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Just a quick update on Grandma Lee. She had her colon resection yesterday. Following is a brief description (and YES, I say "rectum" at least twice, possibly three or four times - so you can either ignore the paragraph altogether or just suck it up):

The surgery went pretty well. They removed the tumor, which sounded like it was even longer than any of the scan images I've seen. They took out the rectal stent (hallelujah). The surgeon was able to connect her intestines/colon to her rectum, but the tissue is fragile, swollen and whatnot (partially because of the radiation) and at one point they found a little fistula in part of her small intestines (which they fixed). Consequently, he did an illiostomy (looping part of the small intestine to keep some of the waste from going through rectum, giving it time to heal better in order to avoid a failure of the connection and a permanent colostomy).

She's in intermediate care now - a step below the Intensive Care Unit - (largely due to her age - she's 81) so that they can take closer care of her. She's stable. I think her biggest complaint right now would be dry mouth (she's going through those little spongy mouth moisteners like there was no tomorrow) because she can't have anything - not even ice chips - until her bowels make some sort of appropriate "noise." I don't know what it's supposed to be, but I hope it's musical and happens very soon.

Thanks to everyone for their love and support.

You know - tibbles - a summary of bits and pieces - catching up with the highlights from a time period in which I've been either too lazy, busy, crazed or tied up by kidnappers to update my blog for my faithful reader(s). They are like stringettes. Individual stringettes... Simpson's Individual Stringettes - for attaching notes to pigeon's legs, DESTROYING HOUSEHOLD PESTS.... NO, no, no - I shan't go down that road, I shall not. Tying up very small parcels...

Mock all you want; this phrase will be sweeping the nation before you can say...uhm..before you can say - "SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!" Ah, but where to start.

Well, on December 22, 2007, my darling niephew (that all-encompassing phrase "niephew" will sweep the Nation, too - I have no doubt) Anders turned three AND truly beautiful baby Moses Giles Samuelson-Lynn was born (who doesn't look ANYTHING like Winston Churchill or Chairman Mao, as babies often do at first).

In January, hearty congratulations to lovely Niephew Sarah who officially graduated (with excellent test scores, indeed). There was even a ceremony with two dozen or so other "non-traditional" students. My faux Niephew, Tyler, was even one of the speakers (it was awesome - he gave a completely extemporaneous graduation speech - I think the sweeping hand gestures made it). They gave them diplomas and tassels, but had I known their would NOT be caps and gowns (even LEIF got a cap and gown to graduate from St. Marguerite's kindergarten) I'd have loaned her mine (from my University graduation - yes, I had to BUY it - I could rant about how stupid that is - but she could have been the first high school graduate with a Phi Kappa Phi ribbon on their ensemble).

This past Tuesday I took Grandma Lee (SHHHHHHHH - DON'T TELL HER - REMEMBER: EVERYTHING I SAY ABOUT GRANDMA IS A SECRET FROM HER) to get her chemo pump attached and for her first radiation treatment. She had an Implantable Venous Access Port (a "Super" or "Power Port) put in last week and tattoos and other preparations for her radiation. I think it's a great delivery system for her. They've been able to give her iron infusions through it and blood samples. And when she's not hooked to her chemo pump she can even shower because the port is under the skin.

The chemo pump is amazing. Over the course of a week it dispenses a gradual dose of chemotherapy (in her case FU5) in a small machine that you carry around in a fanny pack (alright you Brits - STOP LAUGHING - "Bum Bag"). This lessens possible side effects and makes her simultaneous treatments (chemo and radiation) so much easier. They just refill it every week and flush out her port.

I wish she felt better, but the size of the tumor is substantial (it's a "bulky" mass that's probably been growing and bleeding for a long time) and it compromises the walls of the colon. Since her lymph nodes are involved as well, one of the specialists said it was important to shrink the tumor before they did any surgery. He was also so concerned about a possible bowel blockage that he inserted a stent to keep her colon open. I'd no idea that you could do that. I'd make a joke in poor taste that she was jealous of my Dad's two stents and had to get a bigger one and put it in an - uhm - unexpected location, but it's not really funny; she's incredibly uncomfortable. We believe she's probably in pain as well, but she won't cop to anything but "discomfort." Hopefully when the tumor shrinks she'll get some relief. Three radiation treatments down, twenty-two to go: You hang in there, Grandma! (shhhhhh)

Which brings up an important reminder: NEVER, EVER FORGET THAT ANYTHING I WRITE OR SAY ABOUT GRANDMA LEE MUST NEVER GET BACK TO HER EVER. EVER EVER.

Today - mmm - yesterday, technically, as we are the medical havoc and ruination family, Shirleen had eye surgery. Well, tear duct surgery, to be more specific (up through her nose). She has an unusual condition (WHAT - Shirleen has an unusual condition?) that causes her left tear duct to run constantly and squirt arbitrarily. They were not able to find a non-surgical solution (flushing it out and whatnot), so after they scanned to make sure there was nothing in her eye orbit that might even be connected to her brain (or something like that) she helped schedule her own surgery (since she works in the hospital in that department). She even threatened to get off the table in a surgical gown and go to work if they made her wait or something.

Anyhoo, the surgery was quick and successful (even though the doctor had to repair a deformed nasal turbinator - ?). Unfortunately, in recovery her nose started to hemorrhage. And why? Because if some sort of freakish thing can happen to Shirleen during a medical and/or dental procedure it likely will. They successfully stopped the bleeding; this process evidently involved something called a "nose torpedo." She's still wearing it, from what I understand. OH, ALAS, FOR YOUR SCHNOZ TO BE BETTER VERY SOON, SHIRLEEN! Oh - and anyone who wants is welcome to pass that along - go crazy.

And my dear Monkey Cats, your Crazy Heathen Aunt Cake Kate hasn't forgotten you. How could she? YOU HAUNT HER DREAMS! Ha ha. In a GOOD way? It was Solo and Ensemble Competition time again on Wednesday. No prevaricating blossoms of any kind this year; we had placid Ernest Charles trio, Clouds, this time. They did a very lovely job, and I don't think I made the "bell-like" chords sprinkled throughout the piece entirely TOO cacophonous (in performance). My principal goal for me was to NOT repeat the rubber-chicken-moment debacle of last year's competition.

I also played for M.C. Nessa's solo. She sang a lovely Fauré piece that I massacred when I played it for M.C. Amy's audition for Chamber Choir last year (they took her in spite of my über-dissonant additions). I was very proud of her because she introduced herself DECLARATIVELY and CONFIDENTLY (AMEN), sang lovely French and, most importantly, kept going and was poised when she forgot some lyrics. A lesson for ALL PERFORMERS. Oh - and with MY Monkey Cats there's never an "Adam and Eve" pose in sight.

I even got to do an almost completely unrehearsed performance of Bist Du Bei Mir with a euphonium player. "Little King," a wee freshman, was abandoned by his accompanist a couple of hours before the competition, so I agreed that I'd probably be better than nothing (M.C. Amy would have certainly played it better, but she was already accompanying seven thousand people and singing with another five hundred or something very, very close to that). It was a very creative performance that sounded nothing like Lady of Spain. And I've no doubt that he will learn some semblance of tempo with a little more experience. The tone was nice... Oh - and Adam Keith owes me $15. I'll take that in small cash bills. (?)

We found my entirely too grown-up Niephew Will ACTUALLY FILLING OUT PERFORMANCE REVIEWS. He became an honorary Monkey Cat for the evening, did the "Money Dance" at arbitrary moments throughout the afternoon/evening (he's on the Junior Varsity Ballroom Dance Team - that's really all the explanation I can dream up). We deviated from tradition with a Jamba Juice break, but we did end up with the requisite Taco Bell feast. We waxed nostalgic about past Taco Bell feasts, talked about their plans after high school (They are graduating! My baby Monkey Cats are Graduating. Monkey Kittens?) and they confirmed that I am, indeed, very, very old. You've just gotta love them. Hugs and Kisses, Monkey Cats!

Last week my Grandma Lee was diagnosed with colon cancer.

As is often the case, the symptoms that became the most acute and were the blatantly obvious did not point right away to the ultimate diagnosis. Initially, it looked like congestive heart failure, especially since she has respiratory problems that are, for the most part, untreated (they can either cause congestive heart failure over time or be a result thereof). When some of the blood tests came back from her initial visit, it was determined that her hematocrit was obscenely low (about half of what is normal - worse than Sarah's before they diagnosed her Hodgkin's - and you don't want to tell your Grandma that she looks positively corpse-like). She was given an infusion, but that didn't bring her hematocrit up enough. It was then thought that perhaps she had bleeding ulcers. She was given upper and lower g.i. tests including a long-overdue colonoscopy (she'd had polyps the last time she'd had one - fifteen years ago).

Her stomach was fine. Unfortunately, the doctor could immediately tell that she had a cancerous mass in her colon. He did think that the area (about four inches of her colon, I think) could be excised and her intestines reconnected. However, now the tumor (I'm crossing my fingers for just one) needs to be tested and staged, and she is having a number of other diagnostics to pinpoint and hopefully rule out spread of the disease. Today she also started on a series of iron infusions that the oncologist hopes will bring up her hematocrit.

Now you may ask why I said, "Secretly." Well, the truth of the matter is that she would be completely horrified if she knew I was doing this. And it's not just because of her personality and propensity for anxiety (in MY FAMILY - how could that BE?). She is "of a generation" where you don't say "cancer" except, perhaps, in a whisper. Her sister, for instance, whose husband, my Uncle Ron, died this summer, did not want to talk about the "cancer" aspect of his illness. To someone like me (and my cousins) this doesn't make sense. His illness WAS cancer. And I believe in speaking about it.

I believe this so strongly, in fact, that I volunteered a number of months ago to be the "leader" of the LIVESTRONG™ Local Army in Utah. I haven't done anything to advertise, "get going" with a word-of-mouth campaign or organized any events - these are my responsibilities. Well, there's nothing like a wake-up call like this.

And now I will present two wholly antithetical requests for today:

• DO NOT TELL GRANDMA LEE THAT I POSTED ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET ABOUT HER CONDITION. BBo, Tracy, Family, PLEASE don't say anything. I don't want her to be so angry at me that she will not accept my help. You may wonder why I'm wantonly disregarding her obsessive need for privacy. Call me a big fat hypocrite (I TRIPLE-dog-dare you), but I believe that what she does not know (in THIS case) will not hurt her. That's the antithetical part.
• And why? BECAUSE WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN HURT YOU. A colonoscopy of one of the best cancer defenses we have currently. Part of my responsibility of a LIVESTRONG™ Day Delegate last year was to help convey important messages to our Legislators. One of the requests we made was for parity in diagnostic testing (like legislation that is already in place to help with mammograms and PAP testing - I'll discuss some serious complications with these laws another time), such as colonoscopies and PSA testing.
  
  
  

  My Father, for instance, could have colon cancer in addition to his (prostate) bone cancer. They excised two (or was it three?) pre-cancerous polyps during his colonoscopy a few years back. I even saw the pictures.

  So indeed, that's the important message here (and I do not care if it's redundant - and I assure you that you'll hear it AGAIN even if I have to resort to graffiti): Do the preventive testing that is prescribed at the appropriate age. Well - start with getting check-ups IN GENERAL. And do consider your family history. Some cancers have a larger genetically inheritable component than others. For instance, my brothers should have PSA tests YOUNG, and my Dad's brothers should NOT ever miss them, because my Father has his initial Stage II prostate cancer in his mid-forties. Moreover, my Father's Father had prostate cancer (though it was not the cause of his death).

  Now, since my Grandmother has colon cancer and my Father had pre-cancerous polyps, some schools of thought would say that my siblings and I should start having colonscopies at age forty instead of fifty. As it is, since my Grandmother had a polyp at her last colonoscopy, they told my Mother that she needs her next colonoscopy in five years instead of ten (the same goes for my Father, because of his polyps).

So that's it for now. I shall be enlisting your help (almost literally "enlisting," come of think of it). And you shan't turn me down, because I AM YOUR LEADER! Okay, I'm your leader if you're in Utah, but if you think I won't sic the leaders from States on you (and most of them have regional leaders in their States, so it will be easier to get you), you are sadly mistaken.

I love you, Grandma! And we are all there for you (even though we might not mention why or how).

Yes, it was the big rivalry game of the year: BYU versus The University of Utah. Let's just say my Father is a die-hard BYU fan (he is a BYU professor). Since the University of Utah is my alma mater, I derive the greatest pleasure from the football rivalry through giving my Dad a REALLY HARD TIME and teasing him about it whenever possible (as he takes it a little too seriously).

But the title above refers more to the idea that I almost had to tackle my Father at the airport today so that he'd let the paramedics take a look at him. He did not want to miss the game, for one thing. But, there are times in one's life when one can say, "Sit down!" with the right balance of force and concern so that a man who, as a rule, does NOT listen to one me very often, OBEYS (although grumpily). And I had to do something other than body-slam him (though it was very tempting), as this seemed rather counterproductive to preserving his health.

It's been a LONG day. I'm going to "part II" this whole thing. Aren't you all excited.

My Dad spent the last few days especially grateful to be alive. The angiogram and resultant angioplasties in and of themselves are not serious procedures, relatively speaking. Two stents are certainly better than a quadruple bypass or - well - a fatal heart attack.

But my Father has spent the last two years having symptoms of heart problems (despite medication and and a lifestyle designed to manage his hereditary high blood pressure and high cholesterol). And OH what a family history. He's the oldest of eight siblings, and at least one of his brothers has already had serious heart trouble. His mother's cholesterol (and she's tiny) has been as high as 400. She's had miny strokes, her siblings have died of heart trouble and strokes. My paternal grandfather died unexpectedly of a heart attack* at age seventy; one moment he was walking around, and a moment later he fell over and was gone. Just like that.

And here's the rub: My Dad had a treadmill test a few years back; it was inconclusive. A few other indeterminate exams here and there... And then in late April he had an MRI and an extensive series of accompanying tests (despite the fact that the insurance company did not want to pay for it - imagine that). The radiologist called my father's PCP and said everything was "clear."

Then, last week, he sent the doctor the actual report. I don't think anything on that report was "normal" except the size of my Dad's heart. The report indicated horrible percentages of plaque blockage in a number of locations and recommended immediate catheterization. Immediate.

This is what, in medical ethics terms, we call a MEDICAL MISTAKE. Yes, physicians are human; mistakes happen. And I found myself grateful that the radiologist sent the report at all, though I do hope he was horrified at what could have been a fatal delay. I imagine a scenario in which he was making calls SEVEN MONTHS AGO, reading from an overwhelmingly tall stack of reports, and he simply gave the wrong results to my father's doctor. Who can say.

All I know if that my father had started more and more often to feel faint and dizzy, fatigued, etc. So much of it you can write off: He has bone cancer, his schedule is ridiculous, he has sleep apnea and doesn't wear his CPAP enough, he puts the "a" in type "a" personalities (? - well, you get the picture), he has asthma, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and he deals with a ridiculous amount of stress.

Honestly, I felt like a heart attack was inevitable at some point in his life (especially when I've given him a really hard time, stressed him out and felt really guilty about it).

But then there was the cancer recurrence. And he'd delayed his colonoscopy for - oh - a decade (and said, "Well, I already have cancer," which was supposed to be a joke). When I finally dragged him to get one he had two (or was it three?) precancerous polyps that they were able to excise right then. The irony: Colon cancer can be quick and insidious (okay, lots of cancers can be so) and so he could have died of colon cancer before he even reaches a difficult point in his bone cancer treatment (it's really prostate cancer, but I always feel odd saying that since they did the radical prostatecomy years ago the "first" time he had cancer).

Then there's the ticking time-bomb hernia. Tomorrow he'll get a report about the tests he had on that last week. If it's BAD I'm not taking him to the airport Tuesday to go to Disneyland - NO SIR.

I don't know what I'm saying (insert joke here?), except that I, too, am grateful that my Dad's alive. And I'm very glad he feels so much better; getting a little oxygen flowing efficiently through your system will do that, I suppose. But retrospectively, I'm really frightened. I don't suppose that makes tons of sense, but so be it. He's actually healthier and now I feel afraid.

If the radiologist had suppressed the report or delayed it any longer, who knows when the massive myocardial infarction would have happened. Probably while my Dad was at work in the middle of the night. He might have ignored it until it was too late; he was getting so sick of "inconclusive" or supposedly "clear" tests.

AAAH! I cannot think about this any more.

Everyone? Please just TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. And get your flu shot, please.

*I think that was it. He and my grandmother were in Germany at the time, so there is some confusion about the diagnosis (as he was the one fluent in German) - it could have been some sort of embolism. The whole thing was confusing; the airlines lost his body as it was being transported back to the States (just temporarily...).

Today after the Roto-Rooter they gave my Father two stents (gave - hah - they probably cost $10,000 CANADIAN a piece). He now has one in the left and one in the right side of his heart. I thought it was nice that they are symmetrical.

They said he has some plaque in other locations, but new medication should be sufficient for that. I tell you, someday soon you're going to find one of my family members spooning pills into a pillbox like the one on the advertisement where the man puts an apple for each day of the week into the GINORMOUS "pill" box.

For those of you who are not eighty-five or haven't a penchant for impersonating dowagers (or whatever the male equivalent is):

Yesterday they scanned my Dad's worsening navel hernia (to see when it might just explode?). I don't think they told him anything about it (probably just stood about mumbling, "Hmm, yes, yes, interesting. Don't you think that part looks like a horsey?"). But I'll tell you what's cute: My Mom and Dad have matching hernias. Hers, however, doesn't hurt. His pains him increasingly they tell me.

But guess what you get with two stents and a hernia that portends DANGER? A TRIP TO DISNEYLAND!!! I kid you not.

As Shirleen does NOT get to go to Disneyland (staying home like OTHERS of us ) she pouted by heading from my Dad's hospital room down to the Emergency Room to have a breathing treatment. This week she eschewed breathing (breathing well, anyway). She works at that hospital now and cannot seem to get enough of it.

It's sick and wrong, I know, but the children keep GROWING UP! Even my niephews suffer from this horrible condition.

Paisley - poor child (ACK! She's a CHILD now) - turned TWO last Monday (October 1). I'm sure she's very upset and will tell people that she's "turning one for the second time."

Paisley likes to wear her "asses" - her sun-"asses." Hey - that's what she calls them. I love that she's an aspiring fashion maven; note that her "asses" are upside-down. Now that's COOL.

I think it's a shame that Paisley will be teased so horribly when she reaches school because of her hideous visage. Yes, the ugly stick really hit her hard. **Sigh.**

Happy Forty-Second Wedding Anniversary, Ma and Pa! Hmmm - that's very Ma and Pa Kettle. At least I didn't bust out all Lil' Abner on all y'all.

Married September 10, 1965

Oh - and just so you know, the stipulated gift for a Forty-Second Wedding Anniversary is "Improved Real Estate." In keeping with tradition, I "improved" this real estate by cleaning two of the three toilets.

You're welcome.

Well, not much blood, really, but she would like to stick you repeatedly with needles. Perhaps I should explain.

Shirleen is taking at phlebotomy course (as I've outlined previously she already knows how to do pretty much everything else in the World). My faux nephew, Tyler, is taking the course, too (bless his needle-phobic lil' heart). She needs volunteers to be poked (need I add WITH NEEDLES) tonight (Tuesday, August 28, 2007) and on Thursday at 6:00 p.m.

Shirleen practiced on me the other night, and, as someone who's had their blood taken for various tests at least once a month or so all this year and someone who used to participate in a specialty plasma donation program (those needles have the girth of earthworms), I can tell you she did an excellent job. I can't vouch for anyone else, mind you, and I don't know whether or not she has to share her volunteers. That adds an air of titillating risk to it, yes?

So let me know if you'd like to spend your Tuesday and or Thursday evening this week letting neophyte phlebotomists stick you with small-gauge needles for the sake of learning - nay - for the very future of medicine and healthcare.

I got the following text message from Shirleen on Friday (you'll have to envision the little icon bolt of lightening - it won't transfer by email):

I'm officially turned on:)

Now AGAIN, don't get all concupiscent on me, this is MEDICAL, SCIENTIFIC and BIONIC. Hmm. That doesn't sound too much better. But, referring back to my previous entries, particularly the one from August 11, 2007, you will remember Shirleen's long overdue pain relief spine stimulating device has been implanted. Well, the surgical healing has progressed far enough, and, with the "bionics expert" looking on (evidently the rep for this device not only consults extensively with potential clients of this gizmo, he attends every surgery), they activated Shirleen's anti-pain machine (with Bluetooth® technology).

I happy to report that she already is receiving some relief. When she's completely healed from the surgery it should be even better (I should hope to shout).

Mind you, I think that not only is she entitled to some intense pain relief, I believe she deserves a bevy of tiny faeries to carry her to some cloud-enveloped island where she gets to lounge in an enormous bubble bath while handsome cabana boys fan her with gargantuan ostrich plumes and the scent of jasmine fills the air while the sounds of the gentle waves lull her into a well-deserved sleep. Oh - and there are other gorgeous cabana boys to feed her chocolate - especially delectable magical chocolate containing no calories whatsoever. And vitamins - one can subsist entirely on this chocolate, naturally.

Sadly, this is not to be the case. Instead, she was called into work to today so they could lay her off, because she is salaried and with the financial difficulties currently going on in the company they cannot afford her (I personally believe they cannot afford to lose her, but foresight is not the strength of most companies, in my experience). So now that she has achieved a state of increased mobility and will need less and less pain medication and so on, she will have to find a new job.

I'm not sure how she'll feel about this, but I thought I'd just throw this out there: Anyone need a most excellent multi-talented employee? She can do anything, and if she doesn't know how to do it already it will take her about five minutes to learn the task. Seriously.

She can expertly groom your dog (though there is a size limit to the canines with that now because of her back), help your bitch whelp its puppies (that's not ribald - it's the appropriate medical terminology) and then help you whip up a spreadsheet for financial planning, navigate a database, make multi-coloured explanatory charts and then do your taxes with her lightening-quick typing skills. Oh - and she can do all of this bilingually; she's fluent in Spanish, too. Wait - she's trilingual - she speaks some FINE teenager and can text message as fast and well as any sixteen-year-old. And don't forget, she's remote-controlled.

If anyone knows of any position that's available at the moment, give a holler. She really can do just about anything. There are a few physical limitations - she shouldn't dance, jog, do the "twist," break dance, or, come to think of it, lift anything "heavier than a milk jug," and krumpin' is right out. I don't know which or if any of these limitations change after more healing from the surgery, but I personally think the cane she uses adds a classy touch to any outfit or situation.

P.S. She has a certain sister who is relatively - okay - mostly unemployed. This sister is also multi-talented and very creative. Sorry, no Spanish, no cane, no puppy whelping (though she can throw a smattering - some smaller smatterings than others - of German, French, Italian, Latin at you, as well as a phrase or two in Russian, Spanish, Japanese, etc. and two phrases and some great song lyrics in Scots Gaelic).

Additionally, she is an ordained clergy person, can take the anal temperature of a feline, has excellent veins upon which many phlebotomists have trained, and possesses an unusual combination of knowledge concerning music (performing and teaching), theatre (performing and teaching), Shakespeare, genetic research, deposition transcription, some rudimentary knowledge of graphic design, retail management, event planning, medical ethics, U.S. Post Service approved address formatting and end-of-life care. She has been known in some work settings as the formatting and table and database QUEEN. What's more, she has several seemingly useless skills that the innovative employer might find a way to utilize: She's quite limber, she has double-jointed fingers and toes as well as an inordinately large cranium, an odd ankle deficiency, and she always carries a periodic table of the elements (an outdated version, but it will do for the basics). Oh - and she's recently delving into cancer advocacy.

Mind you, Shirleen would definitely be a more ideal choice of employee at this point, and not just because she's a single parent of actual human progeny rather than Kitten Children, but because it will still be a month or so before her sister has a minor medical procedure which should help a tad with at least one aspect of mood-leveling (positive mood-leveling is the hope).