Last Easter, our grand kids got dressed up as their Spirit Guides.
It's only been six days since my last post, but an incredible amount of things have happened. As has been my life for the past few months, plans, emotions, symptoms change multiple times a day and I'm working incredibly hard to continue to roll with each of them without ending up totally off kilter.
Wednesday evening I started to feel crummy. Not the normal crummy of chemo fatigue, but a different kind. I could tell that something was brewing. The wind had been taken out of my sails and my joints ached and groaned. These symptoms continued on and off until things really culminated Thursday night when I woke up with shaking, violent chills and a 100.6 temperature. I then woke up several more times throughout the night soaked in my own sweat ... my body pooled in it and my skin clammy to the touch.
The chills and fevers continued the next day as Craig, my mom, sister and I traveled down to Sloan for our education day with the transplant team. As soon as we got there I was freezing, despite wearing a cardigan and pants. While waiting for my pantamedine breathing treatment I just couldn't stop shaking and my teeth wouldn't stop chattering. Between appointments I grabbed a hot chocolate out of the beverage machine in the waiting room hoping that it would help warm me up. No such luck. When we entered the room with the nurse and doctor she remarked at my trembling and gave me a blanket to put around my shoulders. They took my temp and it was rising to the 100 degree mark again. Tylenol helped to cut the fever and to calm my body down but Dr. Sauter was still concerned and ordered some blood cultures and a chest x-ray to check into what was going on.
Despite all of this, the show went on. My sister and mom were taken into their training session where they were taught how to administer the Neupogen shots which she'll be doing at home. Conveniently, my sister is currently living at my parents and even more conveniently, my mom is a nurse much accustomed to giving shots. This saves my sister from having to self-administer. She'll get a shot at 6:45 a.m. every morning for six days, alternating the entry site from the arms to the belly to the legs.
The training session for Craig and me included consenting to research studies, reading over the hard-to-swallow procedure consent form, learning about the new Hickman line catheter I will need to have placed in addition to my port (as demonstrated by the flesh-colored plastic model "Chester Chest"), the 12 meds I'll be taking post-transplant and all of their side effects, the nutrition restrictions I'll be under, the calendar of "events," more about graft vs. host disease. You know, all the fun, serious stuff. As overwhelming and daunting as it all was, the nurse that we worked with had such a great approach. I immediately clicked with and felt at ease with her. She was able to bring in some humor without making light of my situation and I appreciated the funny, sarcastic quips.
Then it was time to meet with Dr. Sauter to once again discuss the details of the stem cell transplant procedures and once again go over the risk factors. He spoke about how he is hopeful of my outcome, especially with the 10 out of 10 HLA factor match that I have with my sister, the fact that I responded so well to the GND, and that I obviously have such a great support system, including a fantastic local oncologist ... all things in my favor. I'm doing my absolute best to focus on these pieces but it's hard not to harp on the other side of the coin, which he had to discuss with me again – the grim odds and his words, which keep echoing in my head: "I don't have to tell you that you've got a bad disease. They call Hodgkin's the 'cureable cancer,' but when it's bad, it's very bad."
To say the least, we were all exhausted after having swallowed so much information. Exhausted, but also more confident on how this will all pan out. We had planned to visit the Matisse exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art but that was just not in the cards after what turned out to be a very long day.
Friday night the fevers were back with a fervor. This time I spiked to 102 degrees and again drenched the sheets and my pillow case, now stained with an imperfect sweaty circle. The chills were awful and Craig spent the entire night with one eye open and a hand over my forehead constantly checking my clammy skin.
After a Saturday morning call to the attending physicians at both Sloan and Hartford it was ordered that I headed to the Emergency Room. It was a beautiful, sunny day, but Craig and I spent the vast majority of it in the Hartford Hospital ER. Blood cultures were retaken. I got another chest x-ray, had to pee in a couple of cups, and had the very back of my nose swabbed with a giant Q-tip. This was all in an attempt to check for growing bacteria or present viruses that might be the cause of the fevers as anytime a fever presents, it means there is some kind of inner battle going on.
Accustomed to these types of trips we thought to bring along the laptop and some DVDs to keep us entertained. Waiting for blood test results and trying to get discharged from the ER are two very drawn out processes. After nearly six hours, the attending ER doc gave me an antibiotic prescription to treat the only thing that was slightly off in all of the test results. My urine had some very, very minor signs of a possible urinary tract infection, though not at the levels that they'd pay any attention to in a "normal person." He spoke to both Dr. Sauter and the person covering for Dr. Dailey and all decided this was the best course. Basically it is grasping at straws, but since then I've been taking Keflex four times a day in hopes to treat whatever this is.
Sunday was a bit better. Monday and Tuesday I again felt in the dumps. I had several conversations with Dr. Sauter yesterday about my symptoms and how to proceed. The fevers are still high, especially at night, and the night sweats are fierce. Sleep has been incredibly broken (for both Craig and me) and my appetite is nil.
I hated to even say the words but I had to be honest and brought up the conversation with Dr. Sauter that this is eerily similar to how the disease presented itself during my last relapse. While we were on our cruise at the end of June, every night I faced shaking, violent chills and though I was intentionally thermometerless, I no doubt had fevers. I told him I was very worried that this was the Hodgkin's already growing back. I feel the same way that I did each other time it has happened.
Obviously this is concerning and after some thought and collaboration, Dr. Sauter called me back and explained that he wanted to get me in for a PET Scan first just to rule out if there is any disease creeping in. So we've bumped things by a day. Now today, instead of checking into outpatient surgery to get my new cathether put in, I'll be heading to nuclear medicine for yet another scan, my seventh. As soon as I am done with the scan I'll give Dr. Sauter a call and he'll let me know the results and whether I'll go ahead with the transplant process tomorrow. We're packed up and ready to go as if we're in for the long haul, but realize that this might not yet be the case.
Dr. Sauter explained again how crucial it is that I am in a good remission before going into the allo transplant ... studies show that those patients that are have a much higher success rate. Basically we're trying to create the absolute most ideal conditions. He said that in the past, the allogeneic transplant used to be like a "Hail Mary pass", a last ditch effort at saving someone, but these days, if the contributing factors are ideal, patients can be, and are, put into long-term remission. Plus, if the Hodgkin's is brewing, we go ahead with the transplant, and it comes back full force despite the higher dose chemo, it is much harder to deal with as a post-allo patient, which comes with its own bag of complications.
So, once again we're waiting on a scan. Three suitcases are waiting at the door for today’s trip with enough to keep us clothed and occupied for many months if needed. All the house and medical paperwork is in order. But the chance does linger that we might be turning back around to start yet another course of salvage chemo treatment. We're preparing for the worst and hoping for the best ... . I'm not really sure which is which. Whatever happens and whatever I need to do I will do it. I'm up for whatever it takes to get me through this. I am scared as hell, but I am nowhere close to giving up.
One of the powerful forces shaping the world of dogs has been the Internet. With the rise of online communication, the word has gotten out that breed after breed of Kennel Club is statistically less healthy than a shelter dog.
The diseases, defects and deformities change from breed to breed, of course, but almost all the Kennel Club dogs now seem to be struggling under a horrific genetic load: jaw-dropping rates of cancer, juvenile cataracts, liver disease, hip dysplasia, deafness, endocrine issues, blood problems ... the list goes on and on.
Who wants to be part of that? No one!
In the late 1990s... something came along that changed everything: the Internet.
It is hard to overstate the impact of the Internet. Suffice it to say that in our own lifetimes, we will see the end of books, newspapers and magazines as we have known them. The era of film cameras, video tape and recorded disks is already past. Many young people today have yet to lick their first stamp, such is the ubiquitous nature of email, voice mail and text messaging in this modern world.
What does this mean for the world of dogs?
Quite a lot.
The Internet, you see, has democratized information and mass communication.
Today, anyone with a computer can read Darwin's notes about canine evolution, research the origins of the Kennel Club, and locate health surveys and veterinary insurance records which illuminate the current and rising crisis in canine health around the world.
In the age of the Internet, creating a new national registry of dogs is no longer a daunting task. If the Kennel Club will not stand for dogs that are healthier and more able than those found down at the local pound, then someone else surely will..
While it took the Kennel Club 130 years and hundreds of millions of pounds to build their current registry, it might take a young Internet-savvy entrepreneur only a few weeks and perhaps 100,000 pounds to build the backbone of a parallel Internet-based registration system that pairs modern email outreach with a dynamic web site, a powerful online date base, and a system of real veterinary-based health checks coupled to product-based discounts on pet food, pet insurance, and veterinary care.
Unlike the Kennel Club, this new registry would have no historical baggage to tote, and would not have to pay homage to petulant prigs and screaming matrons hell-bent on holding on to defective standards and misguided Victorian-era theories.
One thing is for certain: at this point in the game, the Kennel Club cannot afford to dally and play footsie with incrementalism.
The 21st Century will no longer wait for the 19th Century to catch up.
Using a combination of computer tomography (CT) and magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), scientists Kasper Hansen and Henrik Lauridsen of Aarhus University in Denmark were able to visualize the entire internal organ structures and vascular systems (aka "guts") of a Burmese Python digesting a rat.
The most common health issues in the breed are back problems. Conditions severe enough for hind-end paralysis are so common that Dachshunds are one of the breeds most likely to spend part of their lives in “canine wheelchairs”: wheeled carts that support the rear of the dogs.
Because of their long, low-slung spines, normal canine behavior like jumping off the sofa may result in a slipped, pinched, herniated or ruptured disc. Dogs can be injured even in relatively mild play, and will sometimes show defensive or apparently aggressive behavior at other dogs – or children – who are nearby. In fact, a study done at the College of Veterinary Medicine at the Ohio State University approximated that Dachshunds are 57 times more likely to suffer from a herniated intervertebral disc than all other breeds.
Originally designed for hunting, it's built to withstand the briars and branches of the thick Maine woods. Made of best-grade two-ply 10 oz. cotton canvas, washed to feel broken-in and treated to repel moisture and stains..
Underarm gussets and bi-swing shoulders let you move and reach with ease. Sewn-in lining: cotton in body, nylon in sleeves. Five pockets with enough room to carry a day's essentials. Collar and cuffs are 100% cotton 16-whale corduroy.
Most towns of decent size have a museum of some sort. If you don't live in a town that does, then you probably relatively close to one that does. So, don't tell me that you can't visit a museum. I don't care if it's not the kind of museum you're interested in. Go to it. Bring your sketchbook. Sit down in front of something--anything--and draw it.
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The famed English Bulldog... is mostly Chinese pug -- a show ring creation with legs so deformed it can barely walk, a jaw so undershot it cannot grab a Frisbee, and with a face so bracycephalic it cannot breathe. Add to these problems a deformed intestinal system (a by-product of achondroplasia or dwarfism) which makes the dog constantly fart, and a pig tail prone to infection, and you have a dog that considers its own death a blessed relief.
The Bulldog may be perfect in spirit, but in the flesh is a different story. These dogs are intolerant of warm weather, and may die if over-heated. Too much exercise or stress can make it difficult for them to breath. Without exception, Bulldogs must live indoors, and need air conditioning in all but the mildest summer weather.
More than 90 percent of all Bulldogs are born by C-section. Because breeding them is expensive, the puppies are, too. Love is an expensive proposition when you own a Bulldog....
...Bulldogs' hips and spines are often malformed, as are their mouths. They suffer from a long list of respiratory ailments. Their many wrinkles and folds, and tightly curled tails, mean lots of skin infections. Cherry eye, inverted eyelids, cataracts and dry eye are just a few of the eye abnormalities that can affect the Bulldog.
...Many conditions have no screening tests, even though they're known or believed to be genetic. These include seizure disorders, allergies and skin problems, several kinds of bladder stone, a long list of airway defects, birth defects, infertility and cancer, and more. Bulldogs are also at high risk for "bloat and torsion," where the stomach twists on itself, trapping air inside, and requiring immediate emergency surgery.
Even the old folks never knew
Why they call it like they do
I was wondering since the age of two
Down on Copperline
Copper head, copper beech
Copper kettles sitting side by each
Copper coil, cup o' Georgia peach
Down on Copperline
Half a mile down to Morgan Creek
Leaning heavy on the end of the week
Hercules and a hog-nosed snake
Down on Copperline
We were down on Copperline
What’s is it about dogs?
There is no simple answer to such a simple question. Instead there are as many answers as there are people.
For most, a dog is simply a happy greeter at the door that never asks too many questions. For this alone people spend enormous sums on food and veterinary care, forgiving stains on rugs and holes in gardens, hair on the couch and strange smells in the den.
For other people dogs are other things.
Some show ring enthusiasts love the competition, while others value the friendships that develop at ringside.
Agility and fly ball competitors love the speed of their sport, the cleverness of their dogs, and the challenge of cross-species communication and instruction.
For those of us with hunting dogs, the joy is going into field and forest with a companion that offers an entirely new way of looking at the world. For many it is a return to childhood, when we saw nature at a smaller level as we turned over rocks looking for fishing worms, or caught frogs and turtles by the pond, or climbed trees to steal a peak at a nest of doves.
Dogs give us an excuse to venture back into thickets again, to jump from rock to rock down a stream, and to poke about in fields.
The process of hunting forces those of us that rush too fast through life to slow down and pay attention to detail. If we are going to get any good, we have to learn about wildlife and the land. We have to give the dog experience and gain some ourselves.
As dog and owner progress, they begin to work as a team and a kind of trust develops. The dog is seeing the world through the human’s eyes, and the human is seeing the world through the dog’s eyes. Both are looking at the world through a new set of glasses.
I tried to go back, as if I could
All spec houses and plywood
Tore up and tore up good
Down on Copperline
Will America fall apart at 400 million, or 500 million or even one billion people?
No, it will survive. It just will not be the America I love today.
If you hunt, you will have to drive farther, and perhaps pay to hunt in a for-profit shooting preserve (some do that now).
As we pave over paradise and put up parking lots, surface water will flow fast and dirty into our rivers and creeks. Cars will become more efficient, but population growth will consume the oil savings, and we will be more dependent on foreign oil than ever before.
More and more creeks will run in culverts, and fewer and fewer children will play in them. Silt from construction sites will clog rivers and streams, and no one you know will have ever caught a five-pound bass or a three-pound trout. You will no longer be allowed to walk down White Oak Canyon in the Shenandoah National Park unless you first bought a ticket at Ticketron.
Have you heard about the man who owned a parrot that swore like a sailor?
This parrot was so terrible, it could swear for five minutes straight without repeating itself. One day the man finally got tired of this parrot's horrible speech, and decided to do something about it.
He grabbed the parrot by the throat, shaked it really hard, and yelled, "QUIT IT!" every time the parrot said something ungodly. But this just made the parrot mad, and it swore more than ever.
Next the man tried locking the bird in a kitchen cabinet. This really aggravated the parrot, and it clawed and scratched furiously until the man finally let him out (upon which the bird released it's fury in a torrent of language so horrible it could never be repeated).At that point, the man was so frustrated that he threw the parrot into the freezer. For the first few seconds the parrot made a terrible amount of noise in protest to this treatment, kicking, clawing, and thrashing about. But after a few moments it suddenly went very quiet.
As the silence grew longer the man started to think that the parrot may be hurt. After a couple minutes of silence, he became so worried that he opened up the freezer door.
The parrot calmly climbed onto the man's outstretched arm and said,"Awfully sorry about the trouble I gave you. I'll do my best to improve my vocabulary from now on."
Of course, the man was astounded. He could not understand the transformation that had come over his unruly parrot.
Then the parrot asked, "By the way, what did the chicken do?"
