Time to Get a Haircut

His hair fell out in clumps today. I teared up and he said, “Time to get a haircut.” He seems fine with it all. It’s me that falls apart every time something new happens.

Do you ever just feel like nothing is going your way? I decided that it wasn’t cancer when I sat in the hospital room, but the doctors said otherwise. I decided that they would get it all with the surgery, but the radiologist disagreed. So I decided that his blood work would be fine and markers would go back to normal after the tumor was removed, but the oncologist said, “Chemo.” Then I geared up and decided that he wouldn’t get sick, I was wrong again. Hair fell out in clumps today, and he says, “Time to get a haircut.”

I am ready for things to go the way that I want them to.

Chemotherapy rugged

Kenneth started chemotherapy this week (Dec. 14), and what started out smoothly became rugged quickly.  On Monday, he was feeling well enough to drive himself home. Then the reactions started in. Nausea, vomiting, dry heaves. They have tried several different medications to alleviate the nausea, but it has been a rough week for Kenneth and the family.

He completed the first round of chemo on Dec. 18, and is scheduled in January for the second round. The routine has been that Grandma Nancy takes Kenneth to UMC in the morning about 8 a.m. They put him on an iv tube for a few hours, and then he goes home about 2:30 to 3 p.m.

He’s had to have extra fluids because of all he has lost during the treatment cycle.

New cancer in family

Jenni’s husband, Kenneth, checked himself into a clinic last week (on Oct. 26), and they immediately slapped him into the hospital at University Medical Center. Testicular cancer. Clinic sonograms had revealed a mass and one testicle completely destroyed.

On Monday evening, we had a regular gathering in his hospital room while Kenneth drank the wonderful “shakes” they give before radiology. Kenneth’s dad (Sam), stepmom (Dana), and sisters (Pam and Melinda) were there as well as Jenni, Lilly, Aiden, Nancy, me, Jacob and Andrea. Later that night Kenneth had a CT scan that confirmed the earlier diagnosis.

They operated Tuesday, and the doctors told Kenneth to relax for a few weeks. Hah! No lifting for six weeks. Hah!

Preliminary biopsy results suggested they got all the cancer and that it was limited to one side. Pending further results, Kenneth and Jenni plan to decide whether to undergo chemotherapy and/or other treatments to stay ahead of the cancer.

 

All good news

On this the eve of the one year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, we received only good news. First, relative to the ongoing diagnostic tests, all indications are that I am cancer free and that the cyst on my liver is unchanged and benign.

Second, Dr. Gombos had only praise for the work Donnie Franklin did on my prosthesis. Dr. Gombos called it “better than most” and said “it looks really good.” Coming as it does from the ever conservative, close-to-his vest Dr. Gombos, this is high praise.

We were somewhat expecting the “all clear” message on the cancer. I had been having diagnostic CT scans, X-rays and blood work every 90 days. Following the June round of work this year, I had received orders for the next round to be conducted not in September but in December. The doctor himself asked a couple questions about Dr. Allison and the care I was getting in Lubbock, and then offered me an option. See Dr. Allison every six months and visit Houston every 12. I jumped on the offer.

So my next visit is scheduled for next summer, with diagnostics to be executed in June.

Once again, we are grateful for the many blessings we receive and for the gift of sight.

Six months / three months

We had a positive visit at MD Anderson today, and they put us on a 3-month / 6-month schedule. That is, we are still on a 3-month testing cycle, but we need come to Houston only a every 6-months  – unless the tests suggest something otherwise.

We started the appointment cycle at 9:30 with the check-in and some preliminary exams. About 11 a.m., Dr. Gombos’s PA, Megan, and his nurse Suzanne ushered us in for the “detailed interview” stage of things. During this process, we met Dr.  Gombos’s new PA, Cliff Leonard.

All the staff praised the work of the ocularist (Donnie Franklin), saying the prosthesis really looked good, even when it was sitting on the counter!

Dr. Gombos came in, and we discussed why some call ocular implants “coral” and the procedure known as “pegging.”  The implants are called coral because they are porous and encourage growth and familiarity with blood vessels and other body tissue. Pegging is the process of drilling a hole in the “coral” and then placing a peg on the prosthesis that fits into hole.

Dr. Gombos said he does not favor pegging because the increased risk of chronic infection outweighs the marginal cosmetic improvement.

We’re good with that.

So we left MD Anderson about 12:30 p.m.  with a handful of orders and prescriptions. We have to fulfill some of the orders this month, some in May, and return to Houston in August. Hooray!

Doing well, really

So, we have been duly reminded that one of the obligations of doing a blog is that you have to keep it up-to-date. Joe Benson (Joe and Sheila, Palm Springs) is now at least the third one who’s asked “how are you doing … haven’t heard.” It started with Milverton Wallace telephoning us from London, for Pete’s sake. His chastisement was strong, but friendly – ”you haven’t written anything.”

We are doing well, actually. December was torrid (separate entry about the family doings), but wonderful. We are still making many small adjustments, the kind that Susan Smith correctly observed were the things you never think about. For example, you loose depth perception, and you also lose some sense of texture with things.

Or with jumbles of things. I have this little tray inside my top dresser drawer. I put my pocket contents in the tray at night. My wallet, keys, pens, coins, knife, coins, handkerchief, etc. There are also odds and ends of similar things that reside in the tray on a temporary (or more permanent) basis. Things like a shoehorn, comb, other pens, scattered coins, stray receipts, nail clippers, etc. 

At any rate, things in that tray get jumbled together, and without a decent perception of depth / relief, it gets more difficult to know what I am looking at. 

Oh well, in time. I just have to remind myself occasionally that I really do have a lot of blessings. I do have sight. I am generally healthy and lucid. And all indications are that at least for now there is no melanoma.

This week I start the next round of follow-up visits. First the ocularist, then back to MD Anderson in Houston the front end of February, and finally a visit with my local ophthalmologist later in the month. Regarding the MD Anderson visit, I am operating under the assumption that no news is good news. We had a lot of tests in November. Those results went to Houston, and I have heard nothing back.

That’s all for now.

God bless.

Prosthetic in place

The Fort Worth “appointment” turned out to be an all-day thing. A fascinating process. Got into the office at 8:45 a.m. Paperwork done by 9. At 9:05 the ocularist (Donnie Franklin) sits down with Nancy and me and explains the process.  

Digest version: He took an impression of the eye socket. When it was “set,” he made a wax model of the prosthesis. I had to wear the wax model for a while. Somewhere in the middle of all this he started doing the eye color / measurement thing, getting the color and such from the good eye.

Once the wax model had  shaped itself to the orb and socket, he did a couple of positioning things.

We got about 90 minutes for lunch.

He had two other patients throughout the morning. While the wax model was curing, he sent me into the waiting room and saw someone else. So we shuffled in and out.

The afternoon, I think I was the only one left.

At 1 p.m. he inserted the “rough” of the prosthesis and warned me that if I looked in a mirror, I should not be too frightened. I did, and I thought the thing was pretty cool, really. But he devoted himself later to doing a lot of finishing touches. I never noticed before, but I have a ring of blue around my iris. So does the prosthesis.

Donnie created “blood vessels” using cross-stitch thread that he shredded. By about 2:15 or so, he had that part done. He gave me about four pages of reading material, dismissed me, and told me to come back at 4:15 with all the reading material mastered.

He and his office staff now know what journalism professors do. I handed back their copy, marked up for corrections.

Sometime shortly after 5 p.m., he dismissed us with a maintenance kit and an acrylic prosthesis that looks remarkably like the other eye. 

Nancy and I were both tired, but we had agreed to meet our son Ben and his fiance and her parents for dinner in Grapevine. So we braved traffic, got to the Grapevine Mills Mall on time, had dinner, and drove back to the hotel in Fort Worth and crashed. And slept late.

Friday morning we celebrated. We decided after breakfast that I did not need to return to the ocularist for “adjustments” (attitude notwithstanding).

The socket and the prosthesis still have some “adjusting” to do, but we are on the right track.

And oh, I did all the driving!!!

Favorable “path”

The pathology report confirmed that the tumor was malignant melanoma and that it had reached the outer layer of the eye. However, it had not broken through the outer layer. Dr. Gombos voiced a few concerns in his “limited concern, hedge-your-bet” voice, but said he is not recommending radiation for me.

Those words, of course colored all subsequent perceptions, and I’m not too sure what all else he said.

Except that there is still some edema, and some other healing to do in the eye socket. Things look “good” (not perfect), and he wants to see me in three months. I think he was talking about six month intervals after that for a couple years, assuming everything goes well.

Dr. Gombos said we can cut back the ointment in the eye to once a day (hooray) and that my Lubbock ophthalmologist will have to be alerted to a couple of tissue issues and other concerns. He gave a qualified go-ahead to start the ocularist associations.

We are working on some short term follow-up stuff now and will be free to go home this weekend. I have some local testing and diagnoses to follow-up on Friday, and blood to give and a CT scan in Lubbock later this month.

We don’t have a complete sign-off on this phase yet, but the scariest part is over.

Prayers of thanksgiving in order.

Bumps in the road

The Road to Recovery is interrupted by speed bumps.

We had come back from Houston. I had taken almost a week where the only time I was on campus was early in the morning or late afternoon-evening. I took naps during the day. Then on Oct. 13 I conducted the news budget meeting in Multi-Platform News. We were off and running. I was feeling much better, and on Oct. 15 I arranged individual time with each of my students (I usually do that twice in the semester).

All these friendly voices whispered things like “take it easy” and “go slow.” I thought I was. Thursday, Oct. 16, I hit the first speed bump. I had overdone things so much on Wednesday, that when I came onto campus Thursday, I not only was feeling “out of gas,” I also felt mildly nauseous and somewhat light-headed. I had to beg off a meeting with one student, and Nancy came and got me about noon. I think I slept most of the afternoon. 

Friday was better. Saturday was so good that I went to my grandson’s party at the roller rink about the time the Tech game was ending. Most of the swelling had left the eye, and the eyelids were wanting to open on their own. Eye patches are not glasses friendly, so we hit upon a plan to have a local discount glasses place put a dark plastic lens on the dark side of the face. That’s another story, but we got the glasses back – done correctly – on Monday.

Monday. Another speed bump. I awakened Monday morning with swelling in the right eye worse than it has been since the bandages were removed. I had an afternoon appointment with Dr. Allison, and he postulated a couple theories; but he said I did not have an infection. He sent me home with instructions to put an ice pack over the eye. We went through a couple packs in the afternoon and evening, and things were much improved. 

So we think we are getting the speed bump message. We don’t like it, but we are starting to figure out that progress can be made even at a slower pace.

Still in our thoughts & prayers

You’re still in our thoughts and prayers.

Randy,

You’re mentioning things I wouldn’t even think about – a ghost over your good eye – Life is full of adjustments – some minor some very major – and you seem to be handling all very well.

Love,

Lane and Dianne

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