Be careful what you ask for

Seems the White House wants to hear from We, The People.  So on the White House. org website they have created a way to start a petition and have stated that if enough people "sign" the petition they will speak to the subject.  Maybe not support it, but they will address the issue.

So this is your chance.  If you're reading this, you're probably on several .gov watchlists.  Might as well go for all of them!!

My friend Sean S. at NC gun blog has links to all the petitions

Topics:
Supporting HB822 (National Reciprocity)

Repealing the Hughes Amendment ('86 Machine Gun Registry)

Taking Suppressors off the NFA

Taking SBS/SBR's off the NFA

Support an Independent Prosecutor for Fast and Furioius

You have to sign up with your name, e-mail, city and state.  We're all on "the list" anyway and they can't use it for spam.  If the petitions get to 500 signers the White House has to respond.

I want to see the press briefing where the White House explains its position on the above petitions.  Hehehehehehehehehe

Fast and Furious

Finally someone has come out and said it

Operation Fast and Furious was not botched. It was planned.  And of course they just couldn't do the small fry.

See the administration made the claim that the bad people from south of the border were buying their guns at Gun shops, Gun shows and from other private sales and that the 2A was to blame.  However, some one went back and ran the numbers and Whoopsie!!  turns out almost all the guns came from Mexican Police and Military sources.

Well that simply won't do.
So what to do get more guns into from US FFL's into the hands of Mexican cartels?  Why ship them directly from the FFL's using the ATF (with Porkulous Money) and eliminating the middle men of the Mexican Police and Army.

So quit calling this thing botched.  It wasn't.  No one can point to anywhere in the plan to seizure or capture the guns nor arrest or kill the bad guys with the guns.  The ATF higher up painstakingly did things to ensure that the guns slipped from ATF control/observation  and disappeared, mostly into Mexico, only to sadly turn up at more and more murder scenes.

Yes, murder scenes.  And like every freedom loving American, I don't care who is being murdered.  I want the person that pulled the trigger either fried or put in a jail he never comes out of.   And those that knew of, participated in and allowed this to happen, need to be tried for those murders.

Go back and read what ATF Agent Newell said about working cases where gun dealers "allowed" guns to walk.  It was Agent Newell that ordered the dealers to sell those guns against the dealers will and better judgement and Agent Newell let them walk.

No one was killed in Watergate.  Agent Newell has the blood of US Border Patrol Agent Brian Terry and hundreds of Mexican and a growing number of Americans on his hands.  For this and this alone he needs to brought up on charges.  Then and only then will the entire rotten edifice of Fast and Furious will come tumbling down.  Yes, Monica, we are to the point of a Special Prosecutor.

To Hell and Back

I spent the last weekend with Robert.  Time that I cherish.  And we did have fun as well. We "worked" at the BB Gun Range at Northern Illinois Hunting and Fishing Days.  Robert does really well with the young kids teaching the 4 Rules and helping them with cocking, aiming and shooting the Daisy Red Rider's we use.  It's a lot of fun introducing new shooters (mostly kids and moms, as most Dads are too cool to shoot BB Guns.)  We have simple knock down targets, film canisters on string and everyone's favorite the bell-hop bell.  A challenge to hit, but gives a satisfying "DING" when you hit it, and everyone on the line knows when you do.   Everyone gets to watch a 3 minute video and then about 5 minutes of actual shooting.  Yes, as many BB's as you can safely fire.

The best part comes later.  The guys that run the range go to Knob Creek each year.  And they have a simple rule.  If you work the BB gun range, they take you to Knob Creek for the the Machine Gun Shoot. So each year we have several teenagers of family and friends that also work the range.  All really good kids, and fun to be around.  The prospect of shooting machine guns has Robert captivated.  He gets it that "things" are earned.

We  got home we had a couple of hours before he was  due to go back to his mom's.   He's liking WWII movies, so I've picked up a couple of the "9 WWII movies for $4.99" out the bins at Wal-Mart, I also scored a 16 pack of John Wayne movies to include McClintock!   So grab one of the CD's and it has To Hell and Back - Audie Murphy.  Wikipedia for some back story and then pop in the movie.  Yeah, somewhat cheesey.  You can tell that Audie was somewhat uncomfortable playing himself and wanted it as a tribute to those friends killed during the war.   Robert was just in awe.

Those are the lessons I want to teach.  That is what I want to pass on.

Still Augering In.

Well, yesterday was the suck.  I mean really?!?  My Hemoglobin can "bounce" around from a 6.5 to a 7.7?  Neither being "good", but one somewhat less "BAD" then the other.  I had to do all the "Check again to see if he's still breathing?" crap, and the Nurse Practitioner didn't think that I looked like a 6.5.  I sure felt like one.  And yeah I did go camping with a bunch of Cub Scouts last weekend.  And yeah, I cooked breakfast for the entire crew.  And yeah, I then spent two days working the BB Gun Range at Hunting and Fishing Days.  

So if I can dig deep and do all that on less then half the fucking oxygen of all you medical types, why am I getting worse?  9.6 in hospital three weeks ago, 8.8 two weeks ago, 8.1 last week, and somewhere between 7.7 and 6.5 this week.  Oh, and now there's blood (at least hemoglobin) in my urine.  The steriods have induced diabetes (yes, insulin twice a day.) and now a Blood Transfusion this morning of two maybe three units.  That should make me feel better.  Well, at least like I can breathe.  But this is it. I see the kidney doc next Monday.  If they (and by they I mean all my docs) haven't talked and come up with their recommendations then I'll tell them what the Fucking Plan is.

This shit ends.  No more steroids, no more Cytoxan.  And the stem cell can wait.  I'm not playing my last card on a "Hail Mary" that I don't think will work to save my kidneys. They've been so damaged and destroyed over the course of the last several years that I don't think they'll "recover".  And I'm not willing to take a chance on maybe becoming eligible for a kidney transplant.  You'll have to give me better odds then a "possible maybe".   I'll do dialysis.  I can live with that.  I can do maintenance chemo for as long as it *works*.  "Works" meaning that the Multiple Myeloma doesn't begin to attack any other organs or systems. I'll be anemic, hopefully less edemaic, but I'll be able to live on somewhat my own terms.  

But I'm mad as hell that they did this to me.

I just want the Poster.

If you never seen Firefly, you need to watch it.

But this clearly demonstrates the mindset we are up against.

Having been duely warned, the Prof takes it down and replaces it with this:

That really honks off the Brownshirts.

See when it comes to the Left the 1A is okay when you agree with them and their positions.  But let a leftist know that they are also fascists and the gloves really come off.

And hell yeah.  I want *that* Firefly poster.

Chores.

As usual I do things uphill backwards.  When I wrote about Parenting Techiniques, I probably should have posted the ground rules or what drives the techniques.

The first thing that I kept telling the WINO is that our job as parents is to raise happy, healthy, disciplined ethical moral, responsible adults.  People that go out and take the place in society as productive members.

Period.

And  everything we do and did has to be directed toward that goal.

It was like talking to a wall.

I believe in chores.  Age appropriate.  At 5 years old you can unload the silver ware from the dishwasher (I'll take the knives first).  At 8 you can unload the dishes as well.  At 10 you load the dishwasher, properly.

At 7 you can pick up the dog poop in the backyard like you promised when we got you the dog.  At 10 or 11 you can start cutting the grass.

In fact at several points as the kids were growing up we would sit and have a family meeting.  The WINO drafted and wrote out "The Chore Lists" that everyone agreed to.  Yes, even her.  She wrote them, they are in her hand writing.  But when I would direct the kids to do their chores, I was "A Slavedriver" or "Why does it have to be done on your schedule?"  Because I can't serve dinner I cooked, (my chore), if all the clean dishes are in the dishwasher that the kids need to unload."  And then the fight was on.  

This is how bad is was.  I hated the weekends.  Because the would end the same way each time, no matter what I did. 
Friday night- Pizza and a beer night.  Which was really just pizza night, although she might have a beer.  But before she got home I would ask the kids to 1) Get their homework done (always Job#1) and then 2) get their dirty clothes down stairs, so I could do laundry (my chore) and 3) pick their "stuff" around the house and their rooms.  My reasoning being that if we got *that* our the way, we could then do fun things the rest of weekend.  The kids would want to and would get my wife on their side with "It's been a long week, leave them alone for one night." To which I would say, "Fine, I'm doing laundry now.  If you want clean clothes next week , then get it downstairs."  That I put my foot down on.  I was doing laundry once a week. Not whenever you demanded it. And don't let me catch you doing loads in between.  You're not wasting my water, gas and detergent just because you were too lazy to bring it downstairs when I was doing it.

Now, Saturday was generally run the kids to sports and activities, cutting the grass, and possibly getting the the grocery shopping for the week.  So it got blown out of the water as far as getting anything fun in.

Sunday morning she would get up early and go to weight watchers.  Meanwhile I got up, go the kids moving, and showering while I made a good breakfast (bacon and eggs, or pancakes, or waffles or breakfast burrito's and such), and got everyone fed, dressed and ready for church.  She would get back in time to eat and the we'd load up in the car and head to church.  And I would offer her "Mom time" meaning that I would take the kids and we go.  Usually out to the Aurora Sportsmen's Club, where we would shoot some trap and some .22LR.  This gave her the opportunity to do whatever she wished.  Scrap-booking, Work-work, take a nap, go shopping, anything she wanted.   And we would be back sometime after it got dark (we could shoot out there until legal sunset.)

And when we got back all hell would break loose.  See, the house was still a mess, and we're getting ready to head back into the work week and your three went off to have fun while leaving me in this pigsty to clean up all your messes, and on and on.  Pointing out that I tried to get them to do their chores on Friday fell on deaf ears and was again told that "Why does it have to done on your schedule?!?!"  Because you turn  into a tweaked out raving bitch on Sunday afternoon because it isn't done.  If you don't like the way I do it, then don't bitch when it doesn't get done.

I hated it.  Here I am trying to be a good father and spend time, good quality bonding time ( and both kids sdid have lots of fun shooting.  It's one sport where age or physical strength doesn't make the difference, it's skill) while trying to give my wife some time to her self.  And all I did was catch hell from her.

So parents.  The most important thing is that you have to be together, you have work as team.  But that's another rant for another time. That's how important that is.

Parenting Techniques

Over on ArmedPoliteSocirrty.com there have been a few threads that been about Parenting, including the one that start off with Parenting and letting your kids play with Toy Guns vs Real Guns.

Now one area the WINO⁽¹⁾ constantly argued about where what could be called parenting "techniques",  so here are I couple I used that would piss her off to no end.  She thought I was a lousy parent when I would use them, so I'm asking The Cancer Ward Brain Trust  for their opinion.

1) The "I'll laugh at you".  She thought this was simply horrible.  Generally it involved the child telling me their "plan".  I would explain the possible consequences (usually some type potential minor injury, a scrape or cut; perhaps merely wounded pride) along with the admonishment of "If you still decide to do "X", then if and when "Y" happens, I will laugh at you.  I'll have to use rubbing alcohol and the Mercurochrome to clean the wound and you know how much that stings and burns and I'll enjoy it. "  My wife thought it was horrible that my child could be standing there as a minor trickle of blood would be running down a knee or elbow, I would point, laugh and say I told you so, before going to get the rubbing alcohol, Mercurochrome and band-aids.  However, I have discovered that using this on my son has now dissuaded him from doing things now that will could cause injuries somewhat above and beyond a minor cut or scrape.  Not that I would laugh at him if he ever walked in with a broken bone, but he doesn't know that.⁽²⁾

2) "Wanna Bet?"  Over the years, when there has been a slight difference of opinion as to a potential outcome, I have given my kids the chance to prove either themselves or their theory but putting their money where their mouth is. The amount varies depending on their age and their confidence level in their position.  I do expect and demand to get paid off,  however my "winnings" are always plowed back to the kids in one form or another at a later date.  And I have only lost once. And that was when I bet my son $20 that he could not leave the souvenir B-29 we bought at the National Air & Space museum alone and in the box for a month.   He gave it to me and told me to hide it.  I told him "No" and put it, in the box, on a shelf in his room.  He went through hell that month.  The temptation was overpowering, but at the end of the month the box was still taped shut (it hadn't been tampered with, I checked) and I paid off.  It's a very nice toy and he learned the difference between toys you play with and toys you admire as it still sits on his shelf, aka "unplayed with"  (meaning he takes it down and looks at it, but he doesn't take and run through house and outside with it going "Zooooooommmmmmm, pew, pew, pew, pew" as he dive bombs his army men and then crashes it into the ground like he did the very nice P-47 I had got him a couple of years earlier.)   So again, when I look at my son and say "Wanna Bet?  Or "You willing put money on that?"  He really stops and thinks.  Actually he and my daughter stop and say "Never bet against Dad, he always wins. Except that one time!!!"  Again, he's re-considered his position and it generally causes a change in his course of action.

3) "I know what you're thinking"  I just look at him and say "I wasn't always 46.  I was ten once also.  I know you want to X, Y, and Z.  And if you do X, Y and Z I will do to you what Grandpa did you me, which was A, B, and C.  And if you don't think so, let's call him and he can tell you about it."  And yes, there have been some phone calls where Grandpa tells my son of how he used the Steak and Shake Yard Stick (which he still has and my son has seen) on my backside. My son normally leaves those phone calls looking like  and there's some comment of  "Grandpa was really mean".  To which I reply "Well, I was really dumb sometimes, learn from my mistakes."  And again, he is dissuaded from that/those course of action.

4) "Your Call" or "Sibling Justice"  Having grown up with 4 brothers and 2 sisters, there was some/a lot of "internal policing" and what I call "sibling justice". Like when I tell my son not to shoot his teenage sister (she's 7 years older) with Nerf Guns or Super Soakers.  "You can, but you'll have to survive the beatdown she'll give you when she catches you."  There has been a time or two when I heard my daughter scream my son's name, him hauling ass through the dining room and out the garage door with a Nerf Gun/SuperSoaker in one hand and a big o'l cheese-eating grin on his face, followed shortly thereafter by my extremely pissed off teenage daughter in hot pursuit.  My wife thought it was horrible when I would let them fight⁽³⁾, but as long as closed fists weren't being used and it didn't get out of hand, I would let them settle things between them.  And generally an hour of less later they would be in one or the others rooms playing a cardgame, boardgame, or some-such together, peacefully.  Whereas if my wife tired to break them up, generally the matter would not be resolved and issue would continue to fester and boil with more yelling, slamming of doors and just all around unpleasantness for hours or even days. 

So what say you?


⁽¹⁾  WINO=Wife In Name Only
⁽²⁾ I tried one time to explain to the WINO, this bit of dialogue from Band of Brothers, she just looked at me like I had two heads:

CPT Ronald Spiers: What is it?
1SG Carwood Lipton: Nothing.
CPT Spiers: Well, I'd better get back to Battalion before they disappear. You want to ask me, don't you?
1SG Lipton: Ask you what, sir?
CPT Spiers: You want to know if they're true or not... the stories about me. Did you ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they heard it from someone who was there. But then when you ask *that* person, they say *they* heard it from someone who was there. It's nothing new, really. I bet if you went back two thousand years, you'd hear a couple of centurions standing around, yakking about how Tertius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.
1SG Lipton: Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it.
CPT Spiers: Well, maybe that's because Tertius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.
[Turns to leave]
1SG Lipton: Sir? These men aren't really concerned about the stories. They're just glad to have you as our CO. They're happy to have a good leader again.
CPT Spiers: Well, from what I've heard, they've always had one. I've been told there's always been one man they could count on. Led them into the Bois Jacques, held them together when they had the crap shelled out of them in the woods. Every day, he kept their spirits up, kept the men focused, gave 'em direction... all the things a good combat leader does. You don't have any idea who I'm talking about, do you?
1SG Lipton: No, sir.
CPT Spiers: Hell, it was you, First Sergeant. Ever since Winters made Battalion, you've been the leader of Easy Company. Oh, and you're not going to be First Sergeant much longer, First Sergeant.
1SG Lipton: Sir?
CPT Spiers: Winters put you in for a battlefield commission, and Sink approved on your behalf. You should get the official notice in a few days. Congratulations, Lieutenant.

⁽³⁾ It was really more "wrestling" and Robert could surprisingly hold his against Meghan own most times, when he got caught.  Simply because the chase ended when both were pretty winded and there wasn't much fight left in either.

Since all the cool kids are doing it.

Saw this on Old NFO's and Tam's blog.  Apparently Og started this one. I missed the 100 books one when I was in the hospital, I'll play catch-up with that one later.

But here's my EDC* knife. Yeah, not very tact-i-kewl or high speed.  This is version 3.0 of the Vicotrianox Huntsman the WINO bought me when she went to Switzerland while we were stationed in Germany.  The original, 1.0 got stolen at one of my jobs, I replaced it, only to give 2.0 to the Air and Space Museum in DC during Boy Scout Jamboree Week.  I guess they thought that Robert and I were going to hijack the lunar lander in our Cub Scout Uniforms.  Robert felt bad that I had to surrender my knife and bought me this one. It'll be a very interesting day should someone try to take it from me.

My son has a Mini-Leatherman. Of course, unlike when I was in school and you were some kind of weirdo if you didn't have a Buck Knife, Robert only carries it when we're not going somewhere that will get him taken away to a wussification re-education camp, otherwise it resides in my dresser drawer.   Yes, he got his Whittling Chit in Cub Scouts several years ago.

So what's in your pocket?

 
*Every Day Carry.

The Debt that Never Be Re-Paid

I've supported the Wounded Warrior Project both personally and when I was President of the Aurora Sportsmen's Club through our Veteran's Day events.

You should too.  We owe these people a debt we can never repay.  Go donate now.

Oh, and as if you need a reason, Carteach is giving a away stuff you can win if you donate. 

Why are you still here?   Go.

Still in Limbo

First I'd like to thank everyone that e-mailed me and/or posted comments.  You have no idea what those mean to me.  Thank you.

Second.  We're still in limbo.  I don't think that the doc up at Mayo has all the facts regarding my kidneys and I think that he thinks that if we do the stem cell "right away" he can either save or restore my kidney function.

I think it's a Hail Mary pass at best.

Since I was diagnosed, I've accepted that I'm on a "glide path".  And when I finished full-on chemo last April, I remember the conversation with the oncologist here.  We had "knocked it down"  I wasn't in remission and I wasn't cured.  There was just "less".  And I could do either no or maintenance chemo.  But either way the disease would come back and at that point "the last arrow in the quiver" would be a stem cell transplant.  Unless they came up with some new treatment in the meantime.  That was it.

From talking with my nephrologist then my kidneys were down to about 30% function and I need to decide whether to go on  hemodialysis and peritoneal dialysis.  I choose peritoneal simply because hemodialysis ties you to going to center every other day for 4-5 hour at a time.  Peritoneal is done at home each night while you sleep.  You simply attach yourself to the machine that's about the size of a pair of shoeboxes and dump the fluids out in the morning.  You can still travel and live your life as long as you have a place to plug in the machine each night.

Other then the anemia, the only real affect that this disease has had on my is my kidneys.  It hasn't impacted any other organs or systems, yet. 

So that was "glide path"  Maintenance Chemo.  I knew I "lose" my kidneys and go on dialysis, but even then as long as "nothing else was going wrong", I'd continue with the Maintenance Chemo until it didn't "work", with "not working" being something else going south.

So I figured that since nothing else appeared to be going wrong, that I would probably be on maintenance chemo for years after I started dialysis.

That all changed last week.  But as I sit here and type, I don't think they shared enough info to give me a good recommendation.  I don't want to rush into something only to be told later "We probably should have held off."   I'm not saying I don't want to do it, but I am saying I'm not willing to gamble with my life.  If losing my kidneys will buy me time, then fine, I'm ready to start dialysis.  If you want to take a chance that it *might* work, but take away a future option, well that's a horse of entirely different color.

I want them to look at all my labs for the past year plus and then give me my alternatives and their recommendation.  So more phone calls and follow ups tomorrow.  Maybe I'll just copy this and e-mail it to my docs.  

Oh, and more Gun stuff in the future.  There's been quite few things that have been going on that I need to get off my chest.  Even some fun stuff.
 

Aside from that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the Play?

Okay, I knew today would be busy.  Made a little tight on the schedule, but hey, I'll go with it.

10am- Appointment with the surgeon who installed the "drain line" in my gut.  "Hey doc, it's still leaking fluid around the hole.  A pinkish/yellowish fluid.  I change the dressing twice a day and it's saturated.  It's sore and tender"   Doc- " Looks fine, Not infected and that's normal, just keep changing the dressing and if it's still leaking in two weeks come into the office and I'll look at it."     Sorry, I don't think I should be leaking.  I like having all my fluids inside me.  I'm funny that way.

11am - Appointment with GP.  Now this will be fun.  See they put me on Steroids when I was in the hospital.  I'm (am/was) supposed to take them for either one or four days after chemo (they couldn't decide), however, these makes my blood sugar go crazy.  (as in the high 300's). They gave me a starter kit with a Freestyle Freedom Lite tester and a weeks worth of strips, finger pokey things and needles.  I used four days worth while in the Hospital.  The day I got out I went to Wal-mart and turned in the prescription "Be about an hour".  So I wandered around W-M for an hour.  (No P-O-W sightings to report).  Now my Oncologist wrote the script for the Insulin (Lovemir (sp)) Pen, and the GP wrote one for the testing supplies.  (Right hand meet left hand) Come back an hour later.  "There's a problem, we've called your doc.  Can we reach you at this number?"  Sure, fine, call me when it's ready and I'll come back and get it.  I can go another day or two.  Well next day, no call, so I call the doc (GP). They have a new call center which is designed so that they never have to actually talk to the patients, because, that's just ooooh Ick.  Anyway, I leave a message.  The next day (and yes for those following along, I'm out of test supplies at this point), I get a call from a nurse.  She's not sure where I can get plutonium, but is pretty sure that Walgreens doesn't carry it.  Oh, that's not the message I left. Insulin, Test Supplies, Wal-mart.  Okay, got it now.  She'll call me back. 

She doesn't.

Which puts me in the GP's office at 10:55am, (having filed out the same four forms with all my Insurance info again, for the 87th time this month.  Seriously, it that all some of you do is copy blank forms for me to fill out.  And I'm going to wear my insurance card around my neck from now on.)

My phone rings:

507 area code....  (I live in the 630/312/847/708 area code.  507 I don't recognize)

"Hello"

"Hi, this is Jamie at the Mayo Clinic Stem Cell Transplant Center.  When can you come in for your transplant?"

Whabbaaawhoba?'

'This is Jamie at the Mayo Stem Cell Transplant Center, we need to schedule your transplant, when can you be here?"

"Wait, what?!?!  Since, Errrrr, ummm, what, hold on.."

Just for clarification, Jamie's tone came across as "If you're not here tomorrow, you will die!! Die!!!! DIE!!!!!."

"Hey, this is news to me.  In fact, I'm literally walking back to the exam room of my GP office's as we speak.  Can I get back to you, because no one has really talked to me about this yet."

"Okay, can I give you a call tomorrow to get this scheduled (again with the if you delay one more second, you will die tone of voice)

"Yes, fine, please."

So now I have even more to discuss with him. 

Starting with the fact that "NONE OF MY DOCTORS ARE FUCKING TALKING TO EACH OTHER !!!!   OR TO FUCKING ME FOR THAT MATTER !!!

He tries to go get my oncologist on the phone, but he's not in today.  (Wait, it gets better).  He also can't get my nephrologist. 

He checks with the nurse and the insulin problem is that my insurance doesn't cover this meter/test kit.  (It's crap like this that makes people start taking fucking hostages.)  So he write a script for a different tester, but then give a free sample packet of the "wrong" kind of kit.  Whatever.
 
I'm not doing well at this point.  I'm barely able to hold it together.  My world literally just blew up.  And I can tell I'm sucking big wind.  Last week, my hemoglobin was 9.6. Which is bad.  I should get Aranesp when it gets below 10, but because there wasn't an order for it last week, the nurse wouldn't give it to me, (nor did she go check) after I pointed it out to her on my lab results.  "Hey, I'm below 10, I get a shot!!"

When I would walk my heart would be on fire, my leg muscles burned and cramped, not charlie horses, but the muscles cramp and pull so hard and so tight, it feels like they are being ripped off my bones, for minutes at a time.  It's an indescribable pain, a paralying pain.  I can only lay there on the floor in pain until it passes.  So physically, this week has sucked.  I'd get dizzy if I moved to fast or climbed up the stairs from the basement.   I couldn't get enough air. And then collapse onto the floor in muscle ripping pain.

Fed up, I say screw it and head to the Oncologist.  If I can just make it there, I'll get some Aranesp and I'll be able to breathe.  Yeah, I'll just live under the covers until I wake up late Wednesday, but I can see a finish line.  Oncologist, treatment, home, sleep.  Dog, you're on your own for the next day.  I'll leave the back door open for you and feed you when I get up to go to the bathroom

I get settled in and talk to the nurse.  Heather.  G-d takes care of drunks and fools and thus I am dually blessed.  Heather came from Mayo.  She worked in the Stem Cell Transplant Center.   Finally, I ask questions, lots of questions, not enough questions.  I need to know what will happen to me, step by step, how it works, where I stay.

Really I'll need a caregiver(s) to be with me for the 100 days I'm up there.  No, it's just me and the dog.  No, I don't have family.  I mean I do, but my parents are in their 80's my mom is deaf and my dad blind, they can barely take care of each other and sometimes my dog.  Yeah, I'm going to have to setup a roster, a schedule, recruit family and friends, I need to call my insurance company, whadda mean I need to rent a place up there for three months, I'm there.  You mean I can't leave?  Come home?  What about after?  A year, really, no sick kids, no sick people, NO HUNTING!?!?! 

I had my fall planned.  Savnnah, Georgia; Hunting and Camping with my son. Two Weeks of Deer Camp, Taking a couple of new people hunting and shooting.  I just wanted to make to December. 

If only I could have made to December. 

No treatment today because with them wanting to schedule a Stem Cell Transplant, you don't know the timing.  Fuck me.

"Draw blood."

"I said "Draw Blood", I want labs done.  I know my hemoglobin is low and I'm hurting."

"Please draw blood and check my hemoglobin.  I can't breathe."

They do and it comes back 8.8. 

I knew it was really low.

"What do you mean you can't give me Growth Factor (Aranesp) if they are going to do a stem cell ?" 

"They aren't going to do it tomorrow and it I don't get my hemoglobin up, I won't make it to Mayo for a Stem Cell.  Where's Patti (the head nurse)!!!"

Patti takes one look at me and says "Give him the shot". 

I get my Aranesp.  I get some answers.  But now I need to find people that can go to Rochester and spend some time with me.   So if you're not doing anything and want to spend some one-on-one time with yours truly.  I'd love the company.   (I think my insurance company will cover some/most/all of caregiver expenses, but I'll find out when I cal them tomorrow.) 

You won't have to do anything but 1) be there 2) call 911 if needed.

Thanks for reading.

Just call me Dax

Like Jadzia Dax in the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine series I now have something residing in my gut.  It's my new port for my Peritoneal Dialysis port. 

It will take about a month for the wound to scar over and heal.  Once that happens I can start nightly dialysis.

However,  I may not have to start so soon.  I talked to the oncologist about going back and adding Cyroxin to the chemo mix when I start back up next week.  That might help the kidney function, now that most of the fluid is off.  I want to try that for as long as it works. 

He's still concerned about the Light Kappa Chain to Light Lambda Chain ratio, but he's talking to the docs at Mayo and seeing if my idea is worth trying.  He's also got to talk to the Nephrologist, but I'm hopeful.

If all goes well, (and it should) I'll be out of here tomorrow.  I'll rescue my dog from the neighbors and work on finding a name for my new best friend that's installed in my gut.  Life is always interesting.   And I am blessed and privileged to have such exceptional friends.

The Next Step

Well tomorrow I'm scheduled for surgery.  Nothing major, they just install the port that I will use for dialysis.  I get put under and the port or line gets install under my peritoneum which will be used as the filter.  It's something that I know has been coming, I just didn't expect to get here that soon.

Peritoneal Dialysis will allow me to still travel to Indy and other places.  I can still hunt. Camping will just have to be somewhere where there's power for the machine I'll have to use each night.  Fortunately that means that I can still Deer Hunt.

It will be just one more thing to add to my life.  And it gives me time. 

Which is all I ask for and all I need.