PATIENT NOTE: I really don't know whether to call this my 'third-battle' or 'battle 2-b', but since, I guess it is the same cancer (metastasized) to a new location, I will stay with 'SecondBattle'. One of the weird things, this time around is that I have actually been given some 'survivability-numbers' (30% chance of making it 5 more years), and when the Doctors and Nurses broke the news, I did notice a faintest bit of 'concern' in their otherwise practiced faces - you know - the faces doctors get when they give you bad news - the face they perfect during their 5th year of residency... "Must keep the patient calm, must be supportive - be ready with the tissue box or the caring hug." This is not a bad thing. I would rather have a treatment team who recognizes the gravity of the situation, but is also hell-bent on getting the patient PAST the typical indicators for a condition. This, is their goal, and I could also tell it was as important to them as it is to me... after all, they don't want to be known as the group that loses to many patients, right! So I have once again been winding my way through all the ups and downs that I have mentioned in my many posts in this blog, so I won't recount them.
But I will say there is a strange comfort in the knowing of what is (most likely) to come with treatment and how it will affect me. I'm not scared now of the treatment or even the disease, my fears lie with dealing with things AFTER I beat this cancer, again. One constant that I am getting a bit more used to is the simple fact that I am living in a world of undefined time and space. A personal world created by the vacuum of being on disability (no job) and on treatment (undefined schedule) - a world in which hours, minutes, days and weeks just drift by, and in the many hours of 'drifting' strange things spin in and out of my head.
_____________________________________________
A few days ago, a week or two after my liver biopsy, I decided to walk the dogs around the neighborhood, one at a time. I figured the exercise would do them some good, and give me a sense of how I was healing up. Well, after 2 walks and nearly 4 miles total, THEY were ready for more play in the back yard, and I was ready for a nap! So, I unleashed them on the bird and squirrel population in the back yard, while I went back inside, popped a couple vicodin (my incision was very ouchy) washed them down with some coffee, plopped down in my chair and clicked on the TV. I will just say that after spending the better part of the last two years at home during the day while the rest of the world worked, I have a complete understanding of how bat-shit crazy women (mostly) got duing the 'old-days' when few worked outside the home... Despite nearly a gazillion TV channels, I could find nothing to watch and ended up drifting off during a game-show....
Suddenly, I hear a voice... "Scott Lightfoot! Scott Lightfoot of Toledo, Ohio!!!! Come...On...Down!!!"
I snap to conciousness, 'What? Where?' - I'm not in my living room, I'm in a studio audience somewhere.
The voice from somewhere blares out, "You're our NEXT contestant on Terminal Illness Today!!"
I try to pretend that the spotlight is not on me, and turn away to get the hell out of there, when two strong men grab me by he arms and take me to the front of the auditorium. Instead of podiums, like you'd expect they toss me on a hospital bed, jam in an IV, hook up the EKG, and give me a sedative - my legs and arms don't work.
Taking a look around, to my left I see an older man, who looks barely awake, and to my right I see a frightened girl of about 10 years old, looking confused and clutching a sock monkey. All I can say to my self is, 'What the HELL?'
The stage is lit with those glaring medical overhead exam lights and on the stage are three large doors, a smooth ramp leads from where our hospital beds are up a ramp with a carpeted path branching off to each of the doors.
From the right side of the stage bounds a tall, lanky man dressed in a white lab coat, a stethoscope around his neck, carrying a clip board, and on his head, instead of one of those reflector things he has one of those spiraling-spinning discs that people use to hypnotize you. There is a huge roar of applause from behind us as he comes to a rest, center stage...
He saunters like some sort of runway-model down the ramp and comes to MY bed... Moves to the right, puts his icy cold hand on my wrist, sticks the microphone in my face and says, "So.... Mr. Lightfoot. Are ya excited to be here? Are ya? Huh? Are ya?"
I try to move my arm away, but can't, I want to say, "Hell no, you weird son-of-a-bitch!" but all that comes out through my anesthesia addled lips is, "Hello you were a sandwich!"
"Well, isn't that special! Someone must not have had his lunch today!" Dr. Strangelove is on to the old man next to me, asks the same stupid question, the old guy just moans. Now he passes me, tussles my hair as he does (I want to punch him, but can't move) and goes over to the little girl. He calls her 'Betty' and asks her how she is doing. She cries, says she wants to go home and he just giggles and moves back to the stage.
Under the spotlight, Dr. Strangelove does some sort of bow, curtsy spin thing and announces, "O.K. Contestants. Behind each door is a room in which you will spend then next several months being treated for your illness."
"But, before we must determine which horrible, possibly disfiguring, most likely life-style changing disease you GET to HAVE....Isn't this EXCITING!!!!!!"
He moves stage left as he gestures across the stage, "So....Here...We...Go......"
From the right side of the stage a huge spinning wheel emerges, pushed center stage by two hot nurses wearing high boots and short skirts. Suddenly, I think, 'Hey, maybe this is not too bad.' but when I try to move to get a better look as they leave, I realize I'm paralyzed and think, 'Damn, no....it IS bad.'
As the wheel is placed and Dr. Strangelove drones on and on about the rules, I notice the spaces. Some have my name, some say 'Betty' and some say 'William' (I am guessing that is the moaning old-guy). I also notice some say BANKRUPT, some have skulls and crossed bones, some say CHEMO, RADIATION and SURGERY. I also notice two slim spaces among what must be 100 on the wheel that say REMISSION and CURE.
Dr. Strangelove does his ramp-saunter and makes his way to Betty's bed and hands her a controller, "O.K. Betty, since you are our youngest contestant, you go first." The crowd applauds.
She gets ready to push the button, but Dr. Strangelove grabs the controller, "Not so fast there kiddo. Let's remind the audience of the rules of the game!"
"The object of the game is to spin the wheel and land on your own name! Beneath your name is you condition and then you get to pick a treatment option door, remember, choose wisely, there is no going back.!" The crowd murmurs.
He continues, "IF a contestant spins and lands on a penalty space, there is no second spin, you are on your own." The crowd boos.
"Finally, if you land on the space of another CONTESTANT you can either send that person through a door of your choosing.....or take a chance at another SPIN...." He finishes, putting the controller back in Betty's hand.
Weakly, she presses the red button, and the wheel spins. Lights flash, the flapper on the wheel, makes the ever slowing slapping sound on the pins of the wheel..... It slows. It slows. Passes Bankrupt, passes my name, passes William, passes the Skull & Cross bones, passes my name again, and comes to rest on the light blue 'REMISSION' space.
Betty looks excited. Her parents, seated behind her, look somewhat relieved, but in an odd way Dr. Strangelove looks almost disappointed. The audience claps - though half-heartedly.
"Well, well, well! Little Betty, lets look under the space." One of the nurses emerges from behind the wheel, pulls the space marker and reveals, 'LYMPHOMA'.
"Wow, Betty. It looks like you get to go home today. Be a good girl, follow doctors orders and, if you're lucky, you MAY get to come back and play again..." he gives Betty, her family and the audience a knowing wink... Betty's parents rush her out of the auditorium.
Thinking that I will be next to spin, I try to sit up in the bed, so I don't look like such a pathetic weakling, when Dr. Strangelove moves past me to William.
"Today, audience we have a special treat for William. William has been a contestant on the show now for almost a year! Quite a long time I might add... He has been a fighter, but the producers think it's time for him to move on."
As he is speaking the nurses trot back out on the stage (O.K. despite it all I must say, I like it when the nurses trot. I'm sick, not dead.) and they spin the wheel around to reveal the back side that has only four sections. Two white, and two black. The white ones say 'REMISSION' and have a picture of William and what appears to be his grand children, and the black ones simply have at tombstone - no explanation needed.
Back at Williams bed-side another nurse appears and injects something into Williams IV. He stirs and the nurse raises the bed. Dr. Strangelove brings the button to his side. "O.K. William, one last spin. It's been great having you on the show."
I watch as he weakly raises his arm and sets it down on the button. The wheel spins, spins, spins, then begins its slow down; black, white, black, white...black...white...black......white............black, and stops.
The audience lets out a long sad sigh. I think I hear William start to cry softly.
Dr. Strangelove moves to behind William and escorts what must be his daughter and her family to his side' "Well, William fought a long and hard battle. We are all sad to see him go, but his time has come."
As the family wheels Williams now breathless body out of the auditorium, he says, "The family wishes to thank all the friends and loved ones who have helped them along the way.
I suddenly feel very, very alone.
When I refocus on the stage the wheel has been refitted and both Betty and Williams names have been replaced with 'Metastasis' and 'Benign'.
Dr. Strangelove moves to me now. "Well, here we are Scott. May I call you Scott? Your turn to spin the wheel. But before we do, let's remind our studio audience how you got here."
A screen lowers down and some images start to flash, the announcer voices over. "20 years ago Scott was diagnosed with a cancerous polyp. It was removed and he was treated with chemotherapy and radiaton."
I am sitting there thinking, 'I don't remember them taking all these pictures back then??'
"He spent the next 20 years building a family. He and his wife raising two wonderful boys.." more pictures.
The Announcer continues, "Then as fate would have it he was diagnosed with a second cancer, this one more severe, requiring the removal of his colon, more radiation and more chemotherapy." more pictures from the last few years.
Again, I think, "Have 'they' been following me? How did they get THOSE pictures?"
"That brings us up to day, Doctor. Now he's ready for his next spin....."
The audience claps...
"Alright, Scott. You know what to do. Push the button and let's see what happens...."
Why is this guy so damned excited? I know, because it is not HIM spinning for HIS life...
I have no choice, so I push the button.
Spin, spin, whir, whir, spin.....spin....spin....click.....click........click........click... stop.
"Ohhhhh, Scott. It seems you have landed on 'Metastasis'. That's a rough one."
All I can think is, "FUCK, not again. I never ASKED to be on this stupid show."
Sensing my disappointment, Dr. Strangelove pats me on the shoulder and pushes my bed up the ramp.
"The good news is you get to pick the door to your future.... There are three doors. One door will allow you to go into Remission, with reccurrance somewhere down the line, one door leads to death due to treatment failure, and one door leads to cure, allowing you to live a long and healthy life."
The Doctor unhooks the IV, a nurse bandages my arm and winks at me and removes the hospital bed.
The Doctor turns me towards the audience and announces.... "Well, Audience...which door should he choose?"
There is mixed applause, shouts of "TWO", "ONE", "No, pick THREE", some where I hear a door slam, then I hear dogs barking, I hear my kids voice? My kids voice?
"Dad! Dad! Are you even awake? God...." he laughs, "You MUST be bored, watching the Price is Right!"
I wake up, shake off the dream, he gives me a high five and says, "I gotta go call Mom, let her know I'm home."
But I will say there is a strange comfort in the knowing of what is (most likely) to come with treatment and how it will affect me. I'm not scared now of the treatment or even the disease, my fears lie with dealing with things AFTER I beat this cancer, again. One constant that I am getting a bit more used to is the simple fact that I am living in a world of undefined time and space. A personal world created by the vacuum of being on disability (no job) and on treatment (undefined schedule) - a world in which hours, minutes, days and weeks just drift by, and in the many hours of 'drifting' strange things spin in and out of my head.
_____________________________________________
A few days ago, a week or two after my liver biopsy, I decided to walk the dogs around the neighborhood, one at a time. I figured the exercise would do them some good, and give me a sense of how I was healing up. Well, after 2 walks and nearly 4 miles total, THEY were ready for more play in the back yard, and I was ready for a nap! So, I unleashed them on the bird and squirrel population in the back yard, while I went back inside, popped a couple vicodin (my incision was very ouchy) washed them down with some coffee, plopped down in my chair and clicked on the TV. I will just say that after spending the better part of the last two years at home during the day while the rest of the world worked, I have a complete understanding of how bat-shit crazy women (mostly) got duing the 'old-days' when few worked outside the home... Despite nearly a gazillion TV channels, I could find nothing to watch and ended up drifting off during a game-show....
Suddenly, I hear a voice... "Scott Lightfoot! Scott Lightfoot of Toledo, Ohio!!!! Come...On...Down!!!"
I snap to conciousness, 'What? Where?' - I'm not in my living room, I'm in a studio audience somewhere.
The voice from somewhere blares out, "You're our NEXT contestant on Terminal Illness Today!!"
I try to pretend that the spotlight is not on me, and turn away to get the hell out of there, when two strong men grab me by he arms and take me to the front of the auditorium. Instead of podiums, like you'd expect they toss me on a hospital bed, jam in an IV, hook up the EKG, and give me a sedative - my legs and arms don't work.
Taking a look around, to my left I see an older man, who looks barely awake, and to my right I see a frightened girl of about 10 years old, looking confused and clutching a sock monkey. All I can say to my self is, 'What the HELL?'
The stage is lit with those glaring medical overhead exam lights and on the stage are three large doors, a smooth ramp leads from where our hospital beds are up a ramp with a carpeted path branching off to each of the doors.
From the right side of the stage bounds a tall, lanky man dressed in a white lab coat, a stethoscope around his neck, carrying a clip board, and on his head, instead of one of those reflector things he has one of those spiraling-spinning discs that people use to hypnotize you. There is a huge roar of applause from behind us as he comes to a rest, center stage...
He saunters like some sort of runway-model down the ramp and comes to MY bed... Moves to the right, puts his icy cold hand on my wrist, sticks the microphone in my face and says, "So.... Mr. Lightfoot. Are ya excited to be here? Are ya? Huh? Are ya?"
I try to move my arm away, but can't, I want to say, "Hell no, you weird son-of-a-bitch!" but all that comes out through my anesthesia addled lips is, "Hello you were a sandwich!"
"Well, isn't that special! Someone must not have had his lunch today!" Dr. Strangelove is on to the old man next to me, asks the same stupid question, the old guy just moans. Now he passes me, tussles my hair as he does (I want to punch him, but can't move) and goes over to the little girl. He calls her 'Betty' and asks her how she is doing. She cries, says she wants to go home and he just giggles and moves back to the stage.
Under the spotlight, Dr. Strangelove does some sort of bow, curtsy spin thing and announces, "O.K. Contestants. Behind each door is a room in which you will spend then next several months being treated for your illness."
"But, before we must determine which horrible, possibly disfiguring, most likely life-style changing disease you GET to HAVE....Isn't this EXCITING!!!!!!"
He moves stage left as he gestures across the stage, "So....Here...We...Go......"
From the right side of the stage a huge spinning wheel emerges, pushed center stage by two hot nurses wearing high boots and short skirts. Suddenly, I think, 'Hey, maybe this is not too bad.' but when I try to move to get a better look as they leave, I realize I'm paralyzed and think, 'Damn, no....it IS bad.'
As the wheel is placed and Dr. Strangelove drones on and on about the rules, I notice the spaces. Some have my name, some say 'Betty' and some say 'William' (I am guessing that is the moaning old-guy). I also notice some say BANKRUPT, some have skulls and crossed bones, some say CHEMO, RADIATION and SURGERY. I also notice two slim spaces among what must be 100 on the wheel that say REMISSION and CURE.
Dr. Strangelove does his ramp-saunter and makes his way to Betty's bed and hands her a controller, "O.K. Betty, since you are our youngest contestant, you go first." The crowd applauds.
She gets ready to push the button, but Dr. Strangelove grabs the controller, "Not so fast there kiddo. Let's remind the audience of the rules of the game!"
"The object of the game is to spin the wheel and land on your own name! Beneath your name is you condition and then you get to pick a treatment option door, remember, choose wisely, there is no going back.!" The crowd murmurs.
He continues, "IF a contestant spins and lands on a penalty space, there is no second spin, you are on your own." The crowd boos.
"Finally, if you land on the space of another CONTESTANT you can either send that person through a door of your choosing.....or take a chance at another SPIN...." He finishes, putting the controller back in Betty's hand.
Weakly, she presses the red button, and the wheel spins. Lights flash, the flapper on the wheel, makes the ever slowing slapping sound on the pins of the wheel..... It slows. It slows. Passes Bankrupt, passes my name, passes William, passes the Skull & Cross bones, passes my name again, and comes to rest on the light blue 'REMISSION' space.
Betty looks excited. Her parents, seated behind her, look somewhat relieved, but in an odd way Dr. Strangelove looks almost disappointed. The audience claps - though half-heartedly.
"Well, well, well! Little Betty, lets look under the space." One of the nurses emerges from behind the wheel, pulls the space marker and reveals, 'LYMPHOMA'.
"Wow, Betty. It looks like you get to go home today. Be a good girl, follow doctors orders and, if you're lucky, you MAY get to come back and play again..." he gives Betty, her family and the audience a knowing wink... Betty's parents rush her out of the auditorium.
Thinking that I will be next to spin, I try to sit up in the bed, so I don't look like such a pathetic weakling, when Dr. Strangelove moves past me to William.
"Today, audience we have a special treat for William. William has been a contestant on the show now for almost a year! Quite a long time I might add... He has been a fighter, but the producers think it's time for him to move on."
As he is speaking the nurses trot back out on the stage (O.K. despite it all I must say, I like it when the nurses trot. I'm sick, not dead.) and they spin the wheel around to reveal the back side that has only four sections. Two white, and two black. The white ones say 'REMISSION' and have a picture of William and what appears to be his grand children, and the black ones simply have at tombstone - no explanation needed.
Back at Williams bed-side another nurse appears and injects something into Williams IV. He stirs and the nurse raises the bed. Dr. Strangelove brings the button to his side. "O.K. William, one last spin. It's been great having you on the show."
I watch as he weakly raises his arm and sets it down on the button. The wheel spins, spins, spins, then begins its slow down; black, white, black, white...black...white...black......white............black, and stops.
The audience lets out a long sad sigh. I think I hear William start to cry softly.
Dr. Strangelove moves to behind William and escorts what must be his daughter and her family to his side' "Well, William fought a long and hard battle. We are all sad to see him go, but his time has come."
As the family wheels Williams now breathless body out of the auditorium, he says, "The family wishes to thank all the friends and loved ones who have helped them along the way.
I suddenly feel very, very alone.
When I refocus on the stage the wheel has been refitted and both Betty and Williams names have been replaced with 'Metastasis' and 'Benign'.
Dr. Strangelove moves to me now. "Well, here we are Scott. May I call you Scott? Your turn to spin the wheel. But before we do, let's remind our studio audience how you got here."
A screen lowers down and some images start to flash, the announcer voices over. "20 years ago Scott was diagnosed with a cancerous polyp. It was removed and he was treated with chemotherapy and radiaton."
I am sitting there thinking, 'I don't remember them taking all these pictures back then??'
"He spent the next 20 years building a family. He and his wife raising two wonderful boys.." more pictures.
The Announcer continues, "Then as fate would have it he was diagnosed with a second cancer, this one more severe, requiring the removal of his colon, more radiation and more chemotherapy." more pictures from the last few years.
Again, I think, "Have 'they' been following me? How did they get THOSE pictures?"
"That brings us up to day, Doctor. Now he's ready for his next spin....."
The audience claps...
"Alright, Scott. You know what to do. Push the button and let's see what happens...."
Why is this guy so damned excited? I know, because it is not HIM spinning for HIS life...
I have no choice, so I push the button.
Spin, spin, whir, whir, spin.....spin....spin....click.....click........click........click... stop.
"Ohhhhh, Scott. It seems you have landed on 'Metastasis'. That's a rough one."
All I can think is, "FUCK, not again. I never ASKED to be on this stupid show."
Sensing my disappointment, Dr. Strangelove pats me on the shoulder and pushes my bed up the ramp.
"The good news is you get to pick the door to your future.... There are three doors. One door will allow you to go into Remission, with reccurrance somewhere down the line, one door leads to death due to treatment failure, and one door leads to cure, allowing you to live a long and healthy life."
The Doctor unhooks the IV, a nurse bandages my arm and winks at me and removes the hospital bed.
The Doctor turns me towards the audience and announces.... "Well, Audience...which door should he choose?"
There is mixed applause, shouts of "TWO", "ONE", "No, pick THREE", some where I hear a door slam, then I hear dogs barking, I hear my kids voice? My kids voice?
"Dad! Dad! Are you even awake? God...." he laughs, "You MUST be bored, watching the Price is Right!"
I wake up, shake off the dream, he gives me a high five and says, "I gotta go call Mom, let her know I'm home."
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