%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
| Reposted from Real Fake News: Trump Crime Family Moves Against Chicago Mob by staff reporter Rob N. Steele “Ya got a nice little hellhole out there,” sneered Consiglieri Pam Bondi while putting the Chicago mob bosses on notice. “It'd be a real shame if somethin' nasty was to happen to it. And youse mugs better give that a real good think. Cuz the nastiest SOB on the planet is comin' fer yez. There's only room for one Don in this country an' he ain't just a convicted felon and confirmed rapist. He's a lot worse than that, believe me!” “Protection is a DC racket,” explained Capo Kristi Noem. "And the Don don't like guys tryna stick their nose in his business. I ain't sayin' Trump is into the sex trafficking an' I sure ain't sayin' that's why Epstein hadda go, but a word to the wise guys, right? The Don's interests come first, an' we got the guns to back it up. I'll personally ICE anybody who doesn't get with the program. An' all the other so-called bosses better start payin' their taxes to the Don or their cities are gonna be next." “An' it ain't just protection," smirked Underboss J. D. Vance. "Tariffs are a beautiful thing. Nobody does business on the Don's turf without he gets a taste. An' all a them MAGA suckers and losers don't got a clue. They just keep on borrowin' an' buyin' while the banks kick back half the interest to the Don. That Big Bunco bill is gonna be the biggest, most beautiful bust-out of all time. An' anybody who don't like it is gonna wake up in Uganda without a passport!" |
You've probably heard of the five W's and one H? They are who, what, when, where, why, and how. These are the essential questions of journalism and also the existential questions of life. Only four of them have answers that I find at all satisfactory. I'll start with who. Descartes famously said, "I think therefore I am." The big questions only matter, or even exist, because we are here to ask them. I think who is self-evident (so to speak). And if you don't think, then please stop reading now. 🙂 What is similar to who, but the perspective is outward rather than inward. In a way, the who is merely a subset of the what and the what is the observable universe of the who. What simply is. Our senses, and the scientific instruments that extend our senses, provide the measure of what, but they don't actually explain anything. All we can do with what is observe, accept, and describe. When is a bit slippery, but time seems to be a fundamental component of what. Einstein developed equations that describe how the passage of time is intertwined with mass and velocity. Every experimental test of Einstein's theory has confirmed the fundamental nature of time. We don't even think to question it. "What time is it?" is the only question that all of humanity agrees on. There are no alternate belief systems with different values for the length of a second or the number of hours in a day (could this faith in time become the basis of a universal religion?). We're constantly aware of time, but it isn't considered a seventh sense. It is, however, an inescapable part of everything we observe, everything we do, and everything we think. I've decided that I can reference the standard of Greenwich Mean Time and simply accept that when is always now (see my poem Conscripted  .Where is another subset of what, and like who, it's pretty much self-evident: Everybody has to be somewhere and if you're not where you're at, then you're nowhere. - ?. It seems obvious to me that I am where I'm at. And I sincerely hope that you are where you're at. So, I'll accept that where, in general, is the here of the who in the what. How is where I lose the thread. All that we observe has a beginning and an end. Sunrise and sunset mark each day. Birth and death delimit each life. Empires rise and fall. Mountains are lifted up and wear away. But what came first? Aristotle wrote about the prime mover. He observed the inexorable forward march of cause and effect and then reasoned that all of existence could be traced backward in time to reveal a prime mover unmoved by any other mover. And he, she, or that would be the first cause of all the effects that culminate in the now of our universe. Aristotle describes the unmoved mover as being perfectly beautiful, indivisible, and contemplating only the perfect contemplation: self-contemplation. - Wikipedia. But Aristotle stopped at this navel-gazing idea of God and didn't provide any further speculation of how the prime mover came to be. Aristotle just kicked the can down the road and congratulated himself on an elegant half explanation. Science has arrived at a similar point with the big-bang theory. Stephen Hawking said that information can’t survive a trip through a singularity, so it’s impossible to know what preceded our universe. In addition, he said that time began with the beginning of the universe. So, the very concept of before doesn’t apply. Our reality begins with the big bang and that’s all we know or can know. Hawking's big bang is the equivalent of Aristotle's prime mover. Again, a half answer that leaves me doubly unsatisfied with how. Why is the crux of the mystery. No one has ever provided a satisfactory explanation of why. There are far too many self-serving politicians, televangicals, and con artists who have an answer to why. And too few authentic spiritual guides who offer a more genuine response. Either way, it doesn't seem logical that Aristotle's self-contemplating perfect God would need humanity in general, let alone me in particular. And what's the point of all the beginnings and endings of cause and effect if God is eternal? The only answer I've come up with for why is that I have no other choice. Reality is the only game in town. I have to keep going even though I doubt I'll ever find out why. People are fond of saying "everything happens for a reason." They're at least half right, everything happens. I'm not so sure that there's a definitive reason. At the quantum level, reality seems to be governed by probabilistic (random?) processes. Einstein disliked Heisenberg's uncertainty principle. He insisted that, "God does not play dice with the universe." But the uncertainty of reality at the quantum level has been verified extensively. And we still don't know why. I pinball between the despair of agnosticism and the desperation of faith. Planning and striving help to pass the time, but then God hits the flipper again and something else happens. The lights flash and the bumpers beep, but there's never any sense of completion, no brass ring or happily ever after. I write poetry to deal with these things that I'm unable or unwilling to approach head-on. My poem Observational Bias sums up what I've tried to express in this post. Wouldn't it be a wonderful (and horrible) cosmic joke if my 'why' is merely to annoy you with mediocre poetry? |
On 17 March 2023, following an investigation of war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued arrest warrants for Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia, and Maria Lvova-Belova, Russian commissioner for children's rights, alleging responsibility for the war crime of unlawful deportation and transfer of children during the Russo-Ukrainian War. The war in Ukraine could have been resolved over the weekend in Alaska. Donald Trump could have been an international hero today. Vladimir Putin could have been arrested and turned over to the ICC. But Trump Always Chickens Out. Instead, he capitulated to a despot charged with war crimes and called for Ukraine to surrender. He implied that it would be necessary for NATO to recognize a Russian victory in order for Trump to achieve his ultimate goal of being awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. The risk to Trump would have been low. The U.S. wouldn't even have had to participate in prosecuting the case. Simply turn Putin over to the ICC and let them deal with the fallout. And serving up Putin as scapegoat would have provided a plausible path for Russia to disengage with at least a semblance of dignity. The war has little support among the general public, and it will take years for the Russian economy to recover. Those in line to inherit Putin's power and wealth wouldn't expend much effort to get him back. Ronald Reagan is an American hero, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!" Deservedly or not, he took credit for the fall of the Soviet Empire. Vladimir Putin seeks to resurrect the USSR. Trump could have put the final nail in that coffin. Instead, he allowed a fellow criminal to elude apprehension. Maybe there is honor among thieves. There are rumors that U.S aides left the summit with white-faced expressions of shock and dismay. We can only speculate as to why. Did Putin call in his favor for rigging the 2024 election? Did Trump entertain an offer of a multibillion-dollar personal bribe? Could Putin have offered him the position of president for life in the new American SSR? Are we destined to become part of a big, beautiful soviet empire? Today, Trump is hinting that Ukraine be partitioned similar to post-WWII Germany. Russia will occupy the eastern half, and the U.S. will occupy the west, "Mr. Putin, rebuild that wall!" If sacrificing the Ukrainian people to his personal ambition doesn't earn Trump a peace prize, then there must be something right with the world. |
| Here's a little something from the archives. It seems even more relevant today. I’m a Little Despot I’m a little despot; yes it’s true. You kiss my rear end, and I'll bully you. When I get all steamed up, I run my mouth, praise me now or watch me pout. I’m a shameless liar, big and stout, caught up in collusion there’s no doubt. When they get to know me, people shout: dump the chump, let’s vote him out! Author's note: ▼ |
It's not a lie if stupid people believe it. - The Gospel of Trump Actually, I think it's sweet of Big Benny to nominate Lil Donny for a prize. It's not like Donny is ever going to win a prize for real! And besides, the Nobel awards have been limited to hard-working overachievers for far too long. It's time that the morons, incompetents, and moral degenerates get a chance. Who do those intelligent, caring, and talented people think they are? Better than the rest of us? Is hard work and merit what winning a prize is all about? Not in today's America! DEI under the MAGA regime eliminates standards and lowers the bar so that even the least qualified and deplorable toady can be given a prestigious position that they haven't earned. So, have a little sympathy for the kid whose mom packs him off to military school because he's such a little shit. Show some consideration for a guy whose grades are so bad that he has to take out a legal injunction to prevent them from becoming public. At the very least, you could pity the small-hands man who never had a woman who didn't charge him for enjoying her company. At some level, it must feel pathetic when you have to build an entire luxury golf resort just to award yourself a trophy. And it's really sad when you have to throw your own birthday party. Doubly so when the guests show up only because their commanding officers order them to be there. It's not easy having a D-minus intellect in a competitive world. It totally isn't fair that no one gives out prizes for greatest liar or biggest cheater. There's just no appreciation for a would-be dictator who bullies the weak and inspires America to be the worst version of itself. What's a convicted felon and confirmed rapist have to do to gain a little respect? How is he supposed to feel like a winner? Having a bunch of losers fawn over you at cabinet meetings isn't all that satisfying when they're on your payroll. That's why it's so important that King Don the Turd finally gets a real prize. And we won't call it a participation trophy or dismiss it as a DEI program. No, we'll hire the biggest, bestest, most loyal crowd in recorded history! And they'll all cheer like they really mean it. Or else they'll be deported. Because Lil Donny can't handle the truth. |
This post, like the topic of the trinket below, is slightly out of alignment with the summer solstice. But better late than never! My wife and I drove from Seattle to Portland in 2006 to attend a wedding. We'd done the drive on the I5 freeway enough to become boring, so I suggested going the 'long way around' on the way back. This meant driving east along the scenic Columbia River Gorge, turning north on highway 97 toward Yakima and Ellensburg, then returning to Seattle via I90. I convinced my wife that it was a reasonable day trip and off we went early in the morning. The Gorge is well worth the time, with numerous waterfalls and beautiful views of the river. But I also had an ulterior motive. I'd read about a full-scale replica of the Stonehenge monument that had been built on a bluff above the river by an eccentric railroad tycoon. That was what I really wanted to see. We stopped to admire the 600-foot drop at Multnomah Falls and also at several other scenic viewpoints along the river. At one spot we watched kite surfers 'catching air' in the strong winds that blow along the Gorge. I'd intended to eat lunch somewhere near the Stonehenge monument, but the remote area has no services worth mentioning. We spent some time admiring the incongruous sight of the stones standing literally in the middle of nowhere and then visited the Maryhill Museum a couple of miles away. By midafternoon, out tummies were rumbling, and we pressed on to find something to eat. It was almost an hour before we finally found a diner in Toppenish. I've rarely seen such empty country. But it did match well with the feeling in our stomachs. By the time we'd eaten, it was almost dusk, and we were still three hours away from home. It was a long, quiet ride in the dark with my exhausted and annoyed wife. Today, it's just another funny story about Dad holding up his thumb and index finger saying, "It's only this far on the map." But at the time, I was in the doghouse for a couple of days until Deb forgave me. Here's a trinket to celebrate the summer solstice:   |
No Kings! We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. - American Declaration of Independence |
| Part 2 - Decisions "The Blue Ribbon (part 1)" Sadly, cancer is big business these days with a much too large customer base. Halvorson Cancer Center is just one part of the cancer complex in the west wing of Evergreen hospital. It’s a modern facility that opened in 2012, with wide corridors, pleasant décor, and the latest equipment for cancer diagnosis and treatment. Virtual Tour: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbYjQFEXYoI That’s where I went to meet with the radiation oncologist. Debbie went with me to offer her support. The self-described ‘concierge’ who checked me in for my appointment with Dr. Taylor is a nice guy with a friendly smile. He welcomed me to the oncology ‘family’ and insisted on taking my picture. “So everyone will recognize you and know your name,” he said. “Sure, thanks,” I replied with an automatic smile. No, I don’t want this, I objected silently in my head. I don’t want to join your stupid family. I’m going to get this thing cut out and be done with it. I don’t belong here and I won’t be back! I wasn’t in a receptive frame of mind, but I held my tongue and listened politely as Dr. Taylor shook hands and launched into a detailed explanation of my particular case. He covered a lot of the same ground as my urologist, Dr. Dai, but I’d been too shaken up at my meeting with her to take it all in. He also revealed that he was a cancer survivor himself, having undergone prostate removal twenty years earlier. Dr. Taylor explained that the tissue samples from each cancerous area are evaluated and given what’s called a Gleason score. The numbers range from one to ten and higher numbers are worse. Mine were mostly sixes and sevens. That meant my case was, in fact, serious. Based on my Gleason score, physical exams, PSA level, and various scans, I was given an overall cancer stage of T2a. Or, in simpler terms, unfavorable intermediate risk. My face must have shown dismay at the word unfavorable. “Don’t panic,” Doctor Taylor told me. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. You don’t need to put your affairs in order just yet. Your cancer is still very treatable. Your outlook is a matter of years rather than months.” Somehow, the word years wasn’t very comforting. We all expect to have a long, vague number of years. Hearing the word months was disheartening. It made the end seem a lot more specific. But I still had a decision to make about how my cancer treatment would affect those years. Dr. Taylor showed us projected outcomes based on thousands of case histories of similar patients. There’s a progression of cancer treatments, beginning with a surgical removal of the tumor. If that isn’t successful, the next option is radiation therapy. And the final option, for metastatic cancers, is chemotherapy. The data from similar patients showed that even with immediate surgery, I would have a 76% chance of needing radiation therapy in the next ten years. And there was a 91% chance that cancerous cells were already beginning to invade the surrounding tissues. That wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear, so I had to pause and rethink my options. Dr. Taylor gave us a description of intensity-modulated radiation therapy (IMRT). It combines a CT scanner and a radiation beam powerful enough to damage cancer cells. The damaged cancer cells are unable to reproduce and can then be broken down by the body’s natural healing processes. The IMRT machine scans as it rotates the beam around the patient. That allows the beam to precisely target the prostate gland and a computer program varies the power as it moves. The radiation beam is always focused on the prostate, but the angle of the beam varies as it rotates to minimize damage to the surrounding tissues. Healthy cells can recover from radiation damage if it isn’t too severe. That can preserve at least partial prostate function. Even so, side effects of radiation therapy can include fatigue, urinary distress, abdominal pain, and diarrhea. Dr. Taylor explained that IMRT therapy can treat cancerous cells around the prostate gland as well as those within. Another advantage of IMRT is that the side effects are usually less severe than surgery and certainly less immediate. With IMRT, I could spare myself the trauma of an invasive surgery, enjoy a more normal life in the short term, and possibly in the long term as well. Suddenly, being in the oncology family didn’t seem so bad. I felt like I should go back and apologize to our concierge. Deb and I met a second time with Dr. Dai to give her a chance to offer a rebuttal. She looked at the projected outcomes and agreed that Dr. Taylor’s numbers were valid. She also conceded that surgery couldn’t guarantee removal of all the cancerous tissue, and it would put an end to my prostate function. One common reason to opt for surgery, relief of urinary problems caused by an enlarged prostate, wasn’t a factor for me. Dr. Dai did point out that surgery isn’t done following radiation therapy, so I couldn’t change my mind later. But when I asked directly for a recommendation, she demurred Dr. Taylor hadn’t given a recommendation either. My case resides in that anxious gray area of who knows? If my cancer was less aggressive or less advanced, then surgery would be the best choice for a cure. Get it out and get on with my life. That had worked out well for Dr. Taylor. If my cancer was more advanced, then radiation or chemotherapy would be the only choices. Managing the disease more so than curing it. But I was in between with my unfavorable intermediate risk. Surgery might be successful for me, but the odds weren’t great. In addition, the numbers showed that my fifteen-year survival outlook would be almost the same with either treatment option. In the end, I chose to avoid surgery and go for a better quality of life in the short term. And I can still hope that my prostate function returns over time while the cancer doesn’t. So, I embraced my oncology family and asked Dr. Taylor to schedule me for radiation therapy. I was ready to get started right away, but it turned into a case of hurry up and wait. The first step was yet another scan on November 27th. This time it was a CT scan to get a more accurate map of my prostate gland and my pelvic bones. The scan confirmed that my prostate was enlarged (53 cc). It also showed that my pubic arch is high enough to make me a candidate for Brachytherapy. There are two methods for irradiating prostate cancer. IMRT is external and Brachytherapy is internal. IMRT requires 15-minute sessions at the hospital five days a week for six to ten weeks, while Brachytherapy is a one-time outpatient procedure. Brachytherapy involves implanting radioactive seeds within the prostate gland to deliver radiation directly to the cancer cells. A needle is used to place the seeds, and they're inserted through the pelvic opening. Women have a wide pelvis with a high pubic arch to accommodate childbirth. Men have a narrower pelvis and the pubic arch may be too low to allow access for Brachytherapy. For those cases, a full 10 weeks of IMRT is required to deliver the desired radiation dosage. DDr. Taylor used all of my diagnostic data to prepare a customized treatment plan and presented it to the oncology review board the first week of December. I was approved for 6 weeks of IMRT followed by Brachytherapy. The IMRT sessions would treat the cancerous cells in and around my prostate from the outside in. Then the radioactive seeds would finish the treatment from the inside out. For me, the combination of the two therapies would be more effective than either alone. But I still wasn’t quite ready for irradiation. I learned that there’s a less obvious fourth therapy for prostate cancer and I would actually be starting with that one first. It seems that prostate cancer cells feed on testosterone, and they also need it to reproduce and spread. Using an androgen blocker prevents a man’s body from producing that testosterone fuel. That starves the cancer and shrinks the prostate gland. And a smaller prostate enhances the effectiveness of the radiation treatment and reduces the impact on surrounding tissue. So, on December 4th I got my first dose of hormone therapy. It comes with its own set of side effects, similar to menopause, including fatigue, irritability, and hot flashes. There are many supplements advertised on TV for low-T. Well, I’m operating on no-T. It’s frustrating to deal with, but it might save my life. I struggle with my usual yard work and some days I just nap all afternoon. And the hormone therapy also causes smug comments from the women in my life, "Now you know what we go through." The hormone treatment is effective though, my prostate volume shrank by half, to 24 cc, over the next three months. By March of 2025 I was already showing real improvement, even though I still hadn't received any radiation. |
| Part 1 - Diagnosis My blue ribbon story begins with a routine yearly physical in September of 2024. My blood pressure and cholesterol numbers landed in the normal range for a 67 year-old male, but my A1C had risen just high enough to qualify for diabetes. That was a bit disappointing, but not unexpected. My family has a history of type II diabetes and I’ve always had a sweet tooth. My doctor and I agreed that I would modify my diet, get more exercise, and recheck my A1C in six months. A bigger concern was that my PSA had jumped from 4 to 18. I hadn’t experienced any physical symptoms, but an elevated PSA is usually an indication of prostate cancer. My GP told me not to be overly concerned, though. He said that there are other conditions that can cause a high PSA and he ordered another blood draw to confirm the result. The second test came back at 16. Diagnosis confirmed? Not quite. Doctor Chan wasn’t ready to use the C word just yet. “There’s no reason to panic,” he told me. “I sometimes see patients with a PSA in the hundreds. But l do want you to see a urologist and get checked out more thoroughly. Next week.” The urologist’s office confirmed my appointment immediately and the quick response seemed ominous. I’m used to waiting weeks to get a non-emergency appointment at our primary health clinic. But only four days later, I gave up a urine sample to be tested while I was being poked and prodded in the exam room. I faced a battery of questions from the urologist about my personal habits. Questions that no one even wants to hear, let alone answer. But that became a recurring theme over the next weeks and months. The prostate is both a gland and a muscle. It produces part of a man’s seminal fluid and also provides the ‘push’ required for ejaculation. The prostate gland completely surrounds the urethra and sits next to the rectum. Issues with the prostate can affect urination, bowel function, and sexual performance. This guarantees that the health questions required for diagnosis will be intrusive and embarrassing. My urine test at the urologist’s office didn’t reveal anything unusual, but they did find cause for concern during the ‘digital’ exam. There weren't any obvious nodules or masses, but my prostate was noticeably enlarged. “No reason to panic,” Doctor Dai told me. “It may be nothing serious. But l do want you to have an MRI. Next week.” The MRI appointment was confirmed immediately. Again, the urgency seemed ominous, and again, the doctors all said it was premature to use the C word. Nevertheless, my anxiety level ratcheted up. A few days later, I was lying on my back in the claustrophobic tunnel of the MRI machine. I kept my eyes tightly closed, partly because I don’t like tight spaces and partly because I was dreading what they might find. Still, I needed to know if the outlook would be good or bad. And I got bad. The MRI images showed lesions on my prostate gland. The MRI also showed a prostate volume of 63 cc, a significant enlargement over normal. “There’s no cause for panic,” Doctor Dai said. “It probably isn’t serious yet. But we’ll have to do a biopsy to see exactly what we’re dealing with. Let’s schedule it for next week.” Despite all assurances, the trajectory of my diagnosis seemed to be headed downhill. I’d gone from not serious to not serious yet. And the sense of urgency remained. I tried to stay calm and keep a positive attitude for my wife, Debbie, but I had a bad feeling and I did a poor job of concealing my anxiety. The biopsy was performed by Dr. Dai on September 30th, less than three weeks after my GP first noted the elevated PSA level. Prostate biopsy is a relatively minor outpatient procedure, similar to a colonoscopy, with the patient under a light general anesthesia. A hollow needle takes tissue samples from suspicious areas of the prostate as identified by the MRI scan. The doctor is guided by an ultrasound probe and also does a more thorough physical exam of the gland while they’re ‘in the neighborhood’. The side effects are mild, and recovery requires only a few days of restricted physical activity. The emotional impact was far more severe. I didn’t want to think about a negative outcome, but simply having the procedure forced it on me. Debbie and I met with Dr. Dai the following week to discuss the results. This was the meeting where we finally used the dreaded C word. Ten of fourteen cores taken from my prostate were positive for cancer. It had already spread throughout most of my prostate gland. Dr. Dai explained the surgical treatment option, total removal of the prostate and surrounding lymph nodes. She also described the probable side effects of surgery such as incontinence, impotence, and infertility. And my case would be complicated by the presence of a surgical mesh that had been implanted in 2021 to treat an inguinal hernia. There wasn’t any good news. My initial reaction was a panicky impulse to get the tumor cut out immediately, today if possible. I wanted the damned thing gone. But there’s a mandatory six-week recovery period between biopsy and prostate surgery. That meant waiting until mid-November at the earliest. And Dr. Dai recommended that I get a second opinion from a radiation oncologist before making a final decision about treatment. She also scheduled a bone scan to determine whether the cancer had spread beyond my prostate. There weren’t any more comforting assurances, the cancer diagnosis was serious. The only question left was how serious. I spent the next two weeks in tense apprehension before getting back to the hospital for my second another scan. The urgency felt very real now, and time dragged slowly as I waited for the next piece of bad news. In my mind, the bone scan would reveal whether my case was treatable or terminal. I could almost feel those insidious cancer cells breaking away and spreading through my body. What if today is that day? What if next week is too late? A bone scan is done to look for cancer cells that have migrated to other parts of the body. A radioactive marker that binds to cancer cells is injected into the patient’s bloodstream and the scanner creates a full-body image of where the marker accumulates. For some odd reason, cancer cells show up in the bones first, so that’s where the doctors look. If there’s no cancer in the bones, then it hasn’t spread. The marker injection is relatively painless but awkward. It’s done slowly, over the course of a minute or so, and the patient has to stay still. Then there’s a waiting period of two to four hours while the body absorbs the marker. I was told that the amount of radioactivity in the injection is less than what is received during a CT scan, and that no one ever has an allergic reaction to the marker chemical. The only recovery advice is to drink extra fluids to flush the marker from the body. It’s important to look beyond the initial tumor site because metastatic cancer is much more serious. The treatment options are more invasive, the side effects of treatment are worse, and the long-term outcome is less likely to be positive. Thankfully, my bone scan was negative (although it did show significant wear in my arthritic knees). I felt considerable relief at this bit of good news. Maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel. At least, I wouldn’t have to start out with chemotherapy. But I still needed to decide on surgery versus radiation. So, the next step was to schedule an appointment with Dr. Taylor at Evergreen hospital for November 12th. It was at this point that I ‘came out’ to my friends and family. I hadn’t wanted to frighten them until I had a firm diagnosis. Their outpouring of support was encouraging. My daughter Megan immediately brought me a T-shirt emblazoned with a cat giving the double bird and a caption that reads simply Hey, Cancer. Debbie gave me a St. Peregrine medal to wear. He’s the patron saint of cancer patients. I’m not sure if I believe in the intercession of the saints, but I haven’t taken it off either. When I’m feeling down, I can reach up and touch it. It’s comforting to know that Deb is praying for me. My daughter-in-law Mary gave me a ball cap with a row of colored ribbons that represent different types of cancer. It says Cancer Sucks in Every Color. I knew about the pink ribbon for breast cancer, but I had to search online to find out that there are actually many colors for many cancers. My ribbon, for prostate cancer, is light blue.  "The Blue Ribbon (part 2)" |
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