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The world has a way of constantly reminding you to keep your issues in perspective. The tragedy at VA Tech this week has been so all-encompassing that I really haven’t felt much like chronicling any of the small developments in this saga of the pitumor (ooh – just came up with that. Good term.) And honestly, I’ve got tons to rant about regarding that event and the media and….
But this is not a “Dave’s Random Thoughts” blog. I’m sticking with observations on the whole pitumor process, and that’s it. There are plenty of other venues for that – online forums, water coolers, anywhere involving stiff drinks, etc. I’ll be my own blog police and keep Pituitary Dave on the subject at hand.
Last Tuesday I had my first visit with Dr. Castelucci (the endocrinologist) since the hospital. It was essentially no more than a confirmation chat. He refreshed his memory with my situation, and that although we did have an issue with liquid output (like how sanitize that?) in the hospital right after surgery, it balanced out and I was discharged without any medicines prescribed to regulate anything. And since I had nothing to report as far as anything changing for the worse, I remain un-medicated for anything endocrine-system related. He was the first doctor I’ve ever met who, when he determined that he needed blood work done, actually just did it himself right then and there instead of passing it off onto a nurse or a lab halfway across town. Bonus points for him. And I didn’t even get woozy or light headed. Bonus points for me. And look Ma, no heroin addict bruise on my arm. Major bonus points for him.
I did remember to ask him about the mystery gut bruise, and his only theory was a repeat, that maybe they leaned on me during surgery. No new light shed on it from an endocrinologist’s perspective. And by the way, although it’s mostly gone, it is actually still noticeable. The mystery goes on.
He also reminded me that there is that small chance that it could start to grow again maybe in about 15 years, and that they’d have to go in again to get it. Not likely, but possible. (Dr. Wilson said a 15% chance.) So I need to remind myself that this means there is an 85% chance that Raoul is gone forever and that it is not like some bad horror movie where the creature totally regenerates because the hand was still alive, or where the Terminator completely rebuilds himself just because of that one remaining drop of liquid metal. I think the last thing I want is to go through this whole thing again.
Ever.
I’m done, thanks.
Before that, I went in for the “after” picture of my brain. It was the MRI to confirm that all has been successfully removed. Apparently I need to schedule a time with Dr. Wilson to go in and chat about it so he can show me the difference between the before and after pics and maybe where he carved his initials. But so far, no one has called with an alarmed message that I need to have that chat sooner than later, so once again I’m going with the “no news is good news” approach and am assuming that the images were indeed nothing to write home about.
And hey, everyone, Mesha’s aunt (am I right?) went in for a triple bypass this morning, so blast those thoughts, prayers and chakra bursts out towards her and their whole family as they try not to freak out too hard on the sidelines. My Mom had triple bypass last year at 77 years old, and she is healthier and more active today than she has been in years. Whether it’s tumors being removed through your lip, or opening up your chest to make your heart stronger, it just blows me away doctors and surgeons can accomplish.
And while you’re at it, there are plenty of families and friends in Blacksburg, VA in need of those positive energies as well. Even if you don’t know them, it certainly can’t hurt.
Every now and then, you need to give in to the dark side. I am referring to the grumps, as illustrated in my previous post. Getting all of that out, aside from it’s obvious therapeutic value, sets you up for a rosier outlook on the next not-normally-so-rosy day. By comparison, when you allow yourself to grumble at the world about everything, and when you go through a few days of feeling like Betty Crocker shoved a whisk up your nose and stirred your brain around for fun, the following days of feeling only slightly sinusy are so much better by comparison that these ordinarily average days go down as energetically fulfilling. In keeping with the previous framing (to be used with your best Monty Python-esque stodgy old guy voice), the “Harumphs!” are then followed by a day or two of “Bully! What! What!”
Great news on Terry’s friend. Her 5cm brain tumor was successfully removed last Tuesday (not using the same procedure that I went through), and she went home from the hospital on Friday. They are still awaiting the lab pathology, but all indications are that it was benign. Incredibly wonderful news – Bully! What! What! Everyone continue your spiritually varied versions of thoughts and prayers, as the recovery is just as important!
I finally, finally got to the gym this past Saturday. Although I only did a pared down regimen of a few ab exercises and about 25 minutes on a treadmill, it felt great. I remained energetic for the entire time, but found the need for a power nap in the La-Z-Boy a bit later that afternoon.
I wish I had gotten back to working out sooner, although there always seemed to be some halfway decent excuse to postpone. That, however, has less to do with surgery and recovery than with the simple human act of gym-avoidance. If I can just get my butt out of bed I might actually get back there a few more times this week.
That seems to be one of my biggest obstacles at the moment – getting out of bed in the morning. I think my body has latched on to that concept of allowing myself the ability to stay in bed a little extra in the morning, and my brain has embraced it as a new lifestyle choice. So now comes a bit of psychological re-training, to start getting up at 6am again so Terry won’t have to do all the getting-Jasper-ready-for-school routine every morning. Do it for the family, brain.
Easter Eve was a “miracle”, according to my son, as we woke up with an inch of wet snow on the ground and covering all of the trees. That pretty much beats anything else we’ve gotten the entire winter. And it was enough to allow him the chance to run around our huge back yard, making tiny snowmen, knocking snow off of bushes, and having a snowball fight with the kids directly behind us. I particularly enjoyed watching him out the window as he would enthusiastically switch from throwing snowballs for our dog to running and belly flopping on the ground in an attempt to slide clear across the yard. He may have made it about a foot or two, but I’m sure the thrill was about the same. The pure happiness of a child in a brand new snow is a feeling we adults all too easily let fade over time.
And this year’s Easter resurrection story is about the rebirth of my goatee. Having been bearded since the surgery, I finally chopped the facial jungles back down to my standard goatee and mustache. It could be viewed as representing an important phase in my recovery. Now that I am feeling so much closer to normal, I am outwardly expressing it by returning to the physical appearance that is closer to “normal” for me. Or maybe that it represents how Easter is the time for the rebirth. Or maybe I gave up my goatee for Lent, and those days are now over.
Spin can be fun, but no matter how I try to frame it, I think it all boils down to the fact that I just wanted to shave.
Bully for me! What! What!
I’m grumpy. Super grumpy. Last week’s cold/allergies turned into a raging sinus infection over the weekend, giving me the worst migraine since the surgery and making me miss church, work, time with my son & wife, and musical improv practice. At this point, I’m really, really, reeeeeaaaallllly tired of not feeling up to speed, especially since this has been a few steps backwards in that department.
So although I don’t want to write an entire blog entry that is just getting the grumps out, that’s what I’m gonna do. Embrace the grump. I have earned the right to harumph at this point. My advice to any who may be facing the same surgery is to make sure you don’t spend large amounts of time breathing in the air of a record breaking pollen year. If your blue car is now green, stay inside. Lock yourself in a room with a HEPA filter air conditioner blasting on your face.
Sure, it’s beautiful outside, as all of the trees are getting their leaves, and the dogwoods are in bloom, and the tulips are bursting out in time for Easter, and every flowering tree around is filling in the landscape with all sorts of amazing colors. But look at it from a window. A closed, well-insulated, double hung window. While you’re sitting in a bubble. In a climate-controlled sterile room. Harumph.
Otherwise, I’d say the recovery is still slowly progressing fairly well. It’s been six weeks since the surgery, and I still have a bit of numbness in the upper teeth, and my lip is still stretching it’s limits when I smile (not today – harumph harumph). The mystery gut bruise tends to almost go completely away, and then come back a bit here and there. And I think if it wasn’t for this sinus infection from hell (did I mention that?), I’d be doing pretty well on sleep and energy. That whole pretending to be normal thing was going pretty well.
I have not yet returned to Danna’s blog mentioned in my last post. I have fascinated myself in how easy it is to be influenced by such psychological factors. I have to ask myself – Self, did allowing myself to relate so closely to that situation physically manifest itself in the explosion of green goo from deep within my sinuses? Hmmmmm. Psychoanalyze that.
And finally, Terry just learned a couple days ago of a friend that went in today to have a brain tumor removed, and not from the pituitary gland. But it was pushing against her optic nerve and disrupting vision. So everyone reading this, send out those thoughts/prayers/chakra bursts for her today and in the weeks to come, that all may turn out healthy and that a complete recovery is right around the corner. And as far as her tumor goes (maybe Raoul’s sister, Raoula?), we end with the biggest tumor-booting grump of the day:
HARUMPH!
