Tough Times

I've always found expressions humorous. "Hold your horses!" Horses? I don't have any horses.

Well I "slept like a log" last night. Slept like a log? Well I did.

I'm typically up before 5 a.m. and I'm typically the first one awake, which means I get to make coffee and feed Freckles. But this morning Barb was actually up first at 6 a.m., and I stumbled down the stairs shortly after all sleepy-eyed.

I'm moving through my transition from steroid use, to no steroid use. As my Mom kindly reminded me yesterday, "Your body is addicted to a drug, and it's going to take more than three days to break that addiction."

It's true. The steroid is very addictive, the body becomes dependent upon it. But this morning I am beginning to feel like I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel (keeping fingers crossed).

I felt pretty crappy yesterday morning. I really, really wanted to visit my Dad at the hospital. But I couldn't pull it off the way I was feeling. My Mom was very understanding about it, much kinder on me than I am on myself.

It's a tough time. Between my transition period getting off of the steroid, and everything my Dad is going through at the hospital with his injuries, it's been tough.

My Mom and I do discuss how my Dad is doing at the end of every day. Yesterday apparantly was a tough day. Like everything in life, there were highs and lows. The nurses were able to get him up and my Dad did use the walker like a pro to make his way over to a chair. Although he is not feeding himself at all, and completely skipped lunch, he did eat most of his dinner with my Mom's help.

We're definitely worried about the status of his mind. He seems to be more lost and confused than ever. Yesterday he insisted that he had to get out of the hospital because he had a hair cut appointment. But there are bright spots too when his recognition of things around him is on target.

I guess the biggest single event yesterday would have been my Mom's discussion with his doctor. She asked the doctor point blank whether she would be able to take her husband home ever again? The doctor answered that he really didn't know. For the time being my Mom and the medical staff are going to look for a transitional home for my Dad in a rehabilitation/care facility.

It brings up a lot of thoughts and concerns for the future. I assured my Mom we'll work on it day by day, and we'll do it together. And we will.

One Little Pill

It's amazing to me the difference one little pill can make. I mean it can change everything.

Decadron is a tiny little pill. While taking it, I had good energy, a great appetite, I gained weight. That one little pill made me feel great.

Now that I've stopped taking Decadron, a steroid, I'm back to all the old chemo side-effects, fatique, no appetite, dropping weight, and generally feeling sick all the time.

So why stop taking Decadron? Well apparently Decadron negates some of the chemo medication's effects. It's the constant irony, the constant balancing act of cancer treatment.

For all the research I've done through these past couple years, and through all I've personally experienced, I'm probably well on my way to the equivalent of a medical degree. My Mom always wanted me to become a doctor.

Once I was interacting with a tech while prepping for a CT scan and she asked me, "Are you a doctor?"

I laughed and answered, "No. I have cancer."

She understood.

Medicine is all about chemistry, body chemistry balanced and altered with other drugs.

My general rule of thumb has become - the less drugs the better. When I first started out with treatments I was anxious and eager to take anything that would help relieve anything. But over time I learned that every pill seems to ease one thing and create another. So it just seems like an endless cycle.

It just seems like an endless chemistry experiment.

On other notes...

We had a vicious storm move through Marietta last night. It brought with it the largest hail I've every seen, nearing golf ball size. I was genuinely worried that one of our three skylights might be damaged the way it was bouncing off the glass. But it looks like we made it through without damage.

I'll be going up today to visit my Dad at the Hershey Medical Center. He's got a long recovery ahead. This is going to take a lot of time, and a lot of patience on everyone's account, including his.

My Mom caught a glimpse of his full bruise yesterday, and she was surprised that it ran from his shoulder to his knee. He banged himself up real good.

I'll try to gather as much information on my Dad's situation today, and learn as much as I can.

Time for a Switch

Decadron is a pretty serious steroid that is crucial after any type of brain radiaton to control swelling in the brain. Unlike swelling anywhere else in the body, swelling in the brain has no place to expand within the skull, which can lead to potentially serious situations.

I've been taking Decadron for at least two-months, through two gamma knife radiation treatments. The body builds up a dependence on Decadron over time. The longer you are on it, the harder it is to stop taking it. Decadron doses have to slowly be reduced, while you ween off the drug. You cannot just wake up one day and decide to stop taking it, at least not without consequences.

I started with doses of 8 milligrams a day. Over time I reduced my dosage to .5 miiligrams a day before stopping it all together a couple of days ago.

I'm starting to feel the withdrawl effects. Ugh.

Decadron will give you a ferocious appetitie, which typically leads to weight gain. It will increase strength and energy, as well. That doesn't sound too bad for a skinny guy on chemo. But the Decadron is known to lower the effectiveness of the chemo, and disguise many of the side-effects of the chemo. It's a false sense of wellness.

I figured it was time to pull the plug. Starting next week I have an appointment with the nuerosurgeon, then the following week I'm scheduled for a CT scan and then an appointment with my oncologist. I know both doctors hope to see me off of the steroid by the time they see me next.

I'm off, and I'm working hard at staying off the steroid. I knew the transition off the drug would not be easy. That is turning out to be the case.

Just a couple of days off the Decadron and I'm definitely feeling it. I'm very, vey tired all the time. My stomach has begun to become upset and my digestion is not as strong as it was previously. Overall, the Decadron withdrawl makes me feel extremely tired, weak and lazy.

The regular, expected, side-effects of chemotherapy are all starting to come back now, effects that the steroid had been hiding and covering. I can't say that I'm glad to have all the chemo effects coming back. But it was important in the big picture to get the steroid out of the picture. It was time for a switch.

We're planning on visiting my father today at the Hershey Medical Center. We're very concerned about his well-being. He is in my thoughts constantly.

Little Luck Never Hurts

Yesterday I had one goal - get a working clothing dryer in this house.

Sometimes things go your way, sometimes they don't.

Yesterday things went our way.

I woke up yesterday and blogged about a couple things, including the fact that our dryer had stopped working. Barb's Mom Susan woke up and read the blog, then told her husband Bill about our problem. Bill told Susan to call us and ask if he could take a look at our dryer. Susan called. We said, "You bet! C'mon over." Bill analyzed the problem. We all ran out for a part.

The dryer is fixed.

Total cost was $12.10, plus tax, and one California cheeseburger (labor costs).

Thanks Bill (and his supervisor Susan)! I was ready to pull the trigger on a new dryer.

With a working dryer, and Barb happy again in her laundry room, I can return to painting today. Today it's time to paint the ceiling. It's arms straight up in the air for about an hour, not my idea of a good time. But in all honesty, my mind is with my Dad a lot right now. With everything he is going through, I just suck it up, get the job done, and complain as little as possible.

Last night Dad was scheduled to be moved to another room, where they hope to get him up and about a little bit. But he is very weak, and I'm sure in pain from the broken ribs and bruising and just everything that has occurred.

It's going to be a long road of recovery. There is just no getting around that.

My Dad's mental state is certainly a concern as well. A brilliant man, my father is very confused right now and does not understand all that is going on with him, and around him right now.

I'm planning to run into the medical center again tomorrow to visit with him. I'll do whatever I can to try to help. Our family appreciates all the prayers and well-wishes. God bless you all.

Ice Cream, the Best Medicine

I was anxious to hear the daily report on my Dad's evolving condition yesterday. My Mom kindly called me around dinner time and filled me in. For the first day he ate, and that was welcome news. And he ate well, so the medical staff removed his feeding tube.

When I was in the hospital I asked the doctor what I have to do to get out of here.

"You have to eat. You have to pee. You have to poop. And you have to get up and walk around," the doctor told me.

I set out to meet those requirements as quickly as possible.

Now my Dad is on the same mission. It's good to know that the first step, eating, has been crossed off the list.

According to my Mom, they presented him with some pretty good looking roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans.

Now my Dad is not real fond of green vegetables. "They all taste like grass," he has always said. I don't know where my Dad was eating so much grass, but that's his story.

When my Dad saw the green beans he said, "Green beans? Why do they always serve green beans?"

Then he ate all of the roast beef, all of the mashed potatoes, and all of the green beans, according to my Mom.

To top things off, my Dad ate all of his ice cream too. But that's not surprising. My Dad loves his ice cream. As he's always said, "There's always room for ice cream. It fills in the cracks."

We were thrilled to hear the good news about my Dad. He's on a long road back. But small steps forward is what it will take.

But outside of that good news it was an exhausting day yesterday. I woke up on a mission to get two coats of primer up in our second living room. With Barb's help brushing the edges that I couldn't reach with the roller, we got the job done. It was a long and tiring day for me. A hot shower and a hot meal felt very good at the end of yesterday.

But that wasn't the only trial of the day. Somewhere in the middle of the day our dryer decided to give up. Of course that is only discovered after you have a load of wet laundry ready for the dryer. So we're scrambling to try to get a replacement dryer in here today. That was decided after a round of phone calls revealed that getting this one fixed would likely cost as much, or more, than a new one.

And to top the day off, I had the pleasure of interacting with some of the local delinquint teenagers.

Every town has a group of young teenagers who just hang out on the street, hold up street signs, and are generally loud, boorish and obnoxious. Marietta is no exception. And right in front of our house for some reason seems to be a favorite spot.

Every year we get a new group of delinquints as last years' group earns their drivers' licenses and starts to drive around rather than hang out on the street.

Now I really don't understand the appeal of hanging out on the street, and never have. There are so many more interesting things to do, and plenty here in Marietta. There's all kinds of sports opportunities. The river is right here for fishing and boating. We have great trails along the river and up Chiques Rock into the state park. There are parks and playgrounds. All kinds of things.

But last night there they were, girls and boys around 14-years old, hanging out right in front of our house. The vulgarities were flying. They were shouting and noisey. To my shock one young girl was rehearsing a stripper's routine with a parking meter in front of our house.

I thought to myself, "Where are there parents?"

First I opened the blinds and stood right at the window to let them know I was watching. I figured maybe that would embarass them to know that an adult was standing right there. Nope. That just egged them on more. The young stripper impersonator laughed and then pretended to moon me.

I know from talking to our neighbors that this group had become a problem in recent weeks. They were frightening older people off the streets, and hurting businesses. We were told that there had already been complaints to the local police.

About a week or so ago, someone had moved one of our heavy planters out front right in front of our front door so it was difficult, nearly impossible, for us to get out that door. I suspect our local bunch of troublemakers. It was such an immature act, who else could it be?

I had enough.

I stepped out front, much to their surprise, and asked them to break it up and move along. "There's no loitering in Marietta," I told them. "Either you leave or I'll call the police."

One secret weapon I've always had is I can look pretty darn big and scarey. I don't think they were expecting to see a 6'4" 200-pound guy come out of the house with a scowl a half-a-block wide.

They instantly scattered.

But not without their parting shots. I was just closing the door when one young punk decided to call me a part of the body that is most often sit upon. I opened the door again and just stared him down. He went white, cowered across the street, and waited in fear for my next move.

Barb had enough and called the police. I closed the door and the front blinds and watched as they all scattered away. Five minutes later we saw the police cruiser do a couple laps around the business district of Marietta.

They'll be back. We'll be here.

I told Barb that next time I may just accidentally dump a bucket of mop water out the second floor window.

Actually I should buy a soccer ball and drive them all out to the soccer field.

Next time, I will be seeking out their parents.

Too much unnecessary drama. I've got a dryer to buy and painting to finish.

Well just about anything is more important than having to deal with the local teenage delinquints.

A Certain Smile

Barb and I went back to the Hershey Medical Center yesterday to visit my father. He was starting to rally back to health, but he does have a long road to recovery.

The good news was that the breathing tube had been removed earlier that morning, and he was breathing on his own. He does have a lot of "stuff" in his lungs and the medical staff is taking steps to help him cough it up and dry it out.

My Dad could talk yesterday, with the breathing tube now out, but he could only talk in small short whispers. He still is somewhat short on breath, and has to build up his lung capacity once again. That is something else, of course, the medical staff is working on.

He is also very worn out and exhausted and quite frankly needs weeks of rest. With the broken ribs alone, my Dad needs many weeks of rest to heal properly and well. And of course being a good, stubborn, Pennsylvania Dutchman, he's not being real patient about his recovery. The nursing staff had to restrain his arms so he would stop taking the oxygen out of his nose.

I think he's starting to accept the realities of his situation. I hope so. I've tried to communicate to him, with a big smile, what a mess he's got himself into, and how he'll now have to have patience. Last time I saw him he just kept saying that he wanted to go home. Yesterday he seemed to have more acceptance of the realities he faces. Some of his sense of humor was returning too, through all the discomfort and pain.

Yesterday afternoon he was due to be moved out of an intensive care unit to a "step down" unit. The medical team will try to gradually move him to less and less intensive care as they build his strength stronger and stronger.

It was great to see my Uncle Bob, who came up from Florida to help, and support my Dad. I can't thank Bobby enough for doing that. I know it meant a lot to my Dad to have him near. I know it meant a lot to our whole family. You're the best Bob. You're true family, and a true friend. Thank you.

The best sign of all from my Dad came just before Barb and I left. I leaned over and put my hand on his shoulder and grabbed his other hand with mine. Barb gave him a kiss on the top of the head. My Dad responded with big smiles for both of us. That was the best sign of all.

Single Minded

There's one main thing on my mind this week, and that's my Dad's well-being.

Barb and I are heading up to the Hershey Medical Center today for a visit. I know he's still having problems comprehending everything that has happened to him, and everything that is happening to him. But I want him to see our familiar faces and let him know we're there.

My Mom did let me know late yesterday that they had removed the breathing tube. I was praying for that yesterday. This should mean, of course, that he his breathing again on his own. The breathing should slowly become stronger and stronger.

This also means that he can start talking again, although his throat will be dry and sore from the breathing tube being there.

We're pushing our painting into high gear here at the house so we'll have everything finished up by Easter. I don't think that will be a problem. Wherever my father is by Easter we'll be taking the spirit of the holiday also to him.

Early April will end my vacations from doctors as I have appointments with the neurosurgeon, oncologist, and a scheduled CT scan. I'm not expecting much news or change in treatments through those activities.

But all thoughts are on Paul right now. We're going to try to bring some smiles and hopefully some inspiration to my Dad today. Thank you for the continued prayers and well-wishes.

Thoughts in Hershey

Usually when my mind is in Hershey I'm imagining myself diving into a giant vat of liquid chocolate, or having brunch in the circular dining room at the hotel.

But right now, constantly, my thoughts are with my Dad, recovering on the second floor of the Hershey Medical Center.

With seven fractured ribs there is associated lung trouble, which is not surprising in that situation. As fluids built up and a lung collapsed the docs and nurses and my Dad scrambled to make the necessary treatment adjustments.

By the end of the day yesterday, my Mom felt that he looked better and the reports from the medical staff looked better. Things seem to be stabilizing.

He is being kept pretty sedated and cannot speak with the breathing tube in right now. Right now there are too many tubes in general. A goal of today will certainly be to get rid of some tubes.

Our thoughts are in Hershey today.

Not Out of the Woods Yet

I just got off the phone with my Mom who is on her way to the Hershey Medical Center.

Apparently my father's one lung collapsed last night, likely the one on the side with seven broken ribs. The Medical Center is in the process of inserting a breathing tube, draining the fluid in his lung, and filling him with antibiotics because he has pnuemonia now as well.

I can only imagine. I had two broken ribs and caught pnuemonia in college and it was one of the most trying and painful six-weeks of recovery that I've ever endured. But I was in college and not in my 80s.

But my Dad is a tough guy. He just needs to work up his will amidst this all to put up the fight. My thoughts and prayers are with him every second right now.

My thoughts and prayers are with my Mom every second right now too. My Dad looks for her, finds strength in her presence. He needs her there. It gives him assurance.

Hopefully they'll get the fluid drained, and the lung reinflated quickly. Then hopefully my Dad will sleep and rest and recover. It's going to be many weeks of recuperating ahead.

Update

I heard from my Mom late yesterday and she gave me an update on my Dad's condition.

He is still in intensive care at the Hershey Medical Center. But, according to my Mom, he is progressing, doing better, and starting to heal.

Apparently my Dad lost his balance walking between the car and the garage and fell directly onto a stone wall in the landscaping in front of their house.

The latest news I received on injuries was seven fractured ribs, a lacerated liver, and fluid in the lungs. The ribs, of course, will take six- to eight-weeks to heal. If you've ever had broken ribs (I have) they're painful, very painful, with every breath you take. The lacerated liver likely caused internal bleeding and the doctors I imagine had to work to control clotting, and resolution of clotting. They'll watch the lungs to ensure they dry out and work to prevent any chance of pnuemonia appearing.

Barb and I are going to head towards the medical center today to visit, and try to comfort and assure my Dad a little.

My Dad is rather confused about all of this. He's not exactly sure how he got there or what happened or why he can't go home. I hope I can help him to understand the here and now, and what's in store for the next couple months - lots of rest and relaxation. And whether he thinks it's cool or not, he's going to have to accept the reality of using a cane or a walker.

But first we'll get him back on his feet, and then scold him about that.

Paul

My Mom called early this morning with news that my Dad took a nasty fall yesterday and is now in the Hershey Medical Center with two broken ribs and a lacerated liver.

All our thoughts are with them both today, as they both try to get a little rest this morning.

That's all the details I have this morning. But I'll be hoping to learn more throughout the day.

Fresh Air

It is supposed to reach 67-degrees today, according to Joe Calhoun on channel eight news.

You better believe I'm getting outside. I'm getting dirty.

I'll be raking the yard, cleaning the yard, digging in the yard, brooming the yard, filling the bird feeder, trying to start the leaf blower, replanting a few plants, clearing last year's growth, removing stones and ill-placed bricks, and in general anything I feel up to.

But I'll be dirty. You can count on that.

And I'll enjoy it. There's just something about getting in tune with the earth around us.

Now don't misunderstand. I do understand that this is just an early spot of Spring and we could certainly still see frosts, and possibly even the white, fluffy, wet, cold stuff.

I'll be just trying to "set the table" so to speak, and get the yard cleaned up and ready to sprout.

I wish I could say that I have a green thumb. But I don't. It seems brownish at best.

We have a lot of trees, a lot of moss, it's like a mini-forest out back. I'm, half-jokingly, threatening to just quit trying to grow a grassy area at all and just turning the whole back into "the woods." We'll see.

When I went to college I had a roomie who always used to say, "Why don't we just become farmers? Get an apple orchard or something? Marry a nice lady?"

"Sounds pretty good to me," I would reply.

Picking Up Sticks

Spent some time picking up sticks throughout the backyard yesterday. It felt good.

Today my hips and butt are a little sore from picking up those sticks. It still feels good.

Tomorrow it looks like it will be warm enough to open up the front door and paint it. Then the front room will officially be done, well, except the carpet and some artwork and getting the draperies up and getting new furniture and new hardware for the door and . . . well, it's on the way.

The borough's spring cleaning is next weekend. We'll have to try to take advantage and collect as much yard waste as we possibly can. We've got plenty. We've got some beautiful, but very dirty trees.

Some early bloomers are starting to poke their heads out of the ground in the backyard. Birds have also become more frequent guests as of late. I'm just waiting to hear Harry Kalas call an inning and Spring will officially be here.

Going to just keep as busy as possible, at an enjoyable pace, to see just how much I can get done.

My boss, Barb, is a pretty good boss and lets me take breaks when I feel one is needed.

Cooties

I was working on archiving some photos this morning. It's a necessary, but monotonous task that must be periodically undertaken to keep the hard drive clean.

Suddenly Barb snuck up on me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Where was I? What was I doing? What number photo had I last copied to disk? From what collection?"

Ugh. Girls. LOL

One of my earliest memories in my life is one of my first true humiliations.

When I was in second or third grade we, of course, reveled at recess. There were all the swings, the see-saws, the twirl and pukes, and just running around playing tag, getting dirty and letting off some pent up steam.

Girls played with girls, and boys played with boys. That's just the way it worked.

Every now and then though, suddenly the girls would mass and plan a sudden Apache style attack on the boys. They would suddenly break from a huddle, run in all directions, and try to capture and kiss a boy. That's right kiss! Yuuuuccckkk!

It was typically a five-minute annoyance. I mean not even the boys could catch me at that age. Evading the girls was just plain easy.

Once I was leaning up against the school's outside wall talking with one of my friends when all of a sudden the girls' "I'm going to kiss some boy" scream went off.

I turned around, a girl jumped up and kissed me on the cheek. I turned 15 different shades of red in less than half-a-second.

If I wasn't already in horror enough, and possibly starting to suffer from a severe case of cooties, it turned even worse.

She turned around, skipping away from me, and yelling gleefully, "I kissed him! I kissed him! I kissed Jimmy Albert!"

Unsuccessfully, I looked for a hole to crawl into.

It took about two-weeks for it all to calm down, the pointing, the laughing, the "I got yous!" from my assailant.

Beyond my Mom dressing me in authentic German liederhosen, being kissed by a girl was one of my first humiliations. Fortunately I'd grow to have many, many, many more embarassing moments to come.

I'm Ready For Spring

I can hardly wait to be able to open the windows and get some fresh air. I did love to sled and do winter type things as a kid, but I grew out of that as an adult. During the winter months, I can dream of being at the beach and having all kinds of fun!!!

Our house has been filled with activity as of lately, between painting and the necessary usual things that need to be done. Jim is having a good day today and things have been going well for him, so that is all anyone can ask for and to continue in that way.

We are going to have Shepherd's Pie for dinner tonight and that is about as simple as it gets. If I have enough time on my hands today, I want to try and get back to my cross-stitching, we shall see?.

Take Care Everyone and Have A Great Weekend.

International House of Pancakes

Mmmmm...pancakes! Oops, sorry I got distracted there.

Continuing on my experiences with international graduate students at Ohio University, I was surprised by how we are viewed by people from different countries.

College was over 20-years ago now, so I'm sure images and perspectives have changed, possibly not for the better.

But 20-years ago the thing that surprised me the most was how these international students expected Americans to be like what they had seen on TV.

Back then, prime time soap operas like Dallas and Dynasty were the popular shows. Evidently these shows were distributed internationally. Every night that one of these shows were on in the common TV room of the dormitory, all the international students came together instinctfully to watch.

Over time, in discussions with many of them, one after another they told me how disappointed they were when they came to the United States because they had expected what they had seen on shows like Dallas and Dynasty. They expected that those shows were accurate depictions of everyday American life and American people.

Whew. Were they off.

I'll always remember a girl from Peru telling me how disappointed she was in Americans. They were so mean, she said, so cold, nothing like she had seen on TV.

Our country's influence reaches far and wide. It's not just military. It's not just money. Our cultural influences not only affect our own population, but that of everyone around the world.

It's becoming more and more of a small world, one world.

...mmmmm...pancakes...

It May Be True

When I transfered to Ohio University I was already a senior. I could not afford to rent an apartment by myself, and I didn't know anyone in Athens, Ohio. So I requested a dormitory room. But I already spent a year in a dormitory full of freshman, away from home for the first time. I didn't want to do that again. No one should have to live through that experience twice.

So I requested a dormitory that possibly housed older students, if there was such a thing.

Thankfully, there was.

One dormitory was reserved for graduate students from around the world. It was a United Nations of students...and me.

There I met Jorge Benavides, from rural southern Columbia. He was an upstanding gentleman, a hard worker, a Christian, and a family man who missed his wife and daughter terribly. He was at Ohio University in search of a masters degree in English to ultimately become a professor back home, a goal he eventually fulfilled.

At the end of a successful semester, in which we had both worked hard on our studies, we agreed to go out to the pub to celebrate a little.

We had a couple of beers and a shot of rum and suddenly I looked at Jorge and Jorge was not looking back. Well, he was looking back but with a far off gaze, and a little drool dripping out the side of his mouth.

Now it has always been an historical myth that the American Indians could not handle alcohol. Whether it was myth or fact, I really had no idea. But Jorge was about as close to a true descendant of the American Indian that I had ever been around.

And he was gone. Lights out. Two beers and a shot and he had completely left reality.

I was worried. I helped him out of the pub and led him the short two-blocks back to the dormitory. He was leaning on me heavily and swaying back and forth.

Just outside the dormitory I realized that he had left his book bag inside the pub. I sat him on a bench. I tried to look him in the eye and firmly asked him not to move an inch. Then I sprinted back to the pub.

Fortunately his book bag was still on the floor beneath the bar stool he had been sitting on.

I grabbed the bag and sprinted back towards the dorm.

I was aghast to find Jorge laying in the gutter. I picked him up and dusted him off. I just couldn't believe that such a small amount of alcohol had such an effect on him.

I led Jorge to his dorm room. I got him into bed. I even tucked him in.

Whew.

Content that he was safe and sound, I jumped in the car and took off for Arby's for a couple of one dollar roast beef sandwiches.

I had barely returned to my dorm room when there was an urgent knock on my door. Outside my door were several ladies, one from Cyprus, one from Puerto Rico, one from Italy.

"Jim! You have to do something about Jorge!" they said. "He's nuts!"

The dormitory was co-ed, with men on one side and ladies on the other. Jorge had gotten out of bed, left his dorm room and was acting up in some disturbing manner on the ladies' side of the dormitory.

I reluctantly followed the ladies to Jorge, who greeted me, still lost but polite. I tried to convince him to return to his room, to his bed. But he refused.

After a few minutes of fruitless conversation, I noticed that he was standing on one leg, leaning against a wall, and with one little swipe of my foot I could drop him to the floor right on his buttocks. Maybe he would think he fell on his own and decide to return to his room.

I easily swiped his foot out from under him and he dropped harmlessly on is buttocks as planned. He dropped like a feather.

To my surprise Jorge popped right back up too. Then he punched me in the nose.

By this time there was quite a crowd around us, all ladies who Jorge had been disturbing, all ladies who were trying to help me convince him to go sleep it off.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

Jorge was my friend. I wasn't looking for a fight. I'm never looking for a fight.

Suddenly he realized that I was trying to help. The punch to the nose was like a love tap, it didn't hurt in the least. And my posture and reaction were still that of a person who was trying to help.

Suddenly Jorge started hugging me and saying things like, "You are my friend! You are just trying to help!"

Jorge let me lead him back to his room and tuck him in once again. This time he stayed in bed.

I had to talk to him about the incident the next day. I had never experienced any reaction to alcohol like that before. I mean I had heard that the American Indians could not handle alcohol, and Jorge was kind of in that lineage. But man...I mean...wow!

Jorge was convinced that this kind of thing happened to everyone sooner or later. I tried to convince him that it never happened to me. He wasn't buying it.

After talking for awhile, he admitted to me that last time he drank he ended up spending the night in the Athens, Ohio police department's lock-up.

I guess I should have been around for that one.

Jorge and I did not drink together ever again. We did remain great friends though, and even moved into an apartment eventually together with a gentleman from Argentina.

I was rewarded for my troubles. The girl from Cyprus that Jorge was apparently disturbing made me stuffed grape leaves the next day. They were really good.

More of the Same

Nothing very exciting going on in Marietta, which is the way I like it. I get enough excitement.

Barb's parents stopped in yesterday. It was great to see them, especially with a cherry pie in Susan's hands. LOL

Thanks a bunch Susan!

We're just working away at the house. It's nothing exciting but we like the feeling of accomplishment.

I've been more in a physical type mood lately, rather than a mental, or philosophical mood. That's probably led to some pretty boring blogs lately. But life is like the ocean, don't turn your back on it, and just go with the flow.

I've been feeling pretty strong overall, and comparatively with how I have felt at times. I'm a bit drained from time to time, but that is to be expected with the ongoing chemotherapy. I've already started to ween off the steroids by gradually lowering my daily dosage and that will put a bit of a hurtin' on me too.

I remind myself to be strong, to keep pushing ahead. Barb reminds me not to push ahead too fast or too far.

Well it's time to get back to painting...umm...just right after another slice of cherry pie.

Keeping At It

I'm less than a week off Gamma Knife brain radiation. But I'm pushing myself full steam into each and every day like it didn't even happen.

You can still see the holes in my forehead where they screwed the metal frame to my head. So I do have a reminder to take it slow and easy and not push into everything too hard.

With Barb's help I worked well through my daily laundry list yesterday, and it's always good to feel quite accomplished in reaching goals.

For many years now I've been trying to perfect my New Orleans style gumbo, and I just have not been real happy with my results. There used to be a place on Second Street in Harrisburg called the Zephyr who served the best gumbo I've ever had. I've always tried to recreate that taste.

The Zephyr also had a sensational peanut chicken pasta salad that was out of this world. And they also served something that they called "killer bread," which was - of course - killer.

My gumbo yesterday was good, and it was as close to the Zephyr as I had ever gotten before. The taste was dead on. I just needed to get my roux to stock ratio a little better. It could have been just a bit thicker.

I refuse to measure ingredients when I cook. I won't do it. I cook with my nose and by tasting. To me it's an art, not a science. Well I guess that's my approach to life in general too.

When I woke up this morning, unfortunately, my stomach did not seem as fond of the gumbo as my taste buds were last evening. It's been growling and groaning. Ugh. That's what I get for making that spicey stuff I love to eat.

But I'll settle into the morning and get busy again. From now until early April I'm on chemo, but away from doctors and hospitals, so I'm going to take advantage of it as best I can.

Productive and Restful

We were blessed with warm weather, in the 60s, this weekend. It wasn't very sunny. There were plenty of clouds around. But after a couple of very cold months, we'll take it.

I think everyone who owns a motorcycle was out riding their motorcycle on Saturday. There were plenty of classic cars and hot rods out tooling about too.

I opened the backdoor up for Freckles on Saturday and he wisely took advantage and parked himself their for a good part of the day, watching the birds and the squirrels.

We ran around a little bit, and got out into the fresh air. But I spent a few hours cleaning the master bathroom. I'm a big believer in always doing humbling work. I'm not the type who likes to be waited upon. I could never have a maid. It wouldn't suit me, wouldn't sit well with me. What makes me more significant than anyone else? I'm certainly not beyond scrubbing my own toilets.

As much as I got done on Saturday, Sunday was a completely relaxing day, as it should be. The Albert and McFadden families got together at my sister and my brother-in-laws' house to celebrate Heather's third birthday.

Heather was all fired up from the many visitors and the attention. She was very well behaved and filled with smiles all day. She got a polka dot raincoat with matching boots and an umbrella and she couldn't wait to put them all on.

It was good to see everyone. We don't get enough opportunities in this busy world to all get together as families all at once.

I'm looking forward to getting into a productive Monday. I've got a lot of balls I'm juggling in the air right now. I have to be smart about it though. I'm less than a week off radiation treatments, and it's kind of like walking around with a mild-concussion at times.

The painting project continues. We're making good progress all things considered. Barb has been a tremendous help and we're making quite a team. The completion of the front room is in site.

There's always cleaning to do, and if I can knock off a room everyday I'm thrilled. The recent snow drug a lot of wet dirt through the house.

With a couple of plants starting to sprout in the backyard it's time to start our Spring cleaning in the backyard. It's a total mess right now, and we've got a lot of work to do out back.

I also want to get back to business with the business. The ADS Web site needs some serious updating, possibly even needs to be reinvented. I'd like to get some more marketing going again too. Although, with the current state of the economy things are very, very, very slow.

I've got gumbo on the menu for tonight, shrimp and andouille sausage gumbo. I've been trying for years to perfect my gumbo, and I haven't quite perfected it yet. But I'm very confident going into this evenings gumbo. I've got my gameplan set. This is going to be the best yet, and of course I'm not going to forget the okra.

We're also prepping

Looks To Be A Nice Weekend

Jim seems to be doing well today as he makes his comeback from his Gamma Knife treatment. Monday he starts back on the Sutent after his two week break. Jim and I continued with painting yesterday, he finished off the trim on the ceiling and I worked on the trim through the stairs, it may need a second coat.

I am so glad that Jim is bouncing back from his radiation treatment the way that he has and tomorrow we go to Heather's birthday party. It has been a little while since we've seen Karen, Jamie and Heather, so we are looking forward to it.

I hope everyone has an enjoyable weekend and is able to have some time outside while it is warm. I don't have the writing skills that Jim has for different subjects, but I still try and do my best.

Feeling Good

Not sure what happened to yesterday's post. I just peeked at it and the end of the post somehow was cut short. Maybe I was too long winded. My apologies.

I'm feeling pretty good after the Gamma Knife treatment. I felt strong enough yesterday to paint the ceiling in the front room.

The radiation can aggrevate the brain and cause swelling. I was confident that some of the odd feelings I've felt in the head have been caused by swelling. But the latest MRI's have shown little to no swelling. So I'm not sure what the cause may be, possibly some minor but permanent damage.

I am still on the steroid. But now I'm going to work hard to get off of it in the next two weeks. I'm up to 195-pounds now, 20-pounds heavier than when I started taking the steroid. That weight is about where I should be though. We'll see what happens when the steroid is out of the picture.

I'm also feeling ambitious this morning and hope to get a few things done. I've got a blueberry muffin with my name on it, then I'll be jumping into my "to do" list with both feet.

All in all, feeling good after the Gamma Knife. My head, of course, is sore from the four screws that they used to secure the metal frame to my skull. But a few more lumps on my head is nothing new.

Rolling with the Punches

First and foremost I have to put some BIG thank yous out there for some much appreciated help in getting me to radiation treatments yesterday. The schedule was fluid and late-breaking and tough to keep up with and arrange.

A big thank you to my Mom for waking up way too early and driving over to Marietta in the bitter cold to pick Barb and I up and get us to the health center.

Also a big thank you to Alyssa for getting Barb to the grocery store yesterday afternoon after my radiation treatments.

We love you both.

I had to be at the offices of radiation oncology at 7:30 a.m. for my Gamma Knife treatment. With me was my crack support team of my wife and my mom.

We were all called back to an individual waiting room until I was called to the "frame room."

I am seated on something that resembles a dentist chair without the lounge feature. First I'm given a sedative, underneath the tongue. "Let it dissolve," I'm told. "Don't just swallow it."

Then an IV is hooked up to my right forearm and a little saline is injected through. Soon some "la la juice" is injected into me. This is third Gamma Knife treatment so I have experience. I'm relaxed, with or without the medication.

Two doctors enter, the neurosurgeon and the radiation oncologist, and with the help of the nurse start positioning a metal frame onto my head. They debate positioning, pick out there spots, and then start injecting my skull in four places with numbing stuff (I think that's the technical term).

In seconds I cannot feel my head. Quickly they begin to screw the frame to my skull, right through the skin, straight to the bone. They carefully tighten each screw and ensure that the frame is completely still without any chance of movement.

Every time they've told me, "You're doing really well." I bet they say that to everyone. (smile)

I was helped into a wheel chair, because walking with a numb head with a metal frame attached can prove quite challening. I was quickly whisked into an MRI room where the techs positioned me on the table for a quick scan.

"Luke, I am your father," I joked from the MRI bed.

Everyone laughed.

I thought to myself, "I should stop joking around and let them concentrate."

The MRI scans were quickly completed and the docs gathered to study them and set-up the treatment. I was told that they found four small tumors in all, one more than the latest report. All were under two millimeters in size - very tiny.

When the treatment plan was set I was escorted into the Gamma Knife room. The Gamma Knife is a huge empty room surrounded by thick radiation proof walls and doors. Think about science fiction type stuff and you're on the right track.

Once on the Gamma Knife table I'm fitted with another metal frame and a metal globe with pin holes all throughout it. The frames are locked into place into brackets on the treatment table. All measurements are checked and the doctors and staff come to agreement that everything is ready.

The treatment table slowly pulls me into the giant machine, head first. The table suddenly moves very slowly and I feel my metal frame lock into another piece of metal with a metallic "clang."

Then . . . complete silence . . . I mean not a sound at all for 20 minutes. That's the treatment, silent, invisible, radiation being aimed in hundreds of tiny beams around the tumor without harming surrounding healthy tissue.

There were two 20 minute treatments, one 18 minutes, and one 13 minutes, and then I was done.

I got up, regained my balance, and the neurosurgeon patted me on the shoulder and said, "Gotta' go. I'll see you in four-weeks and we'll do an MRI in eight."

A nurse quickly moved me back to the "frame room," settled me in the "dentist chair" and begun to unscrew the frame from my head. She worked to stop the bleeding from two of the screw holes. I felt my head. Wow it was numb. I couldn't feel a thing.

That was it, another Gamma Knife treatment.

It was a whirlwind. Originally this treatment was scheduled for the 18th of this month. We got a call late Monday that they'd like to do it this Wednesday (yesterday) instead. Fortunately my Mom was kind enough to instantly agree to the late-hour request and be my driver for the day. They get me so drugged up it's not the best idea for me to drive myself.

Then mid-morning Tuesday they called and informed me that I had to drop everything and have bloodwork done. We were just about out the door and on our way to the grocery store when this call came in. Fortunately Alyssa was kind enough to instantly agree to join her Mom for an afternoon grocery run while I slept off the medications, the radiation, and the four new holes in my head.

Feeling sore, but pretty good this morning. I'll take it light, but am sure I'll be ready for action almost immediately. Plus I have Barb's English muffins and forbidden chocolate doughnuts to keep me inspired.

We were just about on our way to the grocery store and butcher when the bloodwork request came in. So

Change in Schedule

The local morning news just came on and reported that it's 12-degrees outside. Our thermometer on the back of the house is recording a temperature of 18-degrees.

It's cold.

Temperatures are not expected to reach above freezing today. With yesterday's snow, March is definitely coming in like a lion.

Today is grocery day. I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to going out in the cold. But we'll have to do what we have to do. Today is the ideal day to go out and fill the fridge with food, because there has been a change in schedule.

Yesterday in the late afternoon, a nurse from the radiation oncology office called me to ask if we could do my radiation treatment on Wednesday. It was originally scheduled for the middle of March. She caught me a little by surprise. But after I discussed it with Barb a little we decided it was probably for the best to get to the Gamma Knife and get it over with.

It kind of cuts my "retreat" from treatment and doctors short.

It also kind of throws a wrench into my painting plans. I was kind of hoping to have the painting at a good stopping point before the radiation treatment. Unfortunately I won't be able to finish off the front room before treatments, which means furniture randomly arranged out of the way of the work areas, and covered in plastic. I'll need to find the strength after the brain radiation to finish this off.

I'm so fortunate to have folks around me, supporting me so incredibly, like I do. I called my Mom as soon as I found out that the Gamma Knife was now scheduled for Wednesday. I needed to arrange a ride. They sedate you a bit before the Gamma Knife procedure. Afterall, they do screw a metal frame to my skull.

"How available are you on Wednesday?" I asked my Mom.

"I'll make myself available," she instantly answered.

I have felt consistently lame for having to ask for such help. But I continue to be incredibly touched by such willingness to help. Thanks so much.

Riding It Out

I made meatball sandwiches on Saturday. I am the sandwich king. I take my sandwich making very seriously.

This upcoming week we're making our own cole slaw for reuben sandwiches.

Somehow during the meatball making a song from childhood came rushing back to me - "On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese. I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed. It rolled off the table, and onto the floor. And then my poor meatball, rolled right out the door."

Well that got a smile out of Barb.

Then, unexplicably, another song from childhood popped out - "John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt, his name is my name too. Whenever he goes out. The people always shout. There goes John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt. Na na na na na na na . . . "

OK. Now Barb was flat out laughing.

Who knows where this stuff suddenly comes from, out of nowhere. I'm a walking jukebox.

I've been feeling pretty good across the past week or so. It's been an opportunity to kind of forget about cancer for awhile and just wake up and live my "normal" life every day. I do appreciate the times between doctors and treatments.

With temperatures in the 20's, high winds, and a little snow in the forecast, it's a great day to stay inside. Every winter, every year, for my entire life, I just run from one warm place to another. I spend zero time outside in the cold.

I have to spackle some cracks in a ceiling before painting the ceiling today. That is, of course, if I can keep Freckles out of the way.

I'm working on our computer network also, and backing up some files, getting ready for a little business reorganization and renewed marketing. It's tough out there. I've never experienced a general financial slump like this in my lifetime. In the past months, two clients have pulled their plans for projects because of financial concerns.

But if business is slow, it offers me precious time to work on art for art's sake, just creative releases. I've got an idea for some more wall art incubating in the old brain upstairs.

Well there is a fresh batch of homemade English muffins waiting for me. They looked extra fluffy too when Barb was fixing them up yesterday afternoon! Woohoo!