This morning was another appointment with a neurosurgeon at University of Iowa. It turned out the guy I used to see took a job in Nebraska. I had a new guy. He started asking questions about my ailment’s history. I answered as best I could, but the history questions always bother me. I always feel like, I answered these questions the last time I was here when I was having problems, do you really expect me to remember them? Don’t you have the records right in front of you? If they aren’t any help shouldn’t your records be better? Not that I ever say it. So I just said, “Sorry, but I’m a lousy historian.” He replied, “I can see that.” Sometimes delivery is everything. That could have been a nasty backhand. Instead it was good for a smile. I liked the guy right there.

They set up a laptop computer next to the desktop terminal so they could compare the MRI films more easily. “Films” is really a misnomer now. Whoever does the original films just scans them to a CD. It makes sense. The original films can’t be lost, and the CD’s can be shipped at a fraction of the price. Incredibly, they were going to let me look at the films while they reviewed them. Oh boy, oh boy.

So he was paging through the films, and making comments on what he was seeing. He pointed out how on one you could plainly see how the optic nerve was being stretched. Then he asked if I was having any trouble seeing out of my right eye. I told him it’s still a problem that it points at my nose, but if I get it pointed at something it still sees okay. I can still read with it. He was surprised, considering how much tension the nerve is under.

When he got to one, apparently believing I’d learned enough to have some idea of what I was seeing; he asked me what I thought. I said it looked like a significant change. He agreed. It was a pretty easy call. Looking at the image was enough to make me sick. That was my brain, and it was obvious something was terribly wrong… again. And I could see it coming.

I hadn’t expected that much difference. When I’d gone to Mayo, and seen the guys at UIHC a year ago, they both said that yes, there’d been a little change, but surgery was to be avoided, radiation was the way to go.

Even as a layman, what I’d just seen on the films was a tumor fairly screaming, “I’m baack!”

The surgeon said he really didn’t understand why radiation was ever done. It was a patchwork procedure that didn’t address the real problem. Huh, what? But a year ago the surgeons were saying surgery bad… baaaad. Scar tissue makes another surgery baaaad. And this guy is saying- there’s really no alternative, you can see it on the films. It’s big; it has to be reduced again. Since it grew upwards instead of forwards the surgery won’t be in the same place. Scar tissue won’t be an issue. Finally, a guy who will tell it to me straight.

I asked him what would happen if I put off the surgery till later. He said, “You’ll start to have trouble with stumbling due to your left foot. Eventually your left foot will start to drag. You won’t be able to look down with your right eye. And you’ll start to have vision problems with it, possibly blindness.”

So I asked him if the surgery would alleviate the numbness on the right side of the face. He said no, the radiation was to kill the nerve, there’s no bringing it back. Then I asked, "Will the surgery regain the movement in my right eye?" He said almost certainly not. The nerve has been stretched and compressed for so long it will probably never recover.

Apparently the radiation stopped the pain, but at the price of half my face going numb, the one opportunity to correct my eye was lost, and apparently I’m about to join the unstoppable droolers and nasal drip club. And it only postponed another surgery by about a year. If I’d seen the films a year ago I don’t think I would have done the radiation. I would have said, “What about that stretched optic nerve? How long are you going to put off dealing with that?” Crap. Where was this guy when I needed him? But better late than never.

I can’t end a post in this much misery and desperation. How about … we revisit the family?

This morning the SuperNurse was back at work. That left Ms. Pikachu to wake me up. She’s as ruthless about it as her mother. Is that nature or nurture? It’s hard to tell, and they aren’t telling. It could be either the Mother/Daughter thing, or part of the larger Feminine Conspiracy, but again they aren’t telling. I’ll bet they even have a secret handshake.

Anyway. After Ms. Pikachu had her bowl of whatever I drove her and her friends to school. About as soon as I got in the parking lot they said it was good, they were fine, they could walk the rest of the way. I stopped, and I started to do my best parental whine, “Are you sure? It’s so far, I could drive you the rest of the way.” It was all of maybe a hundred feet. They smiled and said, no, no, it was okay and they got out.

When I got home I woke up the Trainboy. He got dressed, and when he got downstairs I told him he had a choice of oatmeal or eggs for breakfast. He chose eggs, scrambled eggs. Well alrighty then.

Along time ago when the earth was green, lived more kinds of animals than you’ve ever seen…. Forget that, it wasn’t that long ago, and St Patrick’s Day is already by. Anyway, I remembered that I used to like scrambled eggs from a recipe in one of Mother’s cookbooks. It called for Cream of Chicken soup instead of milk and… that’s all I remember of it. But that’s enough. That’s the important part.

So I went to the pantry and looked for a can of Cream of Anything and found a can of Cream of Herbed Chicken. Works for me, or at least it’s going to work for him. I broke two eggs into a bowl, spooned a dollop of the stuff into it and beat it all with a fork. Then it was nuke, stir, nuke, stir, nuke, and stir. And may I just say right here- scrambled eggs are one of the things microwaves do best. There is no point in risking scorching if you have a microwave handy.

Then I brought them in to Trainboy. I was a bit apprehensive because he’s such a picky eater. It’s one thing he gets from me. He was a bit apprehensive himself, but took a bite. “Do you like them?” “What did you put in them? Pepper?” “Nope, chicken soup.” He liked them. He ate it all. Then I drove him to school. I asked him if he’d like me to pick him up with the tandem bike trailer. He said yes. Well alrighty then.

Then I was off to get my MRI cd’s and had the above-mentioned episode.

Shortly after I got home I headed off for the walk to Ms’ Pikachu’s school, and there she was- already only a block away from home. She was walking with the friend she usually does.

That meant there was plenty of time to hook up the tandem trailer to the bike. So I hooked it up and away I went. When I got there I waited by the door Trainboy comes out of. While waiting, several kids gathered around, looked at the tandem, and I heard, “Cool” several times.

One little girl asked if she could have a ride. That was tempting, but I wondered if the teachers would approve, or the child’s parents would approve. So I said, sorry, but I’m waiting for my son.

When the bike leaned over I knew he was climbing on. He always gets on by putting the left pedal down to step on it. You’d think he was getting on a horse. I could tell he was pleased. And away we went.

We went to the gas station to air up the tires since I couldn’t find our own pump. We got them aired up, and we back-tracked by his school, which was the long way home. He was happy on his trailer, and if it made him happy to be seen by the other students I could indulge him that much.

When we got home the SuperNurse was still SuperNursing and she was going to work till 9. So we had to decide what to do for supper. I asked Trainboy and got, “How about those scrambled eggs you made?” He likes them, he really likes them. But I’ve got two kids to feed, and we need to agree on something.

Ms. Pikachu wanted pizza again. No, we did that yesterday, try again. “How about Steak and Shake?” Trainboy agreed to that. And we have a winner.

Two of Ms. Pikachu’s friends were over so I said they could come along if their parents Okayed it. Their parents did, and were probably grateful for a little peace and quiet, because I certainly wasn’t getting any. On the way I said that while we certainly could eat at ‘Steak and Shake,’ if they wanted to we could eat at Bishops instead. I heard one of the kids ask “What do those places serve, what’s the difference?” My kids explained it to her.

At times like that I wonder if my kids have any idea how good they’ve got it. Not that I need their gratitude, but they should realize not every kid has parents with disposable income like we have. And not all parents like to spend it if they have it. But we do, and I do.

I had an oldies station on and it’s just amazing how good my 13 year-old Ms. Pikachu is at calling out the songs. A few notes and “Hey Dad, that’s Jive Talkin’ turn it up!” “Hey, that’s Three Dog Night, turn it up!” “That’s Simon and Garfunkle!” What are they playing? “Mrs. Robinson.” That’s nice; tell me if they play ‘The Boxer.’

The kids had a good time at Steak and Shake. On the way home I still had the oldies station on and they played Sonny and Cher’s ‘I Got You Babe.’ All three girls were sitting in the back seat, and all three sang along on the chorus. It was cute, it was fun, it was a moment to remember. Cyndi Lauper was right; Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

We weren’t home for very long when Trainboy said, “How about some more of those scrambled eggs?” Yeah, he likes them. How many do you want? “One less egg.” I still made them with two eggs, gave him half, and took the other half upstairs to Ms. Pikachu. “Here, try these scrambled eggs. Tell me if you like them.” “Scrambled eggs are nasty, I won’t eat those.” “I made them with chicken soup. I’m just asking you to try them.” Curious, she tentatively took a bite. “These are good.” She took the bowl from me. “You should teach Mom how to make these.” When the Super Mom got home I did just that. We may have to start buying more eggs.

So it was a day with sucky brain tumor moments, but it also had moments with the family that were just as memorable. They keep me a happy Dad.

Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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