Hopefully nothing.
It's nothing.
It has to be nothing.
The lump under Ward's arm is nothing.
We're going to Houston just to verify the very nothingness of the lump.
Should be easy. Straightforward. Stuff they do every single day at a CANCER hospital where most of the patients are not only from out of town, but out of state and some from out of country.
Schedule shit in an orderly fashion and a timely manner.
See? Easy.
But it's not. I had a helluva frustrating morning yesterday just getting things ironed out, not on my end- I've arranged for work and home and fixed our incredibly complex schedules to accommodate for being gone Sunday afternoon through Tuesday evening.
And I thought that just this once (out of say 4 dozen times in the last 7 years) we had a schedule that had fallen together seamlessly. Because it should be easy.
The dermatologist found a lump and notified Ward's primary care physician in the Head and Neck center because that's where his original cancer was- on his head. So that's who scans him every 6 months to be sure it doesn't come back.
The Head and Neck physician said, "Yikes. Lets do a PET scan, an ultrasound and a biopsy to be sure it's nothing. I'll order it and see you after all that is done to tell you it's nothing".
So they scheduled. Both the PET scan and ultrasound appointments on the internet patient site said "PET scan/ultrasound/Head and Neck". I called Head and Neck to be sure they were not taking images of the head and neck because the lump isn't there. It's in a lymph node on his side.
After five requests for verification, finally someone told me, "Yes- it just says Head and Neck because that's the department who ordered it". Fine. Makes sense.
Here's our incredibly simple schedule-
Drive down Sunday.
PET scan Monday at 6am
Ultrasound w/needle biopsy Tuesday 6am
See the Dr. and be told, "It's nothing- go home". Tuesday 9am
Go home.
Yesterday (Friday) we got the calls from PET and Ultrasound to tell us what meds Ward can take and what he can eat/drink before the scans.
PET scan department said, "We'll be done by 8:30 and you take your morning meds at 9- don't do anything differently but be sure no carbs starting Sunday morning because you're diabetic and if your sugar is too high we can't scan. And nothing to eat or drink after midnight Sunday night."
Cool.
Ultrasound department said, "Nothing to eat or drink after midnight Monday night and withhold coumadin for three days prior."
*Wait. What? I told her no one told us about the coumadin withhold.
"Well, I'm telling you now". (said in a sort of snotty tone)
"So you need to get with your cardio doctor to see what he wants to do- he may want to bridge with lovenox injections the days he's off coumadin".
This was Friday at 11:45 am. And I was just supposed to magically conjure up Ward's cardiologist (whose office, like many offices is officially open till 5pm on Fridays but who really clear out starting at noon and are literal ghost towns by 3pm) and ask him about coumadin withhold, and who may or may not order lovenox which is something a lot of pharmacies don't keep on hand.
Awesome.
I called the cardiologist and talked to the nurse who needed to get ahold of the doctor for further orders. Regarding the lovely advance warning, her only comment was, "That's just crazy". No shit.
'Round about 1pm the ultrasound department called back. Seems they had been sent Ward's chart by mistake. They were the Neurological Ultrasound, which is different from General Ultrasound. I don't know and I don't care. She said they had contacted Head and Neck and that they were putting in for an appointment in General Ultrasound.
I asked her if the coumadin withhold would still be important for General Ultrasound and she didn't know.
She said, "All I know is that they put in for a General Ultrasound of Mr. Dixon's head and neck, just like we were going to do."
*Wait. What? After I explained (amazingly calmly) that we don't WANT Mr. Dixon's head and neck ultrasounded because that's NOT WHERE THE LUMP is, she gave me the number for General Ultrasound and told me to call Head and Neck to be sure they had the orders right.
So I called General Ultrasound and they said, "Golly- it says head and neck- I'll call to be sure".
So I messaged Head and Neck and asked them "What the hell?"
I checked the internet patient site and they had scheduled the General Ultrasound with fine needle biopsy for
Tuesday 2pm
I called General Ultrasound and told them that Dr. H is good, but not so good that he can see the results of a scan and biopsy FIVE HOURS BEFORE THEY'RE DONE.
"Ohhhhhh...no one told me that- they just said schedule for sometime Tuesday".
Why the HELL would you see the doctor BEFORE the scans???
(I actually tried to do this correctly- using italics instead of capital letters, but it slows me down so deal with it)
She said, "We're totally booked Monday and early Tuesday- did you try calling the department who sent the order to the wrong ultrasound office?"
Yes. Yes I did. And they sent it to you, my little pumpkinhead- and it's so not OUR fault that it got messed up. It costs us a minimum of $500 every time we go down there with hotel and gas and food and we're doing this THIS week in ONE shot, and you're the scheduler so you need to make it so.
I was much nicer on the phone. I only swore a blue streak after hanging up. The schnauzer is still trembling.
She made it so.
I asked about the coumadin withhold and it's just a general ultrasound- no limitations at all- eating, drinking, medications...none. Sweet. New ultrasound/biopsy is 7:30 Tuesday. And what area are they ultrasounding, pray tell?
Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. OUTSTANDING.
The lady from Head and Neck called me regarding the message I'd sent and she pulled up the order and verified that yes- the PET scan is of Left side lymph node something or other under the arm. FABULOUS.
The nurse from the cardiologist called to give me coumadin withhold instructions and I said thank you very much but we don't need to do that- they sent his orders to the wrong department. "Crazy" she said. No shit.
So we're straightened out I think.
Here's what slays me and has slain me for seven years.
This is the best cancer hospital in the country and one of the top two in the world.
Cancer is all they do.
Out of town patients is a high percentage of what they do.
They're so specialized the schedulers do NOTHING but schedule, and each department has multiple schedulers.
How can this be so messed up so consistently? Honestly, Ward's case is NOT difficult- surely not any more difficult than anyone else there- this is the place people go who are too difficult for 'regular' hospitals. And yet, MOST of the time there is something that needs adjusting on our schedules- not to accommodate our time constraints, but just to make a damn bit of sense...like doing scans and blood work before seeing the doctor.
Why do *I*, a little old lady who barely made it through high school, have to watch every damn thing they do?
What happens to people (and there are many people who fit this description) who figure, "They know what they're doing- I'll just follow the schedule"?
How many die who don't need to? Just because no one is watching the details and by the time everything is straightened out it's too late?
This bothers me more than a little. You may have noticed.
I guess I should just be happy when they tell us, "It's nothing- go home till July when we do your regularly scheduled 6 month scans".
I'm sure that's what other people do.
And I will be happy- deliriously joyfully thankfully happy, because right now I'm almost paralyzed with the fear of the "What ifs?" I will hug the stuffing out of my husband and come home and hug the stuffing out of my son, and return to the laughably labled 'normal' of our lives. Till next time.
But this sort of consistently shoddy scheduling crap still bugs the shit out of me and never ever goes away.
It sits on my brain- a tiny living smudge of discontent, poking at me with needles of doubt perched next to the razor-legged spider of fear weaving her web of uncontrollable things that stick to our family over and over again.
photo by Sheri Dixon
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Of Puppies and Babies and Snuggles in Bed
"You want to put him all the way BACK THERE? How can you even THINK that?" my husband said accusingly.
We had just had our child- a darling bouncing boy of 8 pounds 4 ounces. He was born right...there. On our bed. With 2 midwives in attendance, just hours previously.
Now, we'd planned where the nursery would be- in the room behind the kitchen that was my older son's room when they visited. We'd borrowed a crib from Ward's brother and set it up with all new brightly colored safari animal sheets and whatnot. Where the baby was going to be sleeping was not a surprise.
Until the baby was born.
I've always been a proponent of the Family Bed- keeping babies close when sleeping. My first husband was not so much, and for the most part, Americans in general are not in favor of 'that sort of falderal'.
So my two older kids had their own rooms and cribs, because
a) I hadn't grown old and confident enough yet to say, "Shut up. The babies are coming to bed with us and if you don't like it, lemme show you to the sofa".
b) Their rooms were literally 3 steps away from ours.
I never let them cry themselves to sleep and spent hours rocking them and patting little rear ends till they dozed off.
Because our old Victorian Texas house was bigger and more rambling than our postage stamp ranch up north, the new baby would be...12 steps away.
And Ward was OK with that. This was going to be his first child, and he was pushing 50 years old. I was 40, and this was my 3rd.
I figured if anyone would need some 'space' from the new alien in our lives, it would be Ward.
Until the baby was born.
"You want to put him all the way BACK THERE? How can you even THINK that?"
and the baby moved into our bed.
The theory goes that you cannot sleep with the baby because tending to the baby's every whimper will cause him to be clingy and you must encourage independence.
Really. We're talking about a person who is unable to walk or talk, and hasn't figured out how to use their opposable thumbs or car keys. Also toothless. Just how damn independent do you want this larval human to be?
The theory goes that co-sleeping is dangerous and you could crush that tiny child...maybe that's what happens to some of the SIDS babies...
Actually, co-sleeping babies have a lower rate of SIDS deaths- something about being as close as possible to their former environs and hearing/feeling breathing and heartbeats and the ever constant shifting of mom's body reminds the little person to breathe and shift on their own.
Also- unless you go to bed stone drunk, you're not going to crush your child. Most people who have small pets sleep with their pets on the bed (doesn't matter if you admit it or not, you do). Now, raise your hand if you fit that category- sleeping with small pets.
Good. Now keep them in the air if you've ever crushed one to death.
That's what I thought.
The theory is that if you sleep with your child(ren) in bed with you, you'll never have sex again.
Stop it- you're a parent now- you're never having sex again anyway.
Just kidding. But you already know you need to be more...creative and opportunistic than pre-parenthood.
Remember high school? (Hope my mom doesn't read this...)
The theory is that if the kids are sleeping in your bed at age three, they'll still be there at age thirty-three.
Our boy graduated from our bed to a cot in our room at about eight. That was about two years longer than I'd figured on, but to be fair, right after his sixth birthday, the doctors started slicing, dicing and re-arranging his dad, so I cut some slack.
At ten he was in his own room.
The two people who gave me the most shit about "he'll be in your bed forever" themselves were in their parent's bed till they were 12 and 14, respectively. So they can just kiss my ass. My 'clingy spoiled baby' beat them both.
Here's the thing.
In most cultures, the Family Bed is not the exception- it's the norm. Every culture knows that babies who are secure in knowing that their parents are right...HERE will be more confident and independent. What the hell do we teach our babies when we let them 'cry it out' or threaten them with punishment for LEAVING THEIR BEDS when they're scared?
How is "You need to learn that mommy and daddy will be back for you...when we're damn good and ready" in any form reassuring?
I've worked around animals my whole life. Worked for veterinarians for over half my life.
If someone were to call me and say, "My dog is fixin' to have puppies and here's my plan- I'm going to just put them with the mother dog to eat a few times a day and let her clean them up- otherwise they'll be in a box in the other room...because she needs her sleep and the pups need to learn independence" I'd call the law on them for animal neglect and/or cruelty.
Because they're BABIES for cripes sake and babies need to be pretty much attached to their mom.
Get it?
My kids are all confident, capable, brilliant human beings...mostly in spite of me instead of because of me.
But I like to think whatever form of 'attachment parenting' I practiced did some good.
Now, don't even get me started about the barbaric practice of circumcision...
We had just had our child- a darling bouncing boy of 8 pounds 4 ounces. He was born right...there. On our bed. With 2 midwives in attendance, just hours previously.
Now, we'd planned where the nursery would be- in the room behind the kitchen that was my older son's room when they visited. We'd borrowed a crib from Ward's brother and set it up with all new brightly colored safari animal sheets and whatnot. Where the baby was going to be sleeping was not a surprise.
Until the baby was born.
I've always been a proponent of the Family Bed- keeping babies close when sleeping. My first husband was not so much, and for the most part, Americans in general are not in favor of 'that sort of falderal'.
So my two older kids had their own rooms and cribs, because
a) I hadn't grown old and confident enough yet to say, "Shut up. The babies are coming to bed with us and if you don't like it, lemme show you to the sofa".
b) Their rooms were literally 3 steps away from ours.
I never let them cry themselves to sleep and spent hours rocking them and patting little rear ends till they dozed off.
Because our old Victorian Texas house was bigger and more rambling than our postage stamp ranch up north, the new baby would be...12 steps away.
And Ward was OK with that. This was going to be his first child, and he was pushing 50 years old. I was 40, and this was my 3rd.
I figured if anyone would need some 'space' from the new alien in our lives, it would be Ward.
Until the baby was born.
"You want to put him all the way BACK THERE? How can you even THINK that?"
and the baby moved into our bed.
The theory goes that you cannot sleep with the baby because tending to the baby's every whimper will cause him to be clingy and you must encourage independence.
Really. We're talking about a person who is unable to walk or talk, and hasn't figured out how to use their opposable thumbs or car keys. Also toothless. Just how damn independent do you want this larval human to be?
The theory goes that co-sleeping is dangerous and you could crush that tiny child...maybe that's what happens to some of the SIDS babies...
Actually, co-sleeping babies have a lower rate of SIDS deaths- something about being as close as possible to their former environs and hearing/feeling breathing and heartbeats and the ever constant shifting of mom's body reminds the little person to breathe and shift on their own.
Also- unless you go to bed stone drunk, you're not going to crush your child. Most people who have small pets sleep with their pets on the bed (doesn't matter if you admit it or not, you do). Now, raise your hand if you fit that category- sleeping with small pets.
Good. Now keep them in the air if you've ever crushed one to death.
That's what I thought.
The theory is that if you sleep with your child(ren) in bed with you, you'll never have sex again.
Stop it- you're a parent now- you're never having sex again anyway.
Just kidding. But you already know you need to be more...creative and opportunistic than pre-parenthood.
Remember high school? (Hope my mom doesn't read this...)
The theory is that if the kids are sleeping in your bed at age three, they'll still be there at age thirty-three.
Our boy graduated from our bed to a cot in our room at about eight. That was about two years longer than I'd figured on, but to be fair, right after his sixth birthday, the doctors started slicing, dicing and re-arranging his dad, so I cut some slack.
At ten he was in his own room.
The two people who gave me the most shit about "he'll be in your bed forever" themselves were in their parent's bed till they were 12 and 14, respectively. So they can just kiss my ass. My 'clingy spoiled baby' beat them both.
Here's the thing.
In most cultures, the Family Bed is not the exception- it's the norm. Every culture knows that babies who are secure in knowing that their parents are right...HERE will be more confident and independent. What the hell do we teach our babies when we let them 'cry it out' or threaten them with punishment for LEAVING THEIR BEDS when they're scared?
How is "You need to learn that mommy and daddy will be back for you...when we're damn good and ready" in any form reassuring?
I've worked around animals my whole life. Worked for veterinarians for over half my life.
If someone were to call me and say, "My dog is fixin' to have puppies and here's my plan- I'm going to just put them with the mother dog to eat a few times a day and let her clean them up- otherwise they'll be in a box in the other room...because she needs her sleep and the pups need to learn independence" I'd call the law on them for animal neglect and/or cruelty.
Because they're BABIES for cripes sake and babies need to be pretty much attached to their mom.
Get it?
My kids are all confident, capable, brilliant human beings...mostly in spite of me instead of because of me.
But I like to think whatever form of 'attachment parenting' I practiced did some good.
Now, don't even get me started about the barbaric practice of circumcision...
Sunday, May 5, 2013
"Oh, You're a _____, So You Must Be a ______!"
Labels. Gotta love 'em.
Why am I so hard for people to figure out? I'm not a stereotype, I'm not a cartoon character, I don't fall easily into one single category of anything. But I'm also nothing special, except to those who love me, and that's A-OK by me.
Specialness is way over-rated.
Lemme give you a 'fer instance'.
We home school.
In order for our little homeschool co-op to hold weekly meetings in a suitably sized facility, we had to prove we have liability insurance. Homeschool groups can get liability insurance from the TX homeschool legal defense group IF your group has 10 active members of the legal defense group. We had 9.
So we joined up- paid our $75 and became members.
So we could have our co-op.
Our group's name is Denton Area Secular Homeschoolers. DASH. Heavy on the secular. Oh, sure we meet in a church building, but it's the Universal Unitarian church so here in TX that doesn't really count.
Since joining the legal defense group, I get emails and the monthly magazine, and every last bit of all correspondence has to do with the difficulties and tribulations of being CHRISTIAN homeschoolers in a sinful and SECULAR world.
Seriously. Not one stinking word about how the secular homeschoolers are viewed by the Christian homeschool community. Hippies, communists, gays, multi-racial families, single parent households, scientists...Not that any of those descriptions are incorrect, mind you- but they're all said either the same way you'd say, "trailer trash" or in hushed tones as though to utter the words aloud would be to invoke the demons of evolution.
I'd say that us secular homeschoolers were being persecuted, but the Christians have got that word's dance card plumb filled up.
Here's another one.
Gun control.
I believe in it. Strongly, loudly and proudly. Absofuckinglutely there should be restrictions on who owns 'em, requirements to show mental stability and proficiency, and outright bans on anything that's manufactured with the sole purpose of killing a lot of people in the blink of an eye. Because if you need an AR with a 100-round clip to hunt a deer you really should starve to death.
Do I think all guns need to be confiscated? Am I prone to the vapors if anyone suggests that my family be armed?
Nope. Between the 3 of us we have 6 guns. Ward has his dad's shotgun and 357 Magnum, Alec has a .22 rifle and an antique Mauser Joe gave him and I've got 2 Ruger .22 handguns that are tools used to dispatch injured livestock and kill snakes who have been proven guilty of poultry-napping (eggs or babies).
One more for fun.
"Those welfare families".
There's a really clever little thing going around the interwebs that says something like, "Since I have to support a welfare family, the least they can do is send me a photo I can put up on my fridge".
Awesome clever. And people repeat it and wink and agree with it and look at me like, "I know, right? Can I get an AMEN?"
Because they know that we're good hard-working white folk who have been employed most or all of our adult lives.
But to their shock, I just ask 'em if they want a color photo or black and white and I'll get it right to 'em.
Because here's the lineup of people who live here on our place-
Me- working full time and have been since I was 16. I'm 53.
Ward- worked full time since he got out of college till cancer, heart disease and diabetes all got together and started dismantling him piece by piece with the help of MD Anderson. He's now on SS Disability. He's 61.
Alec- gets a check every month because his dad's on SS Disability.
Joe- worked full time and then retired at 65. He gets social security and his Veteran's check for losing his hearing blowing shit up in the name of Uncle Sam. He's 70.
Edna- worked her entire life from age 13 on. Retired at 65 and gets her social security check (less than $900) to live on...period. She's 93.
So four. Four out of five of us is receiving a 'government check'.
That makes us an official "welfare family".
When I lay that out, people are really embarrassed and say, "Hey- I wasn't talking about YOU GUYS" and that gives me an opportunity to point out that then they are obviously hella-racist. Of course they deny it.
Politically?
I grew up conservative Republican and the majority of my family are still there. I evolved once I moved down here and became first a poor single woman and then the wife of a man with terrible money-sucking medical issues.
Briefly identified Democrat till I realized they have become what conservative Republicans used to be before conservative Republicans turned all batshit crazy.
Did I vote for Obama (twice)? Yep.
Do I hate some of his policies? With a white-hot hatred.
The ACA did not go far enough- there needed to be a public option to cut the stranglehold the insurance companies have on the patients. The bankers responsible for the '08 crash need to be IN PRISON. The drone program is beyond vile.
No, I shouldn't have voted for Romney- that would've been much much worse.
No, I shouldn't have just sat out the elections because there wasn't a perfect candidate- life isn't about waiting for the perfect One, it's about compromise and being willing to take small steps forward rather than giant leaps backwards.
Living in the Red droplet of confederate blood beating strong in the heart of East Texas, people will spit out at me, "Yer one o' them liberal Democrats, ain'tcha?" and I diffuse that neatly by telling them I am NOT a liberal Democrat- I'm so far to the left of that I can't even see liberal Democrats in my rear view mirror.
Religiously?
Raised Lutheran (ALC, not Missouri synod- we were allowed to sing and dance and...smile) but started questioning in high school, boomeranged back into the fold during my first marriage's death throes in an attempt to 'be the helpmeet god wanted me to be' for my alcoholic abusive husband and finally said "Screw this. I'm living my life in a moral, joyful and GOD-FREE way from now on" and have been much more at peace ever since. Life is actually MORE precious and glorious now than it was when I was a 'believer' instead of the dark maw of despair the church wants you to think it is for us 'heatherns'.
Like I said- I'm nothing special. I'd wager that MOST people are like me- not so easily put into boxes and neatly categorized.
None of us are 100% one thing, through and through.
And I try to remember that in my dealings with Tea Partiers and Conservative Republicans and Fundamental Christians.
I mostly succeed in seeing the humanity through the labels.
But do they?
Why am I so hard for people to figure out? I'm not a stereotype, I'm not a cartoon character, I don't fall easily into one single category of anything. But I'm also nothing special, except to those who love me, and that's A-OK by me.
Specialness is way over-rated.
Lemme give you a 'fer instance'.
We home school.
In order for our little homeschool co-op to hold weekly meetings in a suitably sized facility, we had to prove we have liability insurance. Homeschool groups can get liability insurance from the TX homeschool legal defense group IF your group has 10 active members of the legal defense group. We had 9.
So we joined up- paid our $75 and became members.
So we could have our co-op.
Our group's name is Denton Area Secular Homeschoolers. DASH. Heavy on the secular. Oh, sure we meet in a church building, but it's the Universal Unitarian church so here in TX that doesn't really count.
Since joining the legal defense group, I get emails and the monthly magazine, and every last bit of all correspondence has to do with the difficulties and tribulations of being CHRISTIAN homeschoolers in a sinful and SECULAR world.
Seriously. Not one stinking word about how the secular homeschoolers are viewed by the Christian homeschool community. Hippies, communists, gays, multi-racial families, single parent households, scientists...Not that any of those descriptions are incorrect, mind you- but they're all said either the same way you'd say, "trailer trash" or in hushed tones as though to utter the words aloud would be to invoke the demons of evolution.
I'd say that us secular homeschoolers were being persecuted, but the Christians have got that word's dance card plumb filled up.
Here's another one.
Gun control.
I believe in it. Strongly, loudly and proudly. Absofuckinglutely there should be restrictions on who owns 'em, requirements to show mental stability and proficiency, and outright bans on anything that's manufactured with the sole purpose of killing a lot of people in the blink of an eye. Because if you need an AR with a 100-round clip to hunt a deer you really should starve to death.
Do I think all guns need to be confiscated? Am I prone to the vapors if anyone suggests that my family be armed?
Nope. Between the 3 of us we have 6 guns. Ward has his dad's shotgun and 357 Magnum, Alec has a .22 rifle and an antique Mauser Joe gave him and I've got 2 Ruger .22 handguns that are tools used to dispatch injured livestock and kill snakes who have been proven guilty of poultry-napping (eggs or babies).
One more for fun.
"Those welfare families".
There's a really clever little thing going around the interwebs that says something like, "Since I have to support a welfare family, the least they can do is send me a photo I can put up on my fridge".
Awesome clever. And people repeat it and wink and agree with it and look at me like, "I know, right? Can I get an AMEN?"
Because they know that we're good hard-working white folk who have been employed most or all of our adult lives.
But to their shock, I just ask 'em if they want a color photo or black and white and I'll get it right to 'em.
Because here's the lineup of people who live here on our place-
Me- working full time and have been since I was 16. I'm 53.
Ward- worked full time since he got out of college till cancer, heart disease and diabetes all got together and started dismantling him piece by piece with the help of MD Anderson. He's now on SS Disability. He's 61.
Alec- gets a check every month because his dad's on SS Disability.
Joe- worked full time and then retired at 65. He gets social security and his Veteran's check for losing his hearing blowing shit up in the name of Uncle Sam. He's 70.
Edna- worked her entire life from age 13 on. Retired at 65 and gets her social security check (less than $900) to live on...period. She's 93.
So four. Four out of five of us is receiving a 'government check'.
That makes us an official "welfare family".
When I lay that out, people are really embarrassed and say, "Hey- I wasn't talking about YOU GUYS" and that gives me an opportunity to point out that then they are obviously hella-racist. Of course they deny it.
Politically?
I grew up conservative Republican and the majority of my family are still there. I evolved once I moved down here and became first a poor single woman and then the wife of a man with terrible money-sucking medical issues.
Briefly identified Democrat till I realized they have become what conservative Republicans used to be before conservative Republicans turned all batshit crazy.
Did I vote for Obama (twice)? Yep.
Do I hate some of his policies? With a white-hot hatred.
The ACA did not go far enough- there needed to be a public option to cut the stranglehold the insurance companies have on the patients. The bankers responsible for the '08 crash need to be IN PRISON. The drone program is beyond vile.
No, I shouldn't have voted for Romney- that would've been much much worse.
No, I shouldn't have just sat out the elections because there wasn't a perfect candidate- life isn't about waiting for the perfect One, it's about compromise and being willing to take small steps forward rather than giant leaps backwards.
Living in the Red droplet of confederate blood beating strong in the heart of East Texas, people will spit out at me, "Yer one o' them liberal Democrats, ain'tcha?" and I diffuse that neatly by telling them I am NOT a liberal Democrat- I'm so far to the left of that I can't even see liberal Democrats in my rear view mirror.
Religiously?
Raised Lutheran (ALC, not Missouri synod- we were allowed to sing and dance and...smile) but started questioning in high school, boomeranged back into the fold during my first marriage's death throes in an attempt to 'be the helpmeet god wanted me to be' for my alcoholic abusive husband and finally said "Screw this. I'm living my life in a moral, joyful and GOD-FREE way from now on" and have been much more at peace ever since. Life is actually MORE precious and glorious now than it was when I was a 'believer' instead of the dark maw of despair the church wants you to think it is for us 'heatherns'.
Like I said- I'm nothing special. I'd wager that MOST people are like me- not so easily put into boxes and neatly categorized.
None of us are 100% one thing, through and through.
And I try to remember that in my dealings with Tea Partiers and Conservative Republicans and Fundamental Christians.
I mostly succeed in seeing the humanity through the labels.
But do they?
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Seen Out of the Corner of My Eye
"No Unauthorized Camping"
The sign is posted with authority.
Seen out of the corner of my eye while we drove past it, it didn't register for a minute what it said.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
It made me laugh even as it angered me.
Were we in Galveston driving along the beach, where pitching a tent would be so tempting and romantic?
Nope.
Were we at a wayside stop between here and Houston- tree-filled and picnic-tabled and peaceful?
Nope.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
was posted, bolted actually to the underside of a highway overpass in the guts of Houston.
It was funny because that's the absolute last place anyone would want to pitch a tent, build a campfire, sing songs, tell a few ghost stories and eat 'em some s'mores.
And it was infuriating because I know damn well that those who posted the sign know that.
They're not worried about campers of a Davy Crockett boy scout sort.
They're talking about homeless people.
People without homes
jobs
money
resources
friends
safety nets of any sort
People who are hopeless.
People who would actually look at the endless cacophony and exhaust-filled open maw of a dirt-blown highway underpass and think
"This offers shelter".
Gather their meager belongings and their almost invisible self and take shelter someplace even the pigeons won't roost.
Because it's better than nothing.
Better than being out in the wind or the rain or the beating relentless sun of a Texas summer.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
tries very hard to downplay the reality of homeless people in Houston- the 4th largest city in the USA.
"We have no indigent person problem- we have a CAMPER problem- they just need a reminder to go somewhere else to camp. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. LOOK! Culture and Art and Science! SHINY"!"
"No Unauthorized Camping"
bolted to the cement wall in harsh black and white, is a constant reminder for those huddled against the vertical supports of the highway overpass feeling every shudder of every vehicle pulsing through the concrete like the breathing of the monster city that they can't escape, but can't quite completely live in either.
Breathe in
"All these cars? They're on their way home"
Breathe out
"You don't have a car. Or a home"
Open eyes and there's the sign.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
"Ha. And you don't even have a fucking tent."
The sign is posted with authority.
Seen out of the corner of my eye while we drove past it, it didn't register for a minute what it said.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
It made me laugh even as it angered me.
Were we in Galveston driving along the beach, where pitching a tent would be so tempting and romantic?
Nope.
Were we at a wayside stop between here and Houston- tree-filled and picnic-tabled and peaceful?
Nope.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
was posted, bolted actually to the underside of a highway overpass in the guts of Houston.
It was funny because that's the absolute last place anyone would want to pitch a tent, build a campfire, sing songs, tell a few ghost stories and eat 'em some s'mores.
And it was infuriating because I know damn well that those who posted the sign know that.
They're not worried about campers of a Davy Crockett boy scout sort.
They're talking about homeless people.
People without homes
jobs
money
resources
friends
safety nets of any sort
People who are hopeless.
People who would actually look at the endless cacophony and exhaust-filled open maw of a dirt-blown highway underpass and think
"This offers shelter".
Gather their meager belongings and their almost invisible self and take shelter someplace even the pigeons won't roost.
Because it's better than nothing.
Better than being out in the wind or the rain or the beating relentless sun of a Texas summer.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
tries very hard to downplay the reality of homeless people in Houston- the 4th largest city in the USA.
"We have no indigent person problem- we have a CAMPER problem- they just need a reminder to go somewhere else to camp. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. LOOK! Culture and Art and Science! SHINY"!"
"No Unauthorized Camping"
bolted to the cement wall in harsh black and white, is a constant reminder for those huddled against the vertical supports of the highway overpass feeling every shudder of every vehicle pulsing through the concrete like the breathing of the monster city that they can't escape, but can't quite completely live in either.
Breathe in
"All these cars? They're on their way home"
Breathe out
"You don't have a car. Or a home"
Open eyes and there's the sign.
"No Unauthorized Camping"
"Ha. And you don't even have a fucking tent."
Monday, April 29, 2013
Stepford Has Got to Be Here Somewhere
We live in the wilds of East Texas, just outside a small (just over 1,000 souls by the last count) town.
Our own place is a few miles outside of town, surrounded by hundreds of acres of bigfoot-infested wilderness, forests and creek bottoms (also known as 'swamps'). It's perfect.
Our boy is comfortable running around the entire farm barefooted and mostly nekkid day or night, and doesn't think monsters are going to leap out of the trees to eat him and the noises of the wilderness are comforting and not creepy.
Which is Awesome as far as we're concerned.
Because of Ward's doctors mostly being at MD Anderson down in the guts of Houston, that self-same boy is equally at home surrounded by buildings and concrete, bustle and noise, museums and many cultures in the 4th largest city in the US of A.
Also Awesome.
Being at ease no matter where you are is a very important skill to have.
There are only three places the boy cannot abide- places that creep him out to the max and make him completely squidgy.
Churches.
Schools.
Subdivisions.
And he has valid reasons for all of them. Since he's 13, those reasons are partly shit that's rubbed off from his weird parents and their unconventional viewpoints, but it's morphed into mostly his own observations and carefully thought out opinions.
The first two are no-brainers to anyone who knows us even a little bit.
The last one is recent.
We travel to Denton on a pretty much weekly basis. We are members of a tiny little home school group here in our area, but the Boy is of an age where he needs interaction with more kids his age.
Now. We 'could' join the huge local home school group- boasting over 1,000 families and so big it's got its own sports league and orchestra. By 'could' I mean if we signed the requisite Statement of Faith and stapled the recommendation letter from our church's pastor and a copy of our tithing history along with it.
Obviously...not happening.
So we drive 3 hours each way to Denton- north of Dallas and college town known affectionately as 'Little Austin'- to be members of a secular home school group and recently started staying overnight so he can indulge in the socialization parts of the home school co-op (also known as 'hanging out on the square and loitering') which is very important at his age.
The point.
Is that between the cities of McKinney and Denton there are no less than half a dozen huge subdivisions just on the main highway.
Perhaps you're not quite understanding the import of that statement.
What I mean is that this area of the countryside is flat and almost tree-free till you get into Denton which is flat and full of planted and attractive trees. So on that trip over you've got a pretty clear view of...every damn thing from the Oklahoma state line down to DFW airport. Miles and miles and miles of nothing.
Except
That in several places along Hwy 380 you can crane your neck as far to the left as humanly possible and see nothing but same-colored grey-brown shingled roof tops without any breaks in them- no trees or different colored shingles- it honestly looks like the surface of the moon, or a huge ant farm, or hell (at least my version of hell).
Start at the very firstest house you can see on that left side and slowly turn your head all the way till you can't turn it anymore to the right.
Sans the narrow ribbon of road you're driving on, there is no break in the rooftops. None. Honestly. It's horrifying.
And every rooftop sits on top of a house. Every house houses a family. Every family uses literally tons of water for washing, drinking, cooking, laundry, watering their little postage stamp sized lawns of mono-culture grass.
Now wonder why the huge aquifer that feeds the entire center of Texas (Austin, Dallas, Ft. Worth and all points in between) is RUNNING DRY. Wonder why there are huge blackouts every summer from those brown-roofed, closely crowded dark-bricked abodes all racking up their electric bills by dialing down their thermostats. Wonder why the hell each and every roof is not sporting solar panels and rainwater collection gutters.
And our boy wonders, "What the hell do those kids do for recreation in there?"
So we decided to find out.
The biggest of the subdivisions in that stretch is a monster called "Providence". There are strip malls and mini-hospitals and restaurants and gas stations squished up between the road and the houses devoted JUST to servicing the FIVE THOUSAND (and growing, the bill boards crow)residents that call "Providence" 'home'.
Frankly, that one scares the shit out of me and I'm kind of afraid that if we go in there we'll never, ever find our way out.
So we went up road a bit to the one that has the carefully manicured welcoming look of the classic schmoozy subdivision- still very big- big enough to have its own elementary school, adult clubhouse and water park. This one is planted with imported and braced palm trees, has many carefully dug ponds that are treated with something that keeps the water Sonic Blue Coconut Slush blue and is called "Savannah".
I shit you not.
Out in the center of brown treeless, 9 hours from the ocean grassland, they tried to duplicate Savannah. As in, Georgia.
We drove into Savannah. Savannah, Texas ya'll.
There are several sections of Savannah. Right up front are the ponds (with non-native ducks probably wing-clipped and paddle boats waiting at the docks) and the water park. Behind that is the club house and Hospitality Center.
We drove through several neighborhoods- from the 'cheap seats' smaller houses with little yards to the huge freaking stone-fronted (but vinyl or brick on the other 3 sides) 'mansions' on larger lots. The smaller houses actually had more charm and character and there were people outside walking dogs and working in their yards but you could still tell that folks were given 6 floorplans and a carefully non-clashing assortment of colors for the exteriors and told to 'make it your own individual home'.
Whatever.
We eventually found the school- a really nice one that most 'regular' neighborhoods would die for- behind some carefully tended 'wild green space'.
While the boy allowed that the cheap-seats houses were sort of cute and all the people out and about gave it a community feel, there was still something icky about it, and the more expensive parts with the bigger houses looked totally abandoned- there were no people outside of those houses.
And that while he loves our place in the country, and he may at one point or another opt to live in a totally urban area (because that's where all the action is, yanno. And it is. And we appreciate all of it) he cannot for the life of him figure out the appeal in the freaking subdivisions.
And it made my heart happy that (at least right now) my boy will not be lusting after and working for his own little brown-gray rooftop in the ant farm.
On our way out we stopped at the gas station next to the strip mall of restaurants and stores that services Savannah so I could take this photo of the subdivision next door. Before I saw this sign I would've told you that I could not think of a less sensible subdivision name for a north Texas stubble-field to be called than Savannah, but I would've been wrong.
Behold-
Oh. And we still don't know what the kids in there do- the water park was deserted, the green wild areas were deserted, we saw exactly 4 pre-teen type boys sorta wandering around aimlessly, and in a wonderful juxtaposition of idiocy, the school is directly across the street from the 'active adult' (AKA "no kids allowed) neighborhood.
Maybe they're all at the beach I'm sure is in the subdivision next door...
Our own place is a few miles outside of town, surrounded by hundreds of acres of bigfoot-infested wilderness, forests and creek bottoms (also known as 'swamps'). It's perfect.
Our boy is comfortable running around the entire farm barefooted and mostly nekkid day or night, and doesn't think monsters are going to leap out of the trees to eat him and the noises of the wilderness are comforting and not creepy.
Which is Awesome as far as we're concerned.
Because of Ward's doctors mostly being at MD Anderson down in the guts of Houston, that self-same boy is equally at home surrounded by buildings and concrete, bustle and noise, museums and many cultures in the 4th largest city in the US of A.
Also Awesome.
Being at ease no matter where you are is a very important skill to have.
There are only three places the boy cannot abide- places that creep him out to the max and make him completely squidgy.
Churches.
Schools.
Subdivisions.
And he has valid reasons for all of them. Since he's 13, those reasons are partly shit that's rubbed off from his weird parents and their unconventional viewpoints, but it's morphed into mostly his own observations and carefully thought out opinions.
The first two are no-brainers to anyone who knows us even a little bit.
The last one is recent.
We travel to Denton on a pretty much weekly basis. We are members of a tiny little home school group here in our area, but the Boy is of an age where he needs interaction with more kids his age.
Now. We 'could' join the huge local home school group- boasting over 1,000 families and so big it's got its own sports league and orchestra. By 'could' I mean if we signed the requisite Statement of Faith and stapled the recommendation letter from our church's pastor and a copy of our tithing history along with it.
Obviously...not happening.
So we drive 3 hours each way to Denton- north of Dallas and college town known affectionately as 'Little Austin'- to be members of a secular home school group and recently started staying overnight so he can indulge in the socialization parts of the home school co-op (also known as 'hanging out on the square and loitering') which is very important at his age.
The point.
Is that between the cities of McKinney and Denton there are no less than half a dozen huge subdivisions just on the main highway.
Perhaps you're not quite understanding the import of that statement.
What I mean is that this area of the countryside is flat and almost tree-free till you get into Denton which is flat and full of planted and attractive trees. So on that trip over you've got a pretty clear view of...every damn thing from the Oklahoma state line down to DFW airport. Miles and miles and miles of nothing.
Except
That in several places along Hwy 380 you can crane your neck as far to the left as humanly possible and see nothing but same-colored grey-brown shingled roof tops without any breaks in them- no trees or different colored shingles- it honestly looks like the surface of the moon, or a huge ant farm, or hell (at least my version of hell).
Start at the very firstest house you can see on that left side and slowly turn your head all the way till you can't turn it anymore to the right.
Sans the narrow ribbon of road you're driving on, there is no break in the rooftops. None. Honestly. It's horrifying.
And every rooftop sits on top of a house. Every house houses a family. Every family uses literally tons of water for washing, drinking, cooking, laundry, watering their little postage stamp sized lawns of mono-culture grass.
Now wonder why the huge aquifer that feeds the entire center of Texas (Austin, Dallas, Ft. Worth and all points in between) is RUNNING DRY. Wonder why there are huge blackouts every summer from those brown-roofed, closely crowded dark-bricked abodes all racking up their electric bills by dialing down their thermostats. Wonder why the hell each and every roof is not sporting solar panels and rainwater collection gutters.
And our boy wonders, "What the hell do those kids do for recreation in there?"
So we decided to find out.
The biggest of the subdivisions in that stretch is a monster called "Providence". There are strip malls and mini-hospitals and restaurants and gas stations squished up between the road and the houses devoted JUST to servicing the FIVE THOUSAND (and growing, the bill boards crow)residents that call "Providence" 'home'.
Frankly, that one scares the shit out of me and I'm kind of afraid that if we go in there we'll never, ever find our way out.
So we went up road a bit to the one that has the carefully manicured welcoming look of the classic schmoozy subdivision- still very big- big enough to have its own elementary school, adult clubhouse and water park. This one is planted with imported and braced palm trees, has many carefully dug ponds that are treated with something that keeps the water Sonic Blue Coconut Slush blue and is called "Savannah".
I shit you not.
Out in the center of brown treeless, 9 hours from the ocean grassland, they tried to duplicate Savannah. As in, Georgia.
We drove into Savannah. Savannah, Texas ya'll.
There are several sections of Savannah. Right up front are the ponds (with non-native ducks probably wing-clipped and paddle boats waiting at the docks) and the water park. Behind that is the club house and Hospitality Center.
We drove through several neighborhoods- from the 'cheap seats' smaller houses with little yards to the huge freaking stone-fronted (but vinyl or brick on the other 3 sides) 'mansions' on larger lots. The smaller houses actually had more charm and character and there were people outside walking dogs and working in their yards but you could still tell that folks were given 6 floorplans and a carefully non-clashing assortment of colors for the exteriors and told to 'make it your own individual home'.
Whatever.
We eventually found the school- a really nice one that most 'regular' neighborhoods would die for- behind some carefully tended 'wild green space'.
While the boy allowed that the cheap-seats houses were sort of cute and all the people out and about gave it a community feel, there was still something icky about it, and the more expensive parts with the bigger houses looked totally abandoned- there were no people outside of those houses.
And that while he loves our place in the country, and he may at one point or another opt to live in a totally urban area (because that's where all the action is, yanno. And it is. And we appreciate all of it) he cannot for the life of him figure out the appeal in the freaking subdivisions.
And it made my heart happy that (at least right now) my boy will not be lusting after and working for his own little brown-gray rooftop in the ant farm.
On our way out we stopped at the gas station next to the strip mall of restaurants and stores that services Savannah so I could take this photo of the subdivision next door. Before I saw this sign I would've told you that I could not think of a less sensible subdivision name for a north Texas stubble-field to be called than Savannah, but I would've been wrong.
Behold-
Oh. And we still don't know what the kids in there do- the water park was deserted, the green wild areas were deserted, we saw exactly 4 pre-teen type boys sorta wandering around aimlessly, and in a wonderful juxtaposition of idiocy, the school is directly across the street from the 'active adult' (AKA "no kids allowed) neighborhood.
Maybe they're all at the beach I'm sure is in the subdivision next door...
Thursday, April 25, 2013
When the Answer is the Problem
"In times like these, only our Faith will get us through".
Over and over again I hear that and have heard it my whole life- any time there's a terrible (fill in the blank) exploding and oozing with senseless violence and the harming of innocents almost before anyone realizes what's happened people start to say it
"In times like these, only our Faith will get us through".
And I tried. I tried to lean on my Faith, reach for my Faith, drown in my Faith enough to squelch the pain and dim the horror but it never happened.
It never happened because there was always a little voice in my heart that wouldn't let me close my eyes to the fact that for every one looking to their Faith as solace in terrible times
every one who had committed the atrocities seemed to have also pulled courage and boldness enough out of their Faith to follow through with seemingly super-human and super-villain actions.
And I can't help but think that turning to Faith is not what we need to do.
How about turning to each other?
How about keeping our eye on the people in front of us instead of to the sky and a supposed creator?
It may seem less grandiose to do something "for the good of society" or "because my neighbor needs help" than "for the glory of god" but seriously- society and our neighbors need us; I'm guessing god can fix his own shit.
I can't help but think that the blind Faith needed to set off a bomb, or start a fire, or begin shooting into unarmed crowds of human beings would not be quite as determined if the directive came from Steve, or Peggy, or Hamid and not from GOD or ALLAH.
If we were to take Faith completely out of the equation- the people of action would be less driven and fanatical and those witnessing it or experiencing it would be more apt to freaking actually help someone rather than fall onto their knees and ask GOD to do it.
My contention, then, is NOT
"In times like these, only our Faith will get us through"
but
"In times like these, only each other will get us through the evils that Faith has wrought".
Over and over again I hear that and have heard it my whole life- any time there's a terrible (fill in the blank) exploding and oozing with senseless violence and the harming of innocents almost before anyone realizes what's happened people start to say it
"In times like these, only our Faith will get us through".
And I tried. I tried to lean on my Faith, reach for my Faith, drown in my Faith enough to squelch the pain and dim the horror but it never happened.
It never happened because there was always a little voice in my heart that wouldn't let me close my eyes to the fact that for every one looking to their Faith as solace in terrible times
every one who had committed the atrocities seemed to have also pulled courage and boldness enough out of their Faith to follow through with seemingly super-human and super-villain actions.
And I can't help but think that turning to Faith is not what we need to do.
How about turning to each other?
How about keeping our eye on the people in front of us instead of to the sky and a supposed creator?
It may seem less grandiose to do something "for the good of society" or "because my neighbor needs help" than "for the glory of god" but seriously- society and our neighbors need us; I'm guessing god can fix his own shit.
I can't help but think that the blind Faith needed to set off a bomb, or start a fire, or begin shooting into unarmed crowds of human beings would not be quite as determined if the directive came from Steve, or Peggy, or Hamid and not from GOD or ALLAH.
If we were to take Faith completely out of the equation- the people of action would be less driven and fanatical and those witnessing it or experiencing it would be more apt to freaking actually help someone rather than fall onto their knees and ask GOD to do it.
My contention, then, is NOT
"In times like these, only our Faith will get us through"
but
"In times like these, only each other will get us through the evils that Faith has wrought".
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Of Painted Ponies and Elevator Buttons
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
Remember that song? Joni Mitchell? It was going through my head for the last two days.
Ward had a few appointments in Houston yesterday, so we drove down Sunday evening and came home late last night.
Nothing unusual about that.
For the first time ever, Alec opted to stay at home.
That was weird.
The back seat was hella quiet and when we got to the hotel we stepped into the elevator and were stuck.
What to do now?
Neither one of us had pushed an elevator button for over a decade. Anyone who's a parent knows what I'm talking about.
Not gonna lie to you- being alone with my husband in a hotel room overnight had some definite perks.
And we were in contact with Alec via text.
And Alec was 50ft away from Joe's house if he needed help, so he wasn't ALONE alone.
The reason the song was going through my head.
Once we first walked through the doors of MD Anderson almost 6 years ago now, we became part of the circle.
The circular routine of scans, exams, surgeries, rechecks, rechecks rechecks, and repeat. Ward's had 6 surgeries in 6 years there and we've lost track of the number of scans and rechecks.
We have spent every single major holiday inside the walls of MD Anderson at least once.
When we first started going down there Alec was a mere child of 7.
He's now a young man of 13- taller than I am by almost a head; yea verily looking his 6'1" dad almost squarely in the eye.
The good thing- nay the GREAT thing is that they got the cancer first shot out of the box 6 years ago. Every other surgery and complication has been graft and now dental related (radiation causes teeth to fall out and jaws to deteriorate- who knew?)
Some have been routine.
Some have had mild detours like MRSA or severe hives or difficult to control bleeding.
One almost killed him.
But he's been cancer-free.
We had 3 appointments yesterday.
The first one with the dental surgeon (he's a month out from his oral surgery to remove the roots of 5 broken teeth and then 'smoothing the bone') went great. He's healing well and after a good cleaning of the remaining teeth they'll start working on getting him some partials so he can...chew.
The second appointment with the pain doctor was routine enough. "Is your pain level being kept under control by your current medication?" "Yes. Yes it is, thanks". "Ok- we'll leave your dosage where it is and see you in 6 months".
We had about an hour before the last appointment and we sat outside in the sunshine- there's a little garden tucked between the hospital, the parking garage and the street with benches and pigeons and lots of flowers.
The final appointment was with the dermatologist- the yearly 'nose to toes' check for any recurrence of the skin cancer that started this whole mess. Nothing.
"Lemme just check your lymph nodes and we'll be done".
"Wait. There's a lump here".
They're scheduling the CAT scan for next week.
And the painted ponies go up and down...
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
Remember that song? Joni Mitchell? It was going through my head for the last two days.
Ward had a few appointments in Houston yesterday, so we drove down Sunday evening and came home late last night.
Nothing unusual about that.
For the first time ever, Alec opted to stay at home.
That was weird.
The back seat was hella quiet and when we got to the hotel we stepped into the elevator and were stuck.
What to do now?
Neither one of us had pushed an elevator button for over a decade. Anyone who's a parent knows what I'm talking about.
Not gonna lie to you- being alone with my husband in a hotel room overnight had some definite perks.
And we were in contact with Alec via text.
And Alec was 50ft away from Joe's house if he needed help, so he wasn't ALONE alone.
The reason the song was going through my head.
Once we first walked through the doors of MD Anderson almost 6 years ago now, we became part of the circle.
The circular routine of scans, exams, surgeries, rechecks, rechecks rechecks, and repeat. Ward's had 6 surgeries in 6 years there and we've lost track of the number of scans and rechecks.
We have spent every single major holiday inside the walls of MD Anderson at least once.
When we first started going down there Alec was a mere child of 7.
He's now a young man of 13- taller than I am by almost a head; yea verily looking his 6'1" dad almost squarely in the eye.
The good thing- nay the GREAT thing is that they got the cancer first shot out of the box 6 years ago. Every other surgery and complication has been graft and now dental related (radiation causes teeth to fall out and jaws to deteriorate- who knew?)
Some have been routine.
Some have had mild detours like MRSA or severe hives or difficult to control bleeding.
One almost killed him.
But he's been cancer-free.
We had 3 appointments yesterday.
The first one with the dental surgeon (he's a month out from his oral surgery to remove the roots of 5 broken teeth and then 'smoothing the bone') went great. He's healing well and after a good cleaning of the remaining teeth they'll start working on getting him some partials so he can...chew.
The second appointment with the pain doctor was routine enough. "Is your pain level being kept under control by your current medication?" "Yes. Yes it is, thanks". "Ok- we'll leave your dosage where it is and see you in 6 months".
We had about an hour before the last appointment and we sat outside in the sunshine- there's a little garden tucked between the hospital, the parking garage and the street with benches and pigeons and lots of flowers.
The final appointment was with the dermatologist- the yearly 'nose to toes' check for any recurrence of the skin cancer that started this whole mess. Nothing.
"Lemme just check your lymph nodes and we'll be done".
"Wait. There's a lump here".
They're scheduling the CAT scan for next week.
And the painted ponies go up and down...
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