Rip van Roygene

Slowly the fog lifts. My eyes focus. My ears begin to translate strange fuzzy frequencies. My pulse increases, my breathing becomes full. My blood circulates and warms to it’s proper temperature. My hibernation must be coming to a conclusion. I take one tentative step and then another. Pretty soon I am standing upright, erect, though walking wobbly. I hear the cell phone calling me. I pick it up, checking the caller ID before I answer, lest some pesky bill collector wants to ask when I’m gonna send a check (no one believes “soon”, “never” is too blunt, and “as soon as my health improves” just sounds like a dodge, so I’d rather not answer at all). It is safe. It is from a trusted Frambly member. I hit the “talk” button and say “So what’s new?”. Only I don’t exactly say that. That is the message my brain has assembled but as it passes my lips it becomes more liquid and lispy. Kinda like running it through Sylvester the Cat. Thus the results of Chemo #2. Sufferin' Succotash!

I haven't been able to update you as much as I had planned because I haven't been able to stay conscious long enough to operate a keyboard. This extends all the way to last week. About Wednesday (or pretty much smack dab in the middle of Chemo Drip #2 ) I began feeling sick to my stomach and sleepy. By Thursday, if I wasn't throwing up bile, I was asleep. Sometimes the two of them dangerously overlapped. It got to where just the smell of food would cue an expulsion. So, obviously, I didn't eat much for the remainder of my visit.

By Friday everything hurt. I couldn't move, couldn't reach my nightstand table, couldn't eat food. That's when they gave me the morphine (I thought I was gonna get Tylenol. Extra Strength) and everything pretty much disappeared until Saturday.

Charlie Haldeman came to get me on Saturday (you remember Charlie from the KORA afternoon shift several years ago, now a big-time star TV newsguy in Sherman). I rolled in to town, through my front door and after a perfunctory “Hello” and “Adios” I was back asleep, where I have remained far much longer that I expected, at least comparing this time time to my last Chemo bout several weeks ago.

The mouth sores returned on Sunday. They, too, seem to be more plentiful and painful than last time. I have several concoctions I swish in my mouth to numb and heal these, but still my diet has been mostly soup and Glucerna smoothie. Until Thursday, I couldn't even get my mouth open wide enough to get anything in. And then, if I get the slightest touch of salt or spice or sauce, I bounce off the ceiling.

Today, I'm feeling a bit better. I only slept through half the day as opposed to ¾ of the day. I have less sores, though still in critical areas: the tip and top of my tongue and both sides near where the teeth rub up against it (YEEEOWWWCH). If I can return my speaking voice to a non-cartoonish timbre, I hope to be back on the air on Monday. Keep ya posted.

RANDOM RAMBLINGS

I had a to-do list of things I wanted to do whilst under treatment at the Baylor Med Cen. It looks eerily like the list that I prepared tor this week. Mysteriously none of items on either list have been crossed off. Well, there's always the weekend,

I hate when people try to tell me what they dreamed of last night, but this is kinda different. Almost every night at some point I'll be in mid-dream, even mid-sentence, and wake up saying that last thing aloud. I mean, I'll be making some statement in Dreamland and suddenly be beack in the Real World finishing that sentence. Weird. Never had that happen to me before, and now it happens every night. Could it still be the morphine talking?

My apologies to Butch and Nelda, who both inquired to my Howabouts early in the week. I sent a text to Butch telling him I couldn't talk right now. Literally couldn't talk. As in “Unable to speak”. But I know Butch ain't exactly Mr. Gadget when it comes to modern communications and social networking.(No website, no email, no Facebook,etc). He does have a cell phone. I tried to text him a message but I'm not sure if A) it got through or B) he would know how to retrieve it. Anyhow, thanks to you both for the concern.

Sufferin' Succotash!

Nope. Not ready yet.

Roy Gene's Bedside Reader

It's a little more difficult to be your intrepid reporter (insipid?) to post stories this time due to logistics, aesthetics and feng shui. When they went to install the liver blasting tube, previously located on the right side of me, they found it was still sore from the last application (I'll say it was!), therefore, the Medical Team put it on the left side, snaking through a spaghetti-like course of veins, arteries and hoses to connect to the liver, where it is to be doused with several bags of poison for the remainder of the week. The Chemo drip is a tiny tube that runs inside the artery. They showed me the last one they had in me when they fished it out after the process, it was about seven or eight inches long. I think this one will be much longer. It feels like about 25 feet worth.
Now in my palatial celebrity hospital room, the furniture and equipment is the opposite. In other words, the drip apparatus is all on the right of the bed, while the insertion hole is on the left. That means the main tube has to drape across my lower abdomen. I mention this because if the hose kinks up anywhere and flow interrupted, an alarm goes off getting progressively louder until it is un-kinked or reset. If it goes too long, it won't reset at all without the help of my RN or Tech. Or, in extreme cases, the guy in the next room tired of the racket.
The reason I'm to remain horizontal through-out this ordeal is because the spot where they drill in to me is right there on the fault line of belly and legs and dang near impossible to keep straight. So every time I make the slightest of move, I have a potential 3-Alarmer ready to launch. Sometimes I can wiggle around and get it all back in order, sometimes I can only make it worse.
Then there's the matter of the bed. It moves all by itself. I don't mean I'll find myself out in the hallway after a long sleep, but it is constantly readjusting to ease pressure points to lessen the possibility of bedsores. Well, you know what happens: The bed moves, my body moves, the hose kinks, the alarm goes off. It's got me scared to move.
There is something good about this bed; it's got a scale built-in. So when they take all my vitals - which they do on an ample, regular basis - I can get the poundage without moving to the scale. My bed-scale shows me to be 24lbs less than the measurement I got in B/CS just two weeks ago. They did a re-weigh to insure the results (despite my protestations). Still the same. I can only conclude I am lighter in Dallas, or gravity is weaker. I need this scale at home. Although, unfortunately, my waistline has not been notified of the change and my "fat pants" are still a bit snug.
When I first arrived in the room Monday morning, I started assembling my command post. From previous experience, I knew I wouldn't get much opportunity to re-arrange, so I tried to get everything within arm's reach. As you can guess, the problem is whenever I reach over to pull something out of the strategically placed nightstand and drawers, I kink the line and sound the alarm.
My room is situated reverse of my last one, so my table-tray has one storage bin that faces away from me, toward the wall. In addition to being difficult to access, it makes the alarm go off. Of course.
I placed the laptop atop the tray (Thanks again, Tom Fussell) but the cord is too short (note to self: Bring extension cord), and when they bring my food tray in, we pull out the hidden surface and the meal ends up between me and the keyboard. Then, whether I eat or not, I gotta wait for the tray to be cleared before I can go back to my online activities. I could try to move it myself, but there's no where close to put it. Besides, it would just set off the alarm.

Well, gotta go. My Night Nurse Caitlin (a good Irish girl) needs to install a new bag of Cancer Elixir. It's number 2. I need a total of 3.5 to complete the set.

Leftovers

As you may know, I'm back in "stir" at the Baylor Med Center in Dallas for ChemoThon 2. I want to tell you a few things about my Latest Adventures in Medicine, but first I wanted to clear out some old stuff. Some gently used information of the past few weeks.

About two weeks after my previous protective custody, I noticed stray hairs on the microphone. I was at work, so it seemed odd. Not that a hairy microphone would not be odd at home, just that I use them more at work. Microphones, that is, not hair. Anyhow, I picked and flicked them and promptly forgot about them. Minutes later, I noticed more stray hairs on the microphone. Using my superior powers of deduction and detection (not to mention "inflection") I came to the conclusion "Something's causing that". I pinched a lock of my own locks between my index finger and thumb and received a clumpful of unattached hair. I repeated the process over and over again to insure the validity of my first test. Then once more just to freak out Brandie Alexander. It was true. I was losing my coiffure (I assume) to Chemo . So, I did the only thing I could think of. I went to Sport Clips and had 'em finish me off. After freaking them out with a couple of tufts I let them harvest, I offered the chance at the easiest haircut they'd do all week. Possibly all month.



I've never taken the chance to listen to the "field" recording we made for the Endless Summer of Chemo Benefit at Revolution downtown Bryan, but I got some pictures:

Maybe I'm just scairt of what we really sounded like, and want to preserve that memory in my mind the way I thought it sounded that night. Big thanks to son Alex Gene for putting it all together and getting me back to play for the first time in years.

The very next week, Kathy Ross headlined another Benefit show along with Leanasaurus Rex at Texas Hall of Fame. Both shows were well-attended and well-donated.

There will be more special occasions my Frambly and co-workers will be organizing in the next few weeks and months. Maybe I'll get another chance to play. I got a small taste of how expensive it is to have liver cancer and a transplant this past week when I was asked for a whole pile of money down and my part of an 80/20 split. Did I mention how grateful I am for your assistance?. I hope I don't wear out my welcome in your generous hearts .

More soon.

PO Plenty

OK. I've been trying to update the blog for several days now with many interesting items and events to report, including my return to The Stage last weekend, a story about Sport Clips, and a couple How-I-Spent-Memorial-Day-Weekend tales. Pictures were essential to the story-telling.

A few months ago I invested in my very own digital camera, so's I could create my own candid shots for fun and business. It is a Samsung. I believe I will remember that brand forever as it has robbed me of very valuable hours of my precious life. Not that it doesn't take good pictures. I'm fine with that. It's even a simple obvious operation. It's the USB/Power connection that's givng me fits. Not having had a digi-cam of my own, I don't know if it's standard to have the power charge cord and the PC connect come from the same slot on the camera. If it is, it's a bad idea. It's certainly a bad idea for this stupid Samsung. When I first charged the unit, I noticed that I had to jiggle the cord a bit before I'd get the green "charge" light. Then I saw I had to wiggle it a little more to download photos.
Today I've spent hours trying to get a connection (yes, HOURS - I'm nothing if not determined) to no avail. There been more wigglin' and jigglin' than the prime time performers at a Gentleman's Club. And for naught.
So, I give up. I will now go to the other room and sulk. And keep all these good stories to myself. Then I will look for my receipt and demand customer satisfaction from the store of origin. Well, I actually bought it way up in the Piney Woods, but there is a franchise locally and I will be forced to vent on them.
Have a nice day.