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I have been a little sick lately. Nothing serious, or so I thought. Had a lot of chest congestion, some coughing, lots of mucus. Thought it was a cold. On Friday, at the doctors office, I got a battery of xrays and scans, doctors thought I might have a slight touch of pneumonia.
Today I found out I have a tumor in my lung. Right where my lung connects to my wind pipe. A big lump. And even though it's only xrays and scans, I know what it is. The tendrils are easy to see, and my doctors have no doubts. It's latched onto a rich nest of blood vessels. It's that damned little octopus from hell again. Lousy little fucker is back for round two. I know it's motives, I know how it works, and I know how fast it can spread.
I just found out today, so I don't yet know what is going to happen. But soon, very soon, I will be going AFK for a bit. I don't know how long. I might need to travel this time. I just... don't know anything yet. I am guessing that to remove it, if such a thing is possible, everything around it is probably going to have to go. I think. I don't know. There are new procedures now, new lasers, new surgery techniques since Round One.
In as little as a week or so I will be going for an extended AFK. Against my wishes, I going into some cancer clinic. I don't know, I was awfully upset. Pissed even. Really frigging pissed.
I knew that it was only a matter of time... but it is so soon. I am not going to rant about life not being fair... But I am just not prepared. I do not feel cocky. I do not feel confident. I feel weak and old and tired. I have been worn thin lately. My mental state of mind has not been good. This has caught me at the worst possible time, with so many irons in the fire that demand my attention.
More details as they come.
![[Image: vipersig.jpg]](http://www.danasoft.com/vipersig.jpg)
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Sorry to hear that, Doc.  I know you've been through a lot with this
already, and I know you have a tough fight ahead of you. :war:
It seems too short a time ago that I was making similar comments, and
encouraging you to be strong, to fight well, and... to shoot straight with
the missus. :o
As I sit here, I hear the song "I can only imagine...", bow my head, and pray. God bless.
Charis
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The lady in a black skirt is holding upt he sign for you.... and I'm drooling at the sign holder.
Pulling for you over here Doc.
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May the 4th. I will be leaving May the 4th. I will be going to a clinic out of state. I still don't know what is going to happen. I have one week to live a little and get my shit together and get my head on straight. One week to get super pissed and come at this whole situation head on, full steam. A week might be to long, but, it's the soonest that stuff can start getting done. The Octopus From Hell can do a lot of growing in a week.
More details as I know them.
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Good luck Doc! I am sure you'll beat this thing again, after all you did it once, and it was in a *much* worse place then than it is now.
Good luck and god bless.
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Good luck and I hope everything comes out good in the end.
Einstein said Everything is Relative.
Heisenberg said Everything is Uncertain.
Therefore, Everything is relatively uncertain.
Programming is like Sex; make one mistake and you end up supporting it for the rest of your life - Michael Sinz
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Fight hard :war:
"Last seen wandering vaguely, quite of her own accord"
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. . . Variant styles. We laugh in the face of what others think are long odds and just keep blasting through.
The Reaper's a pussy! You can take him. B)
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The real problem here, at least as how I see it, is the Scorched Earth Policy. Those damned little tendrils of corruption go everywhere. Sure, last time, it seemed like it was in a worse place... But... I could lose a lung over this. Or a chunk of my wind pipe. I might be making a big fool of my self right now for not self researching my spelling and proper anatomy locations, but, if I recall, there is the arorta and the vena cava, the two grandaddy blood vessels in that area. I mean, how does one just yank those out? What if there are tendrils in my heart? Can't just yank that.
I simply do not have the bravado to muster this time. I feel old and tired. Not old and pissy. I don't feel confident. In fact, all I feel at the moment is grim resignation to the fact that it is Round Two. Sort of like an old soldier who has fought and knows his enemy well, but, no longer wishes to fight. But instead, he picks up his weapons and leaves his comfortable spot by the fire. He then steps out the door, not knowing the outcome, only knowing he has faced this foe before and this time he may not return home.
I know I can win, but, I don't know what it's going to cost me. Not the cash, that's not an issue. How much can I lose? That last surgery was a doosey. I came out of that with heavy losses. What can I afford to lose now? How much can they carve away? I have a rare tissue type, would I even be able to find a lung for transplant should I need it? Dennis Leary said it well, about when John Wayne got lung cancer, "Take em both out I don't frigging need em, I'll grow gills and breathe like a fish damnit!" For some reason, I find that quote funny in a terrible way. Infact, the whole No Cure For Cancer album has been the soundtrack of my life lately.
It's a confusing time right now. Having to shop for a special hospital bed for when I come home. I had no idea there were so many makes and models and finding the right one with the right features that the doctors say I will need is tough. So many different types, each more expensive then the last. My penny pinching nature revolts at spending so much for a bed. I don't see how poor sick folks can afford to be sick, some of these damn beds can clear over 10,000 dollars US. I am not keen on the idea of laying a bed such as these, with no room for my critter friends to stay. They look to narrow. I am a skinny withered old fart, but I want room damnit. Don't fence me in. I don't have the froggiest idea what to shop for. Hospital care at home is a pain in the frigging ass, but it sure beats staying in a hospital for a long time. Screw that. Hospitals are full of SICK people. With SICK air. And bad smells. And it's all white and sterile and so frigging cold it would make your damn nipples hard enough to turn into glass cutters. Bugger. And TERRIBLE food. Not like I will be eating much most likely, but I bring it up in passing. Might cost a bit extra, but damnit, I think I will spring for a bed with a special compartment that keeps your bed pan warm. You can't put a price on comfort. And nothing is worse then wiggling your butt onto a cold frigging bed pan, making all of your muscles tense, and making your skin strain at the stitches. Once again, I say, bugger.
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