
The unanswered question, of course, is how my body and the tumor will react to this chemo.
We have already learned several things on this trip, including the difference between the Pampas and Patagonia. The bar/restaurant where we had dinner last night sponsored a trivia contest which I, with my vast knowledge of mostly worthless information, thought would be easy. We ended up getting 1 out of 8 questions right, and tying for last among 26 teams.
Turns out, Patagonia is the southern most region of South America, rather than the Pampas; "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" was the Beatles first #1 hit in North America, not "Can't Buy Me Love"; and Greece threw off its monarchy in 1974, not Spain. The only one we got right, which I never would have imagined, was the photographer who took pictures of John Lennon just before he was shot - it was Annie Liebowitz, Allyson knew (based on the fact that Liebowitz was the only photographer she could name). So we didn't win the $750 first prize. Nice to still have some challenges ahead.
We're coming back to Boston Sunday night in preparation for more "fun" conversations with docs on Monday and Tuesday.
And, for the record, the four dimensions are length, width, depth, and time. That's something else we got wrong.
Too bad the questions wasn't about the Fifth Dimension. I know they recorded the "Age of Aquarius" in 1960s.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Road trip
We're heading out in a couple of hours for Ellen and Allyson's apartment in Somerville near Boston, so we can make a 9:30 appointment with an oncologist at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston tomorrow morning. That's the same place I had the surgery done four weeks ago tomorrow.
After tomorrow's doc visit, we're going to a resort in New Hampshire for the weekend, since we have more doc visits in Boston next Mon and Tues. Doc says I can't yet submerge myself above the incision, so I'll be wading and feet-dangling, if the weather cooperates.
This just in: We're also going to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore a week from Tuesday to attend an all-day clinic they have for pancreatic cancer victims there. Idea is they do tests and interviews in the morning, consult among themselves mid-day and have a course of treatment to suggest to us by the end of the day. They have been dragging their feet about letting me into this, but Janice eventually prevailed, as she usually does.
After some consultation among ourselves, we decided to fly (direct Southwest) rather than do the five-and- a-half-hour drive to Baltimore because time seems more important than money at this stage of the game.
Then two weeks from today it's another meeting with a doc we trust and like here to help us weigh what could be as many as four distinct options (Albany, Beth Israel, Dana Farber and Johns Hopkins) for treatment. Then it will be critical to start a course of treatment ASAP since cancer seldom gets better by just letting a tumor sit there.
Knowledge is power, someone once said. Hope they're right.
After tomorrow's doc visit, we're going to a resort in New Hampshire for the weekend, since we have more doc visits in Boston next Mon and Tues. Doc says I can't yet submerge myself above the incision, so I'll be wading and feet-dangling, if the weather cooperates.
This just in: We're also going to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore a week from Tuesday to attend an all-day clinic they have for pancreatic cancer victims there. Idea is they do tests and interviews in the morning, consult among themselves mid-day and have a course of treatment to suggest to us by the end of the day. They have been dragging their feet about letting me into this, but Janice eventually prevailed, as she usually does.
After some consultation among ourselves, we decided to fly (direct Southwest) rather than do the five-and- a-half-hour drive to Baltimore because time seems more important than money at this stage of the game.
Then two weeks from today it's another meeting with a doc we trust and like here to help us weigh what could be as many as four distinct options (Albany, Beth Israel, Dana Farber and Johns Hopkins) for treatment. Then it will be critical to start a course of treatment ASAP since cancer seldom gets better by just letting a tumor sit there.
Knowledge is power, someone once said. Hope they're right.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I was looking through a drawer today stuffed with letters from my mother, with whom I corresponded regularly from the time I left home to go to school in 1961 until she died in 1994.
Emily and I have also kept a basket full of our correspondence during the time we were going to school in different places in the two years before we got married.
It's already a cliche that younger people will have no such written archives of their lives to thumb through in their later years, even if they do manage to store it electronically. Historians will not have diaries and letters available to them that have brought past figures to life for contemporary readers for hundreds of years. Of course, they will have blogs and other electronic correspondence that has already tripped up an amazingly large number of politicians and criminals who seem to forget that emails can also have a long life. But still, it's not as permanent a record as something printed or as ink on paper. I, of course, bemoan the decline of correspondence by print and letter, which is related to the decline of newspaper readership.
However, Janice told me today that almost 200 people are following this blog on a daily basis and I realize how important the Internet can be in bringing people together, albeit in a more fleeting fashion than letters.
My mother is one of those people who could almost hear the coins drop as the charges increased according to the length of a long-distance call. I'm not sure she ever could have adjusted to the telecommunications revolution. But I am pretty sure that she would have been a huge fan of email, being able to keep in touch with a large number of people quickly and efficiently and getting sometimes an almost instantaneous response. I know that the emails I have received have been a source of great comfort and I will keep all of them for as long as I have the disc space to do so.
Meanwhile, it is great fun to pore back over my mother's written correspondence to see what was on our minds, say, 25 years ago.
Emily and I have also kept a basket full of our correspondence during the time we were going to school in different places in the two years before we got married.
It's already a cliche that younger people will have no such written archives of their lives to thumb through in their later years, even if they do manage to store it electronically. Historians will not have diaries and letters available to them that have brought past figures to life for contemporary readers for hundreds of years. Of course, they will have blogs and other electronic correspondence that has already tripped up an amazingly large number of politicians and criminals who seem to forget that emails can also have a long life. But still, it's not as permanent a record as something printed or as ink on paper. I, of course, bemoan the decline of correspondence by print and letter, which is related to the decline of newspaper readership.
However, Janice told me today that almost 200 people are following this blog on a daily basis and I realize how important the Internet can be in bringing people together, albeit in a more fleeting fashion than letters.
My mother is one of those people who could almost hear the coins drop as the charges increased according to the length of a long-distance call. I'm not sure she ever could have adjusted to the telecommunications revolution. But I am pretty sure that she would have been a huge fan of email, being able to keep in touch with a large number of people quickly and efficiently and getting sometimes an almost instantaneous response. I know that the emails I have received have been a source of great comfort and I will keep all of them for as long as I have the disc space to do so.
Meanwhile, it is great fun to pore back over my mother's written correspondence to see what was on our minds, say, 25 years ago.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Food for Thought
My current condition has turned my relationship with food upside down.
After spending a good part of my life devising strategies to lose weight, I'm now trying to follow my doctor's imperative to put on pounds.
Here's what I've done about that today so far. Shortly after waking up, I made myself a smoothie consisting of whole milk, orange juice, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, pineapple and yogurt. I drank the equivalent of two good-sized glasses of that concoction. No more skim milk and no more low-fat yogurt; now I consume the high octane stuff.
About two hours later, I had breakfast: two eggs over easy, leftover pork spare ribs from last night, and an English muffin.
Around 1:15, I had a "snack" consisting of peanuts, string cheese, and a protein bar.
All of this is a prelude to what I'm anticipating will be a pretty large dinner at our friends' house tonight. If things follow the course of the last few nights, I'll manage to down a scoop or two of orange sherbet before going to bed. It might even have a little whipped cream on top.
All this is much harder than it sounds. Instead of just waiting until I'm hungry to eat, I make a conscious effort to keep the calories coming even when nothing sounds very appealing. The result so far: I've gained about four pounds from my nadir of 169. My goal was about 180 and I had struggled for years to keep under 190. Many of you may remember that I haven't looked like I've missed too many meals in the last few years. I actually peaked at 213 fifteen years ago, before hip-replacement surgery allowed me to exercise regularly again.
All of this is in preparation for the onset of chemo and radiation therapy, which is almost sure to cost me a few more pounds off my six-foot frame. I tend to at least keep the whipped cream and orange sherbet flowing. I can't ever imagine not being hungry for that.
After spending a good part of my life devising strategies to lose weight, I'm now trying to follow my doctor's imperative to put on pounds.
Here's what I've done about that today so far. Shortly after waking up, I made myself a smoothie consisting of whole milk, orange juice, bananas, strawberries, blueberries, pineapple and yogurt. I drank the equivalent of two good-sized glasses of that concoction. No more skim milk and no more low-fat yogurt; now I consume the high octane stuff.
About two hours later, I had breakfast: two eggs over easy, leftover pork spare ribs from last night, and an English muffin.
Around 1:15, I had a "snack" consisting of peanuts, string cheese, and a protein bar.
All of this is a prelude to what I'm anticipating will be a pretty large dinner at our friends' house tonight. If things follow the course of the last few nights, I'll manage to down a scoop or two of orange sherbet before going to bed. It might even have a little whipped cream on top.
All this is much harder than it sounds. Instead of just waiting until I'm hungry to eat, I make a conscious effort to keep the calories coming even when nothing sounds very appealing. The result so far: I've gained about four pounds from my nadir of 169. My goal was about 180 and I had struggled for years to keep under 190. Many of you may remember that I haven't looked like I've missed too many meals in the last few years. I actually peaked at 213 fifteen years ago, before hip-replacement surgery allowed me to exercise regularly again.
All of this is in preparation for the onset of chemo and radiation therapy, which is almost sure to cost me a few more pounds off my six-foot frame. I tend to at least keep the whipped cream and orange sherbet flowing. I can't ever imagine not being hungry for that.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
My Third Daughter
As a father of two daughters, I never really expected to have a daughter-in-law. But hey, this is the 21st century.
Next Sunday Allyson and Ellen will be celebrating the first anniversary of their wedding, held on a spectacular mountaintop in Massachusetts. Both wore stunning wedding gowns.
It wasn't like I didn't know what to expect from Allyson as a daughter-in-law when she and Ellen got married, they had already been together for seven years since meeting at Grinnell College in Iowa.
So I knew she would be sweet, kind, intelligent and fun. And best of all, when she and Ellen were together, Ellen was at her happiest. That's more important to me than anything.
She and Ellen are making a nice life for themselves in Somerville, which is just outside Boston. Allyson, who has lived, taught, or gone to school on four continents, is a study abroad advisor at Brandeis while Ellen is an advocate for immigrants in Boston. If the housing market would just become a little more rational, they would happily settle in the Boston area.
This week Allyson is being called upon to step up to the plate as a full-fledged member of our family. While Emily tries to keep her psychotherapy practice going, Ellen reports back to work and Janice takes a few days off from care-giving and tries to catch up on her school work, Allyson is taking a week of her vacation to take care of me. Somehow it seems less likely a son-in-law would do that.
It will be chance for us to do crossword puzzles, take walks and eat meals together. It's hard to say I'm looking forward to much of anything these days, but there's no doubt that my third daughter is helping to smooth the way.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
A Fun Day, Even with no Abs
On day 23 post-surgery, one lesson learned: if you're gonna have an operation that requires extensive recuperation, do it in the summer.
A bright sunny day like today is perfect for a lot of casual neighborhood socialization, which is just what me, and I suspect most people in my position, like.
The star of the show today was Haley Anderson, our next door neighbor Moshiers' five-month old granddaughter, whom her grandmother was proudly babysitting for. With wispy red hair, big blue eyes and a bright ready smile, she epitomizes adorable.
We also went up today to our sailing club on Saratoga Lake today. There will be no sailing for me, or for that matter, kayaking or canoeing, until my abs regain more strength. But just sitting by the water feeling the sun, eating and chatting reminded me how great it is to be alive.
It seems like it rained almost every day I was in the hospital the last week in June. But the weather hasn't prevented me from walking once since I've been home. I've become more grateful for small blessings.
Of course, I recommend in general avoiding any ailment that requires someone to make a 9-inch gash across your abdomen. But some things, I've learned, are beyond our control.
Friday, July 17, 2009
If it Clucks Like a Chicken...
Reports that I went around the house this afternoon clucking like a chicken are apparently false.
I say "apparently" since I was under hypnosis, so I don't really know what happened.
I also say "apparently" because I assume my daughters were pulling my leg and I'm not even sure I know how to cluck like a chicken.
What I remember is this: A therapist friend of Emily's had gotten me to totally relax and actually fall asleep while she suggested that a positive attitude would be a valuable tool in my trying to defeat this cancer. She made a persuasive case that there's really no harm in believing the outcome will be positive and that the payoff is a better quality of life while the issue is in doubt, to say nothing of improving the chances of actually beating it.
One can safely call me a skeptic about such alternative approaches to medicine, which befits somebody who has been a journalist for 40 years. But this perspective has been changing the more I hear stories about people who have recovered against long odds with the help of such attitudes.
Another influence is the consistent prodding of Emily, who's a big believer in this approach, which she's used successfully in her psychotherapy practice for years. So what the hell? If going around the house sounding like a chicken would improve my chances of recovery I would start clucking away immediately.
In other news, we got an unusual promise from a radiologist today. He said he would "do a happy dance" if he were to administer radiation to someone like me with seeds implanted in a tumor. What sparked that reaction is that the seeds would improve the odds that the radiation goes to the right place. He refused to either demonstrate or describe just what such a dance would look like, saying it was not yet 5 p.m. and he had not yet had a glass of wine.
I say "apparently" since I was under hypnosis, so I don't really know what happened.
I also say "apparently" because I assume my daughters were pulling my leg and I'm not even sure I know how to cluck like a chicken.
What I remember is this: A therapist friend of Emily's had gotten me to totally relax and actually fall asleep while she suggested that a positive attitude would be a valuable tool in my trying to defeat this cancer. She made a persuasive case that there's really no harm in believing the outcome will be positive and that the payoff is a better quality of life while the issue is in doubt, to say nothing of improving the chances of actually beating it.
One can safely call me a skeptic about such alternative approaches to medicine, which befits somebody who has been a journalist for 40 years. But this perspective has been changing the more I hear stories about people who have recovered against long odds with the help of such attitudes.
Another influence is the consistent prodding of Emily, who's a big believer in this approach, which she's used successfully in her psychotherapy practice for years. So what the hell? If going around the house sounding like a chicken would improve my chances of recovery I would start clucking away immediately.
In other news, we got an unusual promise from a radiologist today. He said he would "do a happy dance" if he were to administer radiation to someone like me with seeds implanted in a tumor. What sparked that reaction is that the seeds would improve the odds that the radiation goes to the right place. He refused to either demonstrate or describe just what such a dance would look like, saying it was not yet 5 p.m. and he had not yet had a glass of wine.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Baseball and Life Lessons
You might not have heard but the Tri-City Valley Cats defeated the always-tough State College Spikes 10-4 last night, winning back-to-back games for the first time in three weeks, and improving their record to eights wins and 15 losses. But that wasn't the highlight of the evening for me.
We spent three bucks for a program that included a fascinating Q & A with the Valley Cats manager, a baseball lifer named Jim Pankovits, a benchwarmer for the Astros and Red Sox in the 1980s. It may be just the stage of life I'm in right now, but I thought some of his answers were especially poignant. For example, he was asked:
- Do you have aspirations of managing in the major leagues?
Not anymore.
- What's the toughest aspect of your job?
Releasing a player and telling him that his dream is over.
- What's more rewarding: instructing players on how to behave between the lines or away from the clubhouse?
Away from the clubhouse. Playing between the lines is temporary. Outside the lines is for the rest of their lives.
So, here's a guy with no illusions, limited dreams, and a clear idea of what's important in life. I would like to think that this will more closely describe me when I come out the other end of my current situation. As hard as this has been, I am trying to appreciate the new perspective that comes from going through this ordeal.
For those of you who want to cath Pankovits' team in action, tonight might be the perfect night: they are giving away Michell Obama bobblehead dolls to all attendees.
We spent three bucks for a program that included a fascinating Q & A with the Valley Cats manager, a baseball lifer named Jim Pankovits, a benchwarmer for the Astros and Red Sox in the 1980s. It may be just the stage of life I'm in right now, but I thought some of his answers were especially poignant. For example, he was asked:
- Do you have aspirations of managing in the major leagues?
Not anymore.
- What's the toughest aspect of your job?
Releasing a player and telling him that his dream is over.
- What's more rewarding: instructing players on how to behave between the lines or away from the clubhouse?
Away from the clubhouse. Playing between the lines is temporary. Outside the lines is for the rest of their lives.
So, here's a guy with no illusions, limited dreams, and a clear idea of what's important in life. I would like to think that this will more closely describe me when I come out the other end of my current situation. As hard as this has been, I am trying to appreciate the new perspective that comes from going through this ordeal.
For those of you who want to cath Pankovits' team in action, tonight might be the perfect night: they are giving away Michell Obama bobblehead dolls to all attendees.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
It only seems like 20 years...
20 days after the operation I continue to slowly build strength and feel a bit more human every day. That's just as well, because it's almost time for the next phase of treatment to begin. We have to decide exactly what kind of chemotherapy we want, and who will administer it and where I will be treated. This is a bit of a daunting task, because the most common chemotherapies generally aren't very effective. So we're searching diligently for better options. The "cyberknife" radiation treatment that the operation helped to prepare me for is an unproven but promising mode of treatment. It's a lot to try to digest and evaluate - something I couldn't do without Emily, Janice and Ellen.
So far, we have a few appointments scheduled in Albany over the next week (with the primary care provider, medical oncologist and radiation oncologist) and then we'll all be in Boston to meet with doctors there. We hope to have a better understanding of our plan going forward, especially with the chemo, after those appointments are over which should by the end of July.
The daily markers for how I am doing tend to be the following: how much sleep I get overnight, how my mid-day nap goes, how far I walk, how hungry I am, how much I eat and how balanced my blood sugar is. Generally things have been on an upswing in the past week, and I have put back on 5 pounds out of the 24 I have lost. And, in a landmark development, I am about to head out to my first Valley Cats baseball game post-surgery.
So far, my major impression almost five weeks after my diagnosis is: I'm stunned how nice people have been.
So far, we have a few appointments scheduled in Albany over the next week (with the primary care provider, medical oncologist and radiation oncologist) and then we'll all be in Boston to meet with doctors there. We hope to have a better understanding of our plan going forward, especially with the chemo, after those appointments are over which should by the end of July.
The daily markers for how I am doing tend to be the following: how much sleep I get overnight, how my mid-day nap goes, how far I walk, how hungry I am, how much I eat and how balanced my blood sugar is. Generally things have been on an upswing in the past week, and I have put back on 5 pounds out of the 24 I have lost. And, in a landmark development, I am about to head out to my first Valley Cats baseball game post-surgery.
So far, my major impression almost five weeks after my diagnosis is: I'm stunned how nice people have been.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Tiger he ain't
I've always thought golf was a stupid game. In prep school, one of my roommates was captain of the golf team, and we razzed him unmercifully for going out in his cute golf outfits to chase a little ball around a course, while us "macho" guys were trying to knock each other silly on the football field.
Turns out, of course, he was a lot smarter than we were. A couple of years ago I was going up a chairlift with two Colby friends, one of whom I played football with, the other a fellow track team member. We decided that, had we been smart, we would have skied and learned to play tennis and golf when we were young.
It's a cliche of course, but obviously sports that you can play throughout most of your life are by far the most valuable, and they're easiest to learn when you're young. I confess to not having played a second of organized football, run in a track meet, or played anything other than pick-up hockey in the forty years since I left school.
Immediately after graduation, I hit upon tennis as the ideal long-time sport: fun, competitive, social and somewhat aerobic. I went to week-long tennis clinics for three consecutive summers not long after I left college and mastered the basics. So for the next 25 years or so, tennis was my major athletic focus.
But two artificial hips and a chronic bad back finally persuaded me to give that up, leaving me with - of all things - golf. And I admit, mostly cart golf. The reasons I can't play tennis mean that even walking 18 holes is pretty tough for me. But I have discovered, late, the joys of golf: the satisfaction of making good contact, the thrill of making an occasional good shot, the ease with which mulligans and foot wedges can improve a score. There's also the sociability, the outdoors, and the 19th hole.
I hit a few balls today for the first time since the surgery, and was pleased to discover it didn't add to my pain. I hope it won't be long before I am out there hacking up my home course again.
I also gave Janice her first lesson today, the day after we picked up a set of lefty women's clubs used for $26. Can't beat Play it Again sports! Me teaching her golf is a bit like the blind leading the blind, but it was fun anyway.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Heath Care Reform
I have for years been frustrated with this country's medical system - the ever-escalating costs, the long waits, the seeming avarice of insurance companies, and the uneven distribution of services. I have written more than my share about Medicaid, the health insurance system for poor people, which at times has threatened to swallow up the state budget, as well as that of many counties. The feds pay half of the $46 billion program in New York, while New York City, the counties and the state pay the rest. The rise in costs has been inexorable over the past few decades since it was created in 1965. I also understand that Medicare, the program fully-funded by the federal government for health care for people over 65, isn't sustainable with us boomers about to tap into it, instead of supporting it with deductions from our paychecks. But now that I'm a major consumer of health care services, my perspective has changed.
We are embarking tomorrow on a series of meetings over the next two weeks with a number of cancer specialists, both in Albany and Boston. We are going to get first, second and third opinions on just where we should go from here in terms of my treatment. It will be all or mostly paid for by my company-provided health insurance, which now seems to be not only generous, but what I deserve after working most of my adult life for Gannett. Company representatives have been incredibly helpful and efficient as I have gone through this process.
Under a more rational, cost-effective system, such redundant consultancies probably would be banned, or at least I would have to pay for them out-of-pocket. To us, however, these consultancies don't seem at all redundant: we're eager for any scrap of information that might improve my chances of recovery. We went through a similar, but more hurried process, when picking a surgeon, and ended up having a well-known, experienced doctor from Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Boston do the operation, instead of a less-experienced doctor in Albany.
At a recent college reunion, Emily was talking to one of our Colby classmates who spent his career as a physician. He said that under any plan to provide universal coverage those now at the top of the pile are likely to get less care, and those at the bottom more.
That sounds pretty good theoretically, unless you end up in a spot like I'm in.
Now I'm a hungry consumer who has already devoured tens of thousands of dollars worth of health care. And poised to use up a lot more. It's not fair, but because I have held a steady job with a big company for 35 years, have accumulated some money, and have strong advocates working on my behalf, I have access to top-quality care. I may turn out to be one of those people on whom 90 percent of their health care expenses comes in the final year of his life.
The whole point of these consultations and treatments, of course, is to turn the clock back on that final year as far as possible.
We are embarking tomorrow on a series of meetings over the next two weeks with a number of cancer specialists, both in Albany and Boston. We are going to get first, second and third opinions on just where we should go from here in terms of my treatment. It will be all or mostly paid for by my company-provided health insurance, which now seems to be not only generous, but what I deserve after working most of my adult life for Gannett. Company representatives have been incredibly helpful and efficient as I have gone through this process.
Under a more rational, cost-effective system, such redundant consultancies probably would be banned, or at least I would have to pay for them out-of-pocket. To us, however, these consultancies don't seem at all redundant: we're eager for any scrap of information that might improve my chances of recovery. We went through a similar, but more hurried process, when picking a surgeon, and ended up having a well-known, experienced doctor from Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Boston do the operation, instead of a less-experienced doctor in Albany.
At a recent college reunion, Emily was talking to one of our Colby classmates who spent his career as a physician. He said that under any plan to provide universal coverage those now at the top of the pile are likely to get less care, and those at the bottom more.
That sounds pretty good theoretically, unless you end up in a spot like I'm in.
Now I'm a hungry consumer who has already devoured tens of thousands of dollars worth of health care. And poised to use up a lot more. It's not fair, but because I have held a steady job with a big company for 35 years, have accumulated some money, and have strong advocates working on my behalf, I have access to top-quality care. I may turn out to be one of those people on whom 90 percent of their health care expenses comes in the final year of his life.
The whole point of these consultations and treatments, of course, is to turn the clock back on that final year as far as possible.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
It's 1963 Again
Even though I'm 62, I feel 16 again. No, I didn't rediscover youthful vigor or even a full head of hair. But I feel one very powerful urge that I first experienced as a teen. I want to drive.
In the 17 days since the operation, I have been ferried about by Emily, Janice and Ellen. It's a dependent feeling that I'm eager to shed. So yesterday when we drove about 12 miles to a restaurant for dinner I decided to get behind the wheel again.
My doc had warned us that I might need to wait as long as four weeks after the operation to drive. But I figured I've been off pain medications for almost a week and my head is fairly clear, so I saw no reason not to do it.
The trip was uneventful and I did enjoy the feeling of control as I made basic decisions like how fast to go and when to turn. It made me feel less like a patient and more like a person.
One of the best parts was as the driver I got to control the radio and so I could blast my 50's satellite station. We were rewarded by hearing Danny and the Junior's "At the Hop."
Doesn't get much better than that.
Next up: maybe a solo. I need to get a haircut next week before all my hair falls out when I start chemo or maybe I'll think of some other excuse to go out by myself.
In the 17 days since the operation, I have been ferried about by Emily, Janice and Ellen. It's a dependent feeling that I'm eager to shed. So yesterday when we drove about 12 miles to a restaurant for dinner I decided to get behind the wheel again.
My doc had warned us that I might need to wait as long as four weeks after the operation to drive. But I figured I've been off pain medications for almost a week and my head is fairly clear, so I saw no reason not to do it.
The trip was uneventful and I did enjoy the feeling of control as I made basic decisions like how fast to go and when to turn. It made me feel less like a patient and more like a person.
One of the best parts was as the driver I got to control the radio and so I could blast my 50's satellite station. We were rewarded by hearing Danny and the Junior's "At the Hop."
Doesn't get much better than that.
Next up: maybe a solo. I need to get a haircut next week before all my hair falls out when I start chemo or maybe I'll think of some other excuse to go out by myself.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Charlie
I've never liked dogs.
I've always thought they spent the bulk of their time barking, pooping and smelling bad. I never got the "man's best friend" deal. We had one only briefly when I was a kid and resisted our own children's entreaties to get one.
But I love Charlie. He is my daughter's 100-pound 10 year-old Old English Sheepdog who, along with Janice, is spending the summer with us.
Charlie is smelly. Charlie does bark and manages to produce human-sized poop that has to be picked up. He also has a knack for lying down in the house in the most inconvenient place.
Janice inherited him a year ago when my sister died. Before that, I mainly remember Charlie as an unwieldy beast who would muscle his way to the coffee table where hors d'oeuvres were put out at my sister's house during holiday celebrations. If you made the mistake of holding a canape in your hand for a moment, he would snatch it away. Cute or what, huh? But now I see him as sort of a slow-footed dull-witted but loyal adjunct to the family. He tries to never let Janice out of his sight and always seems appreciative of a scratch under his chin or behind his ear. When we've had our crying jags over the last few weeks, he actually seems to join in.
His most distinctive trait is that he loves to ride in cars. In fact, once he's ensconced in the back seat, he would rather sit there all day than have to actually exit the car. Sometimes he looks up at me and seems to be contemplating the universe. I asked Janice what do you think is on his mind? "Food," she said.
Janice had him washed today so he actually smells pretty good and he's more fun to hug. I still won't pick up his poop though.
Friday, July 10, 2009
How mighty is the pen?
The pen is mightier than the sword, or at least it used to be before the internet.
Now I am about to see if the pen is mightier than diabetes.
The doc has given us couple of pen-like devices that make giving myself insulin as easy as throwing a dart - as long as you don't mind being the dartboard. The idea is to help hold down my blood sugar level as I eat more than normal to gain weight, while my pancreas is still deciding how well it is going to function.
We overshot a bit today so that my blood sugar level was actually too low this morning, so this will take some playing with. But we are planning on having a big dinner tonight. That will put my new pens through their paces.
People have been telling me that "I really don't look that bad," which I interpret, 15 days out from surgery, as high praise.
We emulated Bill Bryson again today and took another walk in the woods. While our first such post-operative hike was pretty smooth sailing, this one was more Bryson-like. The path was uneven, muddy and largely overgrown, and when we saw a deer bounding ahead of us, I was tardily reminded of the dangers of deer ticks. This is no time to get Lyme disease. We emerged into civilization after about a 1/2 mile, and I reluctantly concurred with Emily's idea of walking on the road as she went back and fetched the car. At least now small humilitations don't bother me as much as they used to.
Now I am about to see if the pen is mightier than diabetes.
The doc has given us couple of pen-like devices that make giving myself insulin as easy as throwing a dart - as long as you don't mind being the dartboard. The idea is to help hold down my blood sugar level as I eat more than normal to gain weight, while my pancreas is still deciding how well it is going to function.
We overshot a bit today so that my blood sugar level was actually too low this morning, so this will take some playing with. But we are planning on having a big dinner tonight. That will put my new pens through their paces.
People have been telling me that "I really don't look that bad," which I interpret, 15 days out from surgery, as high praise.
We emulated Bill Bryson again today and took another walk in the woods. While our first such post-operative hike was pretty smooth sailing, this one was more Bryson-like. The path was uneven, muddy and largely overgrown, and when we saw a deer bounding ahead of us, I was tardily reminded of the dangers of deer ticks. This is no time to get Lyme disease. We emerged into civilization after about a 1/2 mile, and I reluctantly concurred with Emily's idea of walking on the road as she went back and fetched the car. At least now small humilitations don't bother me as much as they used to.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Who says grades matter?
I heard today from Rich Connor, my former roommate and best friend at the Tilton School, a prep school in New Hampshire which we both attended from 1961-1965. Rich was objecting to the fact that I had told someone we both know that was "a total fuck-up as a student." His objection was that his name and "student" should never be included in the same sentence.
While no academic wiz, Rich went on to have a great career in, of all things, newspapers. In fact, he would definitely qualify as a newspaper "tycoon" if newspapers were still valuable enough to have tycoons.
I have joked for years that New York State, newspapers and me were all headed for simultaneous demise. I now wish to take that back, and call on all sides to take it slow. However.
I will sleep more securely tonight knowing that New York has a lieutenant governor. What a relief.
While no academic wiz, Rich went on to have a great career in, of all things, newspapers. In fact, he would definitely qualify as a newspaper "tycoon" if newspapers were still valuable enough to have tycoons.
I have joked for years that New York State, newspapers and me were all headed for simultaneous demise. I now wish to take that back, and call on all sides to take it slow. However.
I will sleep more securely tonight knowing that New York has a lieutenant governor. What a relief.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Different Day 13
This is day 13 following surgery - the day after both hip-replacement operations (in 1994 and 1998) that I returned to work. Ain't close to that now, with lots to accomplish even after I recover from the surgery, which still has a way to go. I'm feeling more human, though.
Human enough to go with Janice to a movie matinee today - the bloody but engrossing "Public Enemies.'' We persuaded each other that seeing a 3:30 movie was a luxury and not decadent. Johnny Depp is great as John Dillinger.
We also picked up a truckful of new medications and devices on our way home to mark my status as at least a temporary diabetic. I now have a pen-like device that makes administering insulin look as easy as signing my name. We'll see.
This break has also given me a chance to read the "Guernsey Potato-Peel and Literary Society,'' a terrific book about the German occupation of one of the channel islands during World War 2, told in a series of letters. Warm, touching and recommended by Emily's book group. It's the kind of book my mother would have polished off in an evening and night. I remember her often saying in her later years that the best part of retirement was not having to put a book down if she didn't want to.
Also started today "This Time,'' a generous gift from Jerry McLaughlin, a novel about the Boston police strike of 1919. Hard to put down already. Great sense of time and place.
Human enough to go with Janice to a movie matinee today - the bloody but engrossing "Public Enemies.'' We persuaded each other that seeing a 3:30 movie was a luxury and not decadent. Johnny Depp is great as John Dillinger.
We also picked up a truckful of new medications and devices on our way home to mark my status as at least a temporary diabetic. I now have a pen-like device that makes administering insulin look as easy as signing my name. We'll see.
This break has also given me a chance to read the "Guernsey Potato-Peel and Literary Society,'' a terrific book about the German occupation of one of the channel islands during World War 2, told in a series of letters. Warm, touching and recommended by Emily's book group. It's the kind of book my mother would have polished off in an evening and night. I remember her often saying in her later years that the best part of retirement was not having to put a book down if she didn't want to.
Also started today "This Time,'' a generous gift from Jerry McLaughlin, a novel about the Boston police strike of 1919. Hard to put down already. Great sense of time and place.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Doc to Jay: Eat and sleep
I got my marching orders from the doc today: eat and sleep. We immediately responded by going out to lunch/dinner at the Cheese Factory.
She said I need to eat to get fattened up for the chemo and radiation treatments we expect to start next month that are sure to drain me. Have to think the banana cream cheesecake, on top of a crab-salad sandwich, was a step in that direction.
Always knew I carried that extra 15 pounds around my middle, now vanished, for something. So I'm trying to build back up from 170.
Sleep is the best thing for recovering from surgery.
She also mentioned that I could be ready to play golf in a couple of weeks, but shouldn't drive for a few more - more of a legal than a medical issue, she said.
Blood-sugar balance is less of a concern than maintaining weight. The sugar can be controlled with insulin, and she gave us a fancy new pen-like gismo that makes administering it simple.
One more Bill Bryson note: some of you may have read his childhood memoir, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. It was at the same time one of the funniest and most touching books I've ever read. I don't pretend to have his talent, but thought it would be fun to give at least Ellen and Janice a sense of my world more than 50 years ago.
She said I need to eat to get fattened up for the chemo and radiation treatments we expect to start next month that are sure to drain me. Have to think the banana cream cheesecake, on top of a crab-salad sandwich, was a step in that direction.
Always knew I carried that extra 15 pounds around my middle, now vanished, for something. So I'm trying to build back up from 170.
Sleep is the best thing for recovering from surgery.
She also mentioned that I could be ready to play golf in a couple of weeks, but shouldn't drive for a few more - more of a legal than a medical issue, she said.
Blood-sugar balance is less of a concern than maintaining weight. The sugar can be controlled with insulin, and she gave us a fancy new pen-like gismo that makes administering it simple.
One more Bill Bryson note: some of you may have read his childhood memoir, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. It was at the same time one of the funniest and most touching books I've ever read. I don't pretend to have his talent, but thought it would be fun to give at least Ellen and Janice a sense of my world more than 50 years ago.
Monday, July 6, 2009
A day on the porch
As several of you commented, yesterday's blog title was indeed taken from Bill Bryson's book "A Walk in the Woods," in which Bryson recounts the comic ups and downs of his adventure on the Appalachian Trail (AT). While it may have seemed after yesterday's post and Jay's athletic history that a hike on the AT was in the near future, Dad says he realized today that a different approach is more appropriate for this recovery. After his hip surgery, the harder he could push himself physically, the quicker his recovery. With this surgery, however, rest really is the best medicine, and he is trying to actually slow down, allow himself naps and heed his body's calls for moderation.
While physcially he has agreed to take it easy, he proved himself mentally sharp and competitive as always, as he trounced me for the umpteenth time in chess today. I can beat him at other games (notably, in Boggle since I was ten), but somehow we haven't played any games I am good at during his recovery.
Jay also started to dictate his memoirs today - something he has wanted to do for a long time. I transcribed stories from his early childhood, and learned more about my grandfather, also a lifelong journalist, and his and my father's first magical visit to Fenway Park in the early 1950s.
We have a doctor's appointment tomorrow where we look forward to learning more about how to manage dad's blood sugar effetively.
While physcially he has agreed to take it easy, he proved himself mentally sharp and competitive as always, as he trounced me for the umpteenth time in chess today. I can beat him at other games (notably, in Boggle since I was ten), but somehow we haven't played any games I am good at during his recovery.
Jay also started to dictate his memoirs today - something he has wanted to do for a long time. I transcribed stories from his early childhood, and learned more about my grandfather, also a lifelong journalist, and his and my father's first magical visit to Fenway Park in the early 1950s.
We have a doctor's appointment tomorrow where we look forward to learning more about how to manage dad's blood sugar effetively.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A walk in the woods
Team Gallagher at Five Rivers todayToday we had an excursion! The family indeed went to our local park, Five Rivers, and took a 1/2 mile walk. While still fa from walking 18 holes, this was the biggest outdoor activity since the hospital, and was good for all of us. We also managed to fit in a trip to Hudson, an industrial-turned-cutesy town (along the shore of, you guessed it, the Hudson River) to drop my sister off. Ellen has to return to work in Boston next week, so Janice and Emily will hold down the fort, along with all the wonderfully generous friends in the Albany area.
Dad was a little disheartened by the 5-set, over 4-hour men's Wimbledon final, in which Andy Roddick finally fell to Roger Federer's fierce serve. On the upside, he is enjoying a growing appetite, longer walks, and generally seems to be on the fast road to recovery from his surgery.
Mom & Dad at 5 fivers:
And finally, a turtle!
Here's to Tylenol
A bit of sleeping breakthrough last night: Jay decided to lay off the morphine that has helped ease pain at night, replacing it with a couple of Tylenol and a sleeping pill. The result was his first really solid night's sleep since the surgery and no noticeable increase in pain.
That puts him in good shape to root for Andy Roddick to win Wimbleton today, and even attempt a bit of a walk at Five Rivers, our treasured nearby state park, and stare at that strange bright orb in the sky he faintly remembers.
We took a holiday from posting yesterday. Among the Sat. highlights: visit from Joe Spector with great care basket and LCA card. Tom Precious had the best line: all he has to do is ask the gov, "How are you going to pay for that, governor?" when virtually any announcement is made, and it's almost like Jay's still around.
That puts him in good shape to root for Andy Roddick to win Wimbleton today, and even attempt a bit of a walk at Five Rivers, our treasured nearby state park, and stare at that strange bright orb in the sky he faintly remembers.
We took a holiday from posting yesterday. Among the Sat. highlights: visit from Joe Spector with great care basket and LCA card. Tom Precious had the best line: all he has to do is ask the gov, "How are you going to pay for that, governor?" when virtually any announcement is made, and it's almost like Jay's still around.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Naps are Wonderful
Dad had a great night's sleep last night (almost 7 hours). When asked about his favorite part of the day, Dad replied "I like napping." And it's true, he was able to also have two long naps during the day. Janice reminded Dad that it makes sense he's so tired: he's recovering from major surgery, he is sleep deprived after 7 nights in the hospital and he took a long walk today.
How long a walk you ask? Half a mile! For those of you who know our neighborhood, we started at the circle and made it up to Orchard and Elwood and back. About half way through, Dad said he felt like he was doing a marathon. The feeling is understandable, but he made it. We all enjoyed being able to take a walk together and Charlie (Janice's 100+ pound Old English Sheep dog) keep us entertained as usual.
We have been really enjoying the quiet time at home. For those of you who are wanting to help, our friend has asked that I pass along her message via this blog. As of right now, food might be appreciated. Mom has asked for healthy, fresh food. Please also keep in mind that Dad has to watch his sugar intake now.
Local support for Jay and Emily
Many folk in the Albany area are asking what they can do to be helpful. Jay and Emily are delighted to know how many people care about them deeply. It's important that the help doesn't bunch up at the beginning and then dwindle over time when it is most needed. The nature of help will be changing from week to week as J& E may be going to Boston some times for treatment. Also Jay's diet requirements are likely to change from time to time. To avoid lots of "what can we do?" phone calls, Sigrin Newell has agreed to be the point person. She will talk to Emily each week to find out what is needed and get back to volunteers with the requests. She is setting up a weekly schedule with at least one person/family for each week throughout the summer. When that's full, others will be called for specific requests. Some weeks it might be a meal, others might be chocolate, flowers, someone to hang out and watch a ball game with Jay while Emily is out of the house or to go hiking with Emily, some weeks it might just be "we need alone time, thanks anyway."
If you would like to join the J& E support group, send an email to sigrin.newell(at)waldenu(dot)edu. Tell her what kinds of things you might provide, your email address, phone numbers and dates when you are available. Make the header J& E support so it's easy for her to find it. Thanks!
How long a walk you ask? Half a mile! For those of you who know our neighborhood, we started at the circle and made it up to Orchard and Elwood and back. About half way through, Dad said he felt like he was doing a marathon. The feeling is understandable, but he made it. We all enjoyed being able to take a walk together and Charlie (Janice's 100+ pound Old English Sheep dog) keep us entertained as usual.
We have been really enjoying the quiet time at home. For those of you who are wanting to help, our friend has asked that I pass along her message via this blog. As of right now, food might be appreciated. Mom has asked for healthy, fresh food. Please also keep in mind that Dad has to watch his sugar intake now.
Local support for Jay and Emily
Many folk in the Albany area are asking what they can do to be helpful. Jay and Emily are delighted to know how many people care about them deeply. It's important that the help doesn't bunch up at the beginning and then dwindle over time when it is most needed. The nature of help will be changing from week to week as J& E may be going to Boston some times for treatment. Also Jay's diet requirements are likely to change from time to time. To avoid lots of "what can we do?" phone calls, Sigrin Newell has agreed to be the point person. She will talk to Emily each week to find out what is needed and get back to volunteers with the requests. She is setting up a weekly schedule with at least one person/family for each week throughout the summer. When that's full, others will be called for specific requests. Some weeks it might be a meal, others might be chocolate, flowers, someone to hang out and watch a ball game with Jay while Emily is out of the house or to go hiking with Emily, some weeks it might just be "we need alone time, thanks anyway."
If you would like to join the J& E support group, send an email to sigrin.newell(at)waldenu(dot)edu. Tell her what kinds of things you might provide, your email address, phone numbers and dates when you are available. Make the header J& E support so it's easy for her to find it. Thanks!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Home!
"Team Gallagher" has finally returned to Gallagher Headquarters in New York. We were greeted by our beautifully remodeled kitchen that the contractor and our friends had knocked themselves out getting ready for our return. It is beyond appreciated and looks stunning.
Mom stayed over in the hospital last night and was able to get a good night's sleep. While she was there, a resident took out Dad's staples and put a whole mass of sterry strips over his wound. He was also able to shower for the first time! They also took a walk in the middle of the night again, which helped Dad get a bit more sleep.
We had a "fun" time waiting for Dad to be released from the hospital this morning. While waiting, we entertained ourselves by singing Beach Boys songs that I downloaded. We started with "Sloop John B.", whose chorus includes the line "let me go home." We then went to "In My Room" (with alternate LCA show lyrics, "3-man room") and "Be True To Your School." Janice even let Dad sing the falsetto.
The trip home was relatively uneventful. The doctor told Mom and Dad that we should stop at every rest stop and have Dad get up and walk around. After our first stop, we realized that Dad had forgotten to take his pain medicine before we left the hospital. This led to us calling the hospital, letting Dad sleep most of the ride home and picking up the pain meds before we even got home.
Now it's time for a delicious dinner consisting of roasted chicken a friend left for us and a few other goodies. Then I'm sure Dad is looking forward to sleeping in his own bed after 11 nights away.
I haven't yet had a chance to check in with Mom or Dad about when they'll be wanting visitors and what they'd like people to bring over, but once I know that I'll post it on here.
Mom stayed over in the hospital last night and was able to get a good night's sleep. While she was there, a resident took out Dad's staples and put a whole mass of sterry strips over his wound. He was also able to shower for the first time! They also took a walk in the middle of the night again, which helped Dad get a bit more sleep.
We had a "fun" time waiting for Dad to be released from the hospital this morning. While waiting, we entertained ourselves by singing Beach Boys songs that I downloaded. We started with "Sloop John B.", whose chorus includes the line "let me go home." We then went to "In My Room" (with alternate LCA show lyrics, "3-man room") and "Be True To Your School." Janice even let Dad sing the falsetto.
The trip home was relatively uneventful. The doctor told Mom and Dad that we should stop at every rest stop and have Dad get up and walk around. After our first stop, we realized that Dad had forgotten to take his pain medicine before we left the hospital. This led to us calling the hospital, letting Dad sleep most of the ride home and picking up the pain meds before we even got home.
Now it's time for a delicious dinner consisting of roasted chicken a friend left for us and a few other goodies. Then I'm sure Dad is looking forward to sleeping in his own bed after 11 nights away.
I haven't yet had a chance to check in with Mom or Dad about when they'll be wanting visitors and what they'd like people to bring over, but once I know that I'll post it on here.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Gettin' ready
Although the rainy weather continues and the Red Sox choked last night, we're still excited about Dad leaving the hospital tomorrow.
The most exciting sight upon my arrival at the hospital this morning was seeing my father in real clothes (khaki shorts and a Red Sox sweatshirt) instead of a hospital Johnny. Janice left soon after I arrived as she had spent the night at the hospital to help make it more comfortable for Dad. Dad was able to sleep a bit better, as they took a couple of late night strolls, which helped tire him out. Before Janice left, she and Dad took a walk outside the hospital. This was Dad's first breath of fresh air in a week. It felt good to be outside and buy a Boston Globe, even if it was a bit cold and damp.
The other excitement of the day was discovering that Dad's friend and former colleague from the Rochester Times Union, Read Kingsbury probably upstate's best-known editorial page editor for decades before he retired in the 1980s, is in a room just a few doors down in the hospital. They're still figuring out what's going on with him, but it was lovely for Mom and Dad to catch up with Read and Neva although the circumstances aren't ideal.
The radiation oncologist stopped by and we learned that it looks like Dad will have chemo for a few months before getting the radiation. We are hoping that he'll be able to get the "cyber-knife" radiation, but that will have to be determined by scans after the second round of chemo. It is unclear who will be doing the chemo and where, but that should be figured out at the follow-up appointment in Boston at the end of July. The surgical oncologist said that Dad is looking good.
Perhaps the most frustrating part of the last couple of days has centered around the possibility that Dad has diabetes. We're assuming that he has diabetes and so we're learning all about blood sugar, carbohydrates and sugars. Dad is not a fan of pricking himself but he'll figure it out.
Tomorrow will be full of excitement before we leave the hospital: instructions on what medicines to take when, they'll take out the 32(!) staples in Dad's abdomen and send us on our way. It's a long drive back, but well worth it.
The most exciting sight upon my arrival at the hospital this morning was seeing my father in real clothes (khaki shorts and a Red Sox sweatshirt) instead of a hospital Johnny. Janice left soon after I arrived as she had spent the night at the hospital to help make it more comfortable for Dad. Dad was able to sleep a bit better, as they took a couple of late night strolls, which helped tire him out. Before Janice left, she and Dad took a walk outside the hospital. This was Dad's first breath of fresh air in a week. It felt good to be outside and buy a Boston Globe, even if it was a bit cold and damp.
The other excitement of the day was discovering that Dad's friend and former colleague from the Rochester Times Union, Read Kingsbury probably upstate's best-known editorial page editor for decades before he retired in the 1980s, is in a room just a few doors down in the hospital. They're still figuring out what's going on with him, but it was lovely for Mom and Dad to catch up with Read and Neva although the circumstances aren't ideal.
The radiation oncologist stopped by and we learned that it looks like Dad will have chemo for a few months before getting the radiation. We are hoping that he'll be able to get the "cyber-knife" radiation, but that will have to be determined by scans after the second round of chemo. It is unclear who will be doing the chemo and where, but that should be figured out at the follow-up appointment in Boston at the end of July. The surgical oncologist said that Dad is looking good.
Perhaps the most frustrating part of the last couple of days has centered around the possibility that Dad has diabetes. We're assuming that he has diabetes and so we're learning all about blood sugar, carbohydrates and sugars. Dad is not a fan of pricking himself but he'll figure it out.
Tomorrow will be full of excitement before we leave the hospital: instructions on what medicines to take when, they'll take out the 32(!) staples in Dad's abdomen and send us on our way. It's a long drive back, but well worth it.
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