I begin this post lying on a cot in Room Three of Bloomington Hospital's ER, which is ridiculously over-air conditioned. I came becaue I've been experiencing a progressive closing of the airway which usually seats my trach. My bout of pneumonia was a peculiar complication for my trach. There's was so much stuff being coughed out of me that keeping it in was impossible. Then, I had it out too long and there's a build up of the heavy, snotty, waxy stuff the body produces in gallons, complicating putting it back in. Normally, the trach protects the airway from the buildup, so taking it out is no small event: Don't do this at home unless you're ready for bullshit.
They've come and gone in Room Three, looking at me, questioning, assuring me they can do nothing for me. Doctors have been here, nurses by the handful. They can't quite grasp why I took the trach out, and they can't quite grasp how to fix it. They've finally decided to call an outside ENT and send me to an appointment with him at 1pm.
Does it seem that in a building with hundreds of medical professionals that I should find treatment by someone amongst them? It does to me. It seems reasonable to assume that an Emergency Room would have staffing that would allow for that, and the resources of the hospital where a hole in the net of comprehensive treatment is found. Doesn't seem to be the case.
Absurdist comedies run the gamut from funny to grim, the comedy relying upon an understanding that the situation in which we find outselves is ridiculous to say the least. The LCD is that we all find it incomprehensible that what is unfolding before out eyes is rational or advisable. Right now, I'm waiting on a chest xray that was ordered two hours ago. I need to pee. Charles is email-working over to my left.
I'll let you know how this story plays out, after the ENT visit, coming up.
* * * * * *
it's now 2:23pm and I'm home, and here's what has been happening:
After the chest xray was finally taken and read by the radiologists, they decided that the pneumonia masses on the right lunig didn't look healed enough, and that I'd have to be readmitted into the hospital. This is where the gloves went on and I came out swinging.
I'd just had a CT scan that showed an improvement in these pneumoia pockets they were talking about, the xrays had to be wrong or misinerpreted (it happens) and I pointed out the more positive resutls from the recent CT. They agreed to try and access it in their system, and when they--of course--did, they decided on a comparitive film done by their CT. I agreed faster than a crack whore looking at a five dollar tip. At this point, I would do just about anything to not be admitted to a hospital. So if you're looking for cheap sex with someone who's completely uninterested in sex and majorly jacked up, I'm your guy.
the CT comes back confirming my side of the story, but what now? Sounding as casual as a Forever 21 salesperson, the doctor said: "yeah, it looks like the tumor on my lung has grown significantly though."
This doctor (actually a nurse practitioner, otherwise very nice), broke the cardinal rule of oncology: don't use the words tumor and significant growthl together. Our ears and fears are trained to find those words in a 15000 word report and fixate upon them. Significant is not good. Tumor is not good. Significant Tumor + growth = Freak the Fuck out.
Dr. Dayton is on vacation right now, so whatever chance or opportunity to freak out on the shoulder on my oncologist is closed to me. Rationalize: tumor doesn't always mean cancer; tumor is used differently, by different people, to describe states of being of a mass of tissue. And my favorite coping mechanism: Jesus Christ, stop thinking about it lest you go mad.
So, I know if it's the worst case scenario, I'll have to return to chemo earlier than I want, there will be a new, tougher, regimen. My days more than ever will be taken up with cancer, I may not respond well. There's nothing I can do but wait, and wait in light.
Next is the ENT visit at 4pm. We'll see how that goes--hopefully more concrete than this.
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