The M&M Story

This morning was my 32nd and last radiation treatment. Hallelujah! I go back in a couple weeks for a CT scan to see just how effective the treatment was, and then to make decisions about the next step in treatment--surgery, chemo, or some other undetermined option. We'll probably also head up to NYC to Sloan-Kettering for a second opinion. But for a couple weeks, no doctors, no daily visits to the hospital. I would have made a comment about the unique smell of the radiation lab--kind of a shower-fresh, medicine-y smell--but I recently realized that that particular smell I associated with the radiation lab was that of my deoderant. See, I lay on the machine on my back with my arms above my head, and voila--deoderant smell. I know, it's not something you want to be reading about this afternoon, but it's true. I'm going to purchase some different deoderant now so that I don't go around on hot days being reminded of radiation. Anyway, now we're off for the weekend w...

Today at lunch M came in to the kitchen in a terrible mood. Susan had fixed him a turkey cheese sandwich and cherry tomatoes and he turned up his nose. "I want Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich," he whined, and then hung his head in a dramatic pose. He crawled up in his chair, but kept complaining and being as grumpy as he possibly could. Susan asked him to pray, and he refused, but pointed to Uncle Stephen. So Uncle Stephen prayed for the food and the day and a few other things. After Stephen said "Amen," and before we had a chance to raise our heads, M piped in: "Dear Jesus, Tanks you that I'm not going to be sad anymore. Aaaaamen." Then he smiled and took a big bite of his turkey sandwich.

Jake (28) and M (3) are playing in the living room. M is on the sofa looking out the window. M: Somebody's walking down the street! J: Where are they going? M: It's just one person. J: I know--where are they going? M: It's just one person! J: WHERE ARE THEY GOING? M: IT'S JUST ONE PERSON! [pause] J: Is it a boy or a girl? M: A boy. J: Where is HE going? M: To his house.

When I was in the hospital, M told our friend Jake that "Daddy's the man to ask for stories." And he does ask, sometimes several times a day. Usually it goes like this: M: Daddy, tell me a story? Daddy: About what? M: 'bout me and Tiger and Cousin L [or another group of people or objects] goin' on an 'venture. Today before his nap, I told such a story, this one involving M, Cousin L, and Best Friend C. As usual, they packed their backpacks full of all kind of stuff that you need for an 'venture, including sleeping bags, swords, sticks, flashlights, and food. After some run-ins with big trucks in the woods (a late addition to the story by M), our heroes stood at the foot of a great mountain. Daddy: So M, L, and C stopped and had a picnic at the foot of the mountain before they made the ascent. M: And the Journeys. D: Who? M: The Journeys. They were at the picnic, too. D: Who are the Journeys? M: Our friends. You said. D: I did? M: Yes, you said we each bro...

Every morning my radiation technicians, clad in long white coats and medical gear, set me up on the machine and mutter numbers and instructions to each other over my naked chest: "Gimme a line." "4.6 minus where we started..." "Twist him just a bit." "About half a line." "4.2?" "Yeah, 4.2." "Alright, let's go." They're very serious, but also quite nice. Anyway, Susan and B and I were in Target last week and ran into Radiation Technician E. Not only was E not wearing her lab coat, but she was purchasing a bikini. I now know what my students felt like when they would run into me at the mall. Although to be fair, I've hardly ever been seen buying a bikini.

Lost Shoe Originally uploaded by Maynor . We were in Tampa a few weeks ago for my brother's wedding, and when we got to the mall to pick up the tuxes with Pete, Mel, and all the kids, we could only find one of Susan's shoes, which she had kicked off in the van earlier. We retraced our morning steps over all of South Tampa, and finally discovered the lost sheep at the filling station. Do you see it?

I'm going to try to start blogging again. I think part of me was waiting until I could go back and journal about everything that's happened since March 11, but that's just impossible at this point. So we'll assume that you are generally caught up. If not, feel free to e-mail me at the address at the top of the page and I can give you a quick rundown. In a nutshell, here's where we are at this point in terms of treatment: I entered the hospital on March 14, 2005, and a CT Scan showed a large mass in my pulmonary artery. The VQ scan showed no perfusion in my right lung and about 20% perfusion in my left (perfusion is the gas exchange--get rid of carbon dioxide, add oxygen to blood). I was on blood thinners for two weeks because the doctors thought it was probably an embolus, but surgery on March 27 proved it to be a sarcoma (a rare soft-tissue tumor). Drs. Marc Moon and Alec Patterson cleared the entire left artery (it was not connected on that side and "flopped ...