Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Who cut the cheese?

Not me.  But I did attempt it.

When I was a kid, maybe 8-10 years old, I had a folding pocketknife and a block of balsa wood and I was very excited about transforming the wood into some sort of a creative figure.  It was not long before I sliced into the base of my left index finger and was required to get 4 stitches.  When the bandage finally came off I was as shocked to see those 4 thread loops attached to my flesh as I might have been while looking at Frankenstein’s monster’s brain transplant scar.  It felt like a really big deal.  I remember getting them clipped off too and being surprised at how low-impact that procedure was.  That scar, its sensitivity, and the visible needle-hole scars were show-n-tell material and also key toward my learning “left” and “right”.  I just had to remember scar = left and I could sense my left hand without looking.

Another thing I remember about that experience was my dad telling me how now that I had cut myself pretty good, I would forever come to respect sharp blades and could be trusted to not cut myself that way again.  It did work for a while but as of yesterday, I now have a total of 4 scars on my left hand, three of them from knives.

Back to the cheese.  I had just returned from some white-knuckle freeway snow driving which gave me plenty of time to think up what I would be cooking for dinner: Macaroni and cheese with broccoli.  We were all pretty hungry and so I engaged my special skill in high speed, multi-tasking cooking.  The water was on the boil seconds after I arrived in the kitchen and this bought me time to do the prep for the cheese sauce. The roux was bubbling shortly after on the second burner. I like a multi-cheese, cheese sauce and I had already imagined the 3 cheeses that would be going into this one.  The sharp cheddar was easy. Cheddar is a crowd pleaser that shreds easily in our hand-cranked cheese shredder. I soon had a generous mound.  The dried pasta went into the now boiling water. 

The second cheese would be this delicious French cheese that had started off as a large soft wedge and now was a smaller, hardened wedge; not so appealing any more for crackers but I knew it would melt nicely in a sauce.  Feeling the magic happening, I grabbed a bottle of IPA that was beckoning, mere inches from the cheese drawer and popped the top and took one swallow.  I figured I’d drink half with dinner and save the other half for later when the stomachache from over-eating had passed.

I was thinking about the third cheese, which would be just a dash of a stinky cheese, a Stilton, for a little contrast.  I picked up the French wedge and realized I’d need to trim it a bit to fit in the rotary grater.  By shaving off some of the hard corners, it should just fit.  I grabbed a small kitchen knife that had been lying on the counter since this morning when I had sharpened it and then cut up an apple into eighths for time-lapse snacking.  As I brandished it against the cheese, all of a sudden I felt a zing in my thumb and had the now familiar “oops” sensation that is frequently accompanied by the, “Can we roll back time for just a minute” fantasy.  A glance confirmed that it was pretty deep.  I wrapped a paper towel around my thumb and held pressure on it with my grip.

I called for Mary but she had already heard the shouted expletive and was on her way.  I informed her that I might need stitches but in the mean time, could she hunt down a few Bandaids.  My pasta water, meanwhile, was ready for the broccoli and the white sauce was ready for the cheese.  Part of my speed cooking for this recipe is cooking the greens with the pasta.  I sliced the broccoli florets right into the water as if I was whittling a stick.  Mary came back with a couple of bandages but took one look at the blood-saturated paper towel and decided this dike leak needed a bigger thumb, so to speak.  I had her grate the French cheese in the rotary grater while I pounded the rest of the bottle of beer.  I figured that would be about my stomach capacity and the Mac-n-cheese could be warmed up later.

I strained and stirred together the pasta/broccoli mixture with the cheese sauce and called Marlee for dinner.  Meanwhile, Mary asked Siri about the closest Urgent Care facility.  Siri suggested that the closest one was on Leonard Street near the East Beltline.  We had not heard of that one but Siri was willing to dial the number to find out how busy they were. Despite the snowstorm, they were pretty slow.  So Mary pulled on her boots while I located some gauze sponges to rewrap my thumb.

We arrived to find no line and a nurse came right out to assess the damage.  He ascertained that it was probably worth a few stitches and so we filled out paperwork while they prepared an examination room.  One of the questions was, “Do you have any concerns about your injury affecting your critical day-to-day activities?”  Mary suggested that hitchhiking might be affected so we put that one down.

I was feeling pretty happy from my hastily consumed 7.5% alcohol brew on an empty stomach. And you can kind of see that in this picture.
 
A wonderful Physicians Assistant named Lara came in and made conversation with Mary and I while her assistants readied for the procedure. P.A.s are the best.  They always seem to be good communicators with great skills to back them up.  The first step was to numb my entire thumb.  She did not want me cringing and pulling away while she sutured.  She informed me that this numbing procedure was the worst part and that it would hurt a lot.  Yeah, it hurt; three deep pokes with a burn.  But her prep warning made me expect and prepare for the worst, but it was all tolerable in the big scheme.  I did not feel a thing while she was sewing.  We think she used 4 stitches but I wasn't about to watch.

No shoveling snow or dishwashing for a week…  well that is a big pain in the butt.  But the good news is that the warmed up Mac-n-cheese + broccoli was delicious; maybe my best batch ever.  And actually, this bandaged thumb may work out great for hitchhiking.


Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Still riding the horse I came in on

I did end up having chemo last week despite the fact the platelets were a hair below the treatment margin. After a month, my body had kind of forgotten what that chemotherapy feels like.  Nausea was light but definitely a factor.  I was glad it was bumped that extra week because the weekend before, we got to enjoy a family wedding.  Mary's brother Guy got married in Chicago to his partner Rich and Mary's whole (large) family was there along with a bunch of cool people I had never met before.  So I got to eat, drink and be merry in good health at his wonderful celebration.  Here is a video of a "flash mob" that Mary organized as a surprise at the reception.  All the guests had been sent a link to a training video to learn the choreography in advance.  We had no idea how many would participate but it looked like about 80% to me.  I call that a smashing success!

One awkward thing about the timing abot the chemo was that I also had a CT scan scheduled in between putting the pump on and taking it off.  That meant that the pump would stay with me in the scanner and instead of getting the contrast activator through my port, I had to get an I.V. hole poked in my arm.  That may not seem to be a big deal and that, indeed, is what I kept telling myself.  My chemo nurse, Linda, said that the nurses at the CT were very good and I should have no problem.  I wish she had not said that out loud.  Even though there was no one in the waiting room when I arrived, it took an hour before I was called.  Apparently one of the machines was down and they were sharing a CT scanner with ER.

They make you drink a second bottle of barium when you get there and while I sipped, I also sized up the nurse.  I had not seen this one before and had a bad feeling about her seemed lethargy and her inconsistency from the usual protocol.  I have done this enough times that it stands out when they don't offer you a straw or ask about premeds, etc.

A confident, energetic nurse entered and called up a woman who came into the inner waiting room after me.  That woman had a port and this was a port access specialized nurse.  The slow-moving nurse finally called me into the IV placement room and asked me about arm preference.  I gave her my left arm and after thudding her fingers on a few veins, she selected my right arm instead.  It took her 4 tries, each one hurting me enough to where I was vocalizing "ouch!"  I have some bruising to remember her by.  But the scans were routine and the premeds had done their work and I had no reaction to the contrast dye.

That was last week. Today was my day to meet with Dr. Krajewski and go over the results of these scans.  Mary came with me.   Dr. K is more on time than Dr. Scott ever was and the results of my scans were as I expected.  No dramatic changes.  All the liver lesions were exactly the same size as the last scan; no growth.  There were some new tiny, unmeasurable bumps or "nodularities" around the colon, specifically near my appendix but nothing to be concerned about.

He scheduled my next appointment for 6 weeks which is two days before Christmas.  Next chemo is scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving but I would not be surprised if that gets bumped a week.  I'm kind of hoping that happens because otherwise I will be having my pump removed on Thanksgiving morning.  Really?  They have people working Thanksgiving morning?

My obsession with food is still raging.  A few days ago, I happened to see a commercial for a new kind of pizza at Little Caesars.  It is basically a pretzel crust pizza with a gooey cheese-like substance in place of the tomato sauce that sounds absolutely horrible. But it was a new thing and I could not get it out of my head. I was dying to know what it tasted like for some reason that I can't explain.  Mary finally urged me to blow the whole 6 bucks it costs to scratch that itch.  I'm ashamed to say I kind of liked it but am happy to say that I never have to eat it again.  I still have a few slices in my fridge if anyone has the same urges as me.