The Thyroid Diaries: Part 9 of 9

17 May, 2002

Good news today. I had my full-body scan, and the verdict came back alles klar ('all clear'). What a enormous load off my mind and a relief for all those who care about me and have been praying for just such a result.

Of course, I had to get the information from one of the other doctors. Mine was 'out of town', which was just as well, as far as I'm concerned. God help him to see more clearly, not only for the collective sake of his patients, but also for his own. I get the distinct impression from my HR person and the insurance adjuster she's been working with through all this that the doctor's refusal to cooperate puts his status in the Private Health Care System (the PPO network my employer uses) in question. I think that the only reason some sort of protest hasn't already been filed is that it would cause me more problems, and that the moment I shift to a different doctor, this guy's got some 'splainin' to do.

Today

It's been over seven years since my initial diagnosis. Since then, I've been through three endocrinologists (due to changes in my employers' insurance plans) and three full-body scans. I've gotten married, built a new home, and moved to another town. The company I've worked for since 1990 has been been acquired twice. Since my surgery and treatment I've taken up cycling, have owned four different bicycles, and have ridden one of them in two MS 150s.

I'm still cancer free, by God's grace, and everyone except the life insurance underwriters consider me cured.

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 8 of 9

2 October, 2001

Went back for another follow-up today, and the doctor says he thinks everything is right on track. I told him that I thought my dosage is still too low, and he said that we'd just have to wait for the blood tests to come back on that.

(Note: A week and a half later, I got a copy of the test results in the mail, along with a new prescription for a higher dosage.)

24 March, 2002

I'm getting a real education in just how cynical and messed up our health care system is. In February, I was supposed to have my first full-body scan since the one in August of last year, to see whether or not the post-surgery dose of radiation had been effective in killing off the cancerous lymph nodes that the last scan revealed. The endocrinologist enthused about some new synthetic hormone called Thyrogen, which he would administer in preparation for the scan, so that I wouldn't have to go off my Synthroid. Sounded great! So, he said, they'd submit the charges for this expensive medicine to my insurance beforehand, to verify that they'd cover it, before ordering the stuff.

The first of March rolled around, and I began to wonder when the doctor's office was going to call and tell me when to come in. I called and was informed that the insurance company hadn't gotten back to them about the Thyrogen, but when I checked with our human resources person about this, she found out from the insurance company that they had a record of not only having responded, but having approved the charges. After a lot of back-and-forth, during which the insurance company adjuster went so far as to guarantee, in writing, payment of the charges within 48 hours of their submission, the doctor finally informed me that the insurance company wouldn't cooperate. It was, according to him, "office policy" to require up-front payment from the insurance company for the Thyrogen, and his hands were tied.

"I see," I told him. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but you're the lead partner in your practice, and it's you who make office policy. Right?"

"Well, I..."

So much for health care. It's all about the bottom line, these days.

Anyway, my bottom line is that I'm going off my meds for 6 weeks. I take Cytomel for 4 weeks, and then it's cold turkey for another two. When the nurse called to schedule my appointments for taking the tracer and getting the scan done, she commented, "I see you've decided to do this the hard way instead of taking the Thyrogen."

Seethe.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 7 of 9

1 August, 2001

I had my appointment with the endocrinologist this morning. No poking or prodding or bleeding, this time around, but I got some answers about where we go from here.

He seems pleased with my recovery to date and confirms that I'll be off my hormone pills until August 13. At that time, I'll go to his office and take my "magic bullet", which is how he refers to the I 131 treatment. No goop to swallow; no hospital stay. Apparently, they only use the high doses of radiation that require hospital isolation in cases where the cancer has spread to a larger degree. Since papillary thyroid cancer spreads to the lymph nodes, when it spreads (as opposed to spreading in the bloodstream), and since the surgeon found only one positive cancerous node, they're going with a "therapeutic" dose (i.e.,the magic bullet).

For the most part, I'm not having to change my lifestyle or diet, aside from staying off my thyroid meds. I don't even have to change my diet, though he advised to keep a tight rein on salt intake and to stay away from fast food burger places. For some unknown reason, he says, they have a lot of iodine in their food. Anyway, I take my pill and then go back to be scanned a few days later, on Friday. Once that's out of the way, I'll go on my long-term thyroid medicine, and the next event will be another tracer scan at about 6 months.

He mentioned some other tests and things involving something-globulin and synthetic THS to avoid having to come off the meds for subsequent tests, but it's all a lot ot absorb at once, so I'll just take it as it comes.

He also had some enlightening things to say in response to my question about the NDA process that Synthroid is going through. I asked because this is a common thyroid hormone and the one that I probably would have been prescribed, but after my question, he seemed to think that he might put me on something else, just in case, to avoid any chance of having to re-balance my dosages, in the unlikely event of supply shortages.

14 August, 2001

I went in for my radiation pill yesterday. As predicted, it was pretty much of a no-brainer: I sat around for about half an hour before taking a white, half-inch-long capsule with a shot glass of water. The nurse took a vial of blood, and I was out the door.

Other things I learned:

• My full body scan is this coming Friday, at 1:30.
• Barring that the scan reveals thyroid tissue or cancer tissue activity, I'll be allowed to go back on my medication on Friday, after the scan. It sounds like I'll initially take the five or so Cytomel (short-term) tablets I have left from the post-op phase, to be followed by starting on my long-term Synthroid or whichever alternate brand name is prescribed.
• The nurse told me that my dosage would be set a bit too high, at first, by design. This is fine by me, since I had joked about asking the doctor to do this so I could drop five or ten pounds that I've been wanting to lose. Then, I suppose, my dosage will be adjusted down, over time, until it is balanced to the doctor's satisfaction.

How do I feel? Draggy. I feel like I have small weights strapped to my arms and legs, and I tend to stare into space a lot--but then, the staring into space isn't really a change from the last year or so. It really makes me wonder just how long I've been like this and had simply adapted to it. I'm also somewhat depressed (also not unusual), so [Turtle] and I try to steer away from talking about important but frustrating topics like my job hunt and our struggle to be together. Once I'm on the meds, I'll be able to talk about these things without spiraling into insane, defeatist rants... but not now.

17 August, 2001

I went in on August 17 to have my full-body scan. There was no additional cancer found in my chest or lower abdomen, which is good, but there were two new (or previously-undiscovered) cancerous lymph nodes that showed up. They were glowing brightly with radiation, however, and the doctor says he expects to see no activity there when I have my next scan in 6 months.

In the mean time, I'm on my long-term thyroid medication now, and I have a follow-up office visit in October. I suppose that will probably be just to draw blood and check to see that my medication is at the right dosage. Basically, it's back to business as usual, which means turning my attention back to either finding me a job in St. Louis or finding [Turtle] one in Dallas so we can get this show on the road and be together. =)

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 6 of 9

25 July, 2001

Went to see the doctor (surgeon) today. More blood work to check my calcium and phosphorus levels. There's not really anything new to report about my condition, except that the doctor is happy with my healing and has set his assistants to working out the next steps with the endocrinologist. So far, I've had a call back saying that the endocrinologist's office is saying I'll probably have to be off of my thyroid hormones for two weeks in preparation for the I-131 treatment. That's a week longer than I'd been led to believe, to this point, and although I understand why it might be handled this way, if half of what I've heard about being off my thyroid meds (that I'll be totally exhausted feel like gravity has doubled) is true, it's going to be a pretty miserable week and a half. And that's not even counting the two to four days following the radiation treatment, during which I'll almost certainly be off the meds, as well.

Most of the discussion to this point had me believing that the actual radiation treatment wouldn't be a big deal, but the surgeon says that this kind of depends on what the endocrinologist wants to do. Depending on the dosage of radiation I'm given, I may have to go back in to the hospital so that they can keep me isolated until I'm no longer "hot".

Let's see... exhausted, nauseated, and stuck away in the hospital isolation ward. Sounds like a blast, but I guess I won't really know exactly what's happening until I talk to the endocrinologist.

Said doctor being, of course, out of town at another conference.

26 July, 2001

Got some more news following up from yesterday's visit with the surgeon. My calcium levels look good, so I'm now off one of my medications (the one that helps me to absorb calcium better). I go back for another blood test on next Monday (July 30), and then I think that's probably the last I'll see of the surgeon.

I also received a call from the nurse at the endocrinologist's office, and she told me to stop taking my Cytomel (the thyroid meds) on Sunday, July 29. Then, on August 1, I have an appointment with the endocrinologist. I would imagine he'll tell me then what the next few weeks will hold for me, but if I'm to stop the Cytomel this Sunday, I would expect the radioactive iodine treatment to follow sometime between August 6-13. I should know more after my appointment on August 1.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 5 of 9

3 July, 2001: The Aftermath

Here's what happened. I went in to the hospital this past Friday, June 29, and things got underway pretty much on schedule. My buddy Kyle took me there and hung around to keep me company, which I was glad for, because I'm a big crybaby and was feeling pretty nervous. Around 12:00, John, the day nurse, came in, gave me some pills to take, and warned me that I'd be wanting to get into my gown because I'd be getting dopey when the Xanax took effect. At 12:30 or so, Peter the Orderly came to get me and they wheeled me down to the staging area for the surgery.

Next, a nurse put in my intravenous line and the anaesthesiologist stopped by to say a few words before going off to check on the operating room. This is where I believe they may have indulged in a bit of legerdemain, because the nurse injected something into my IV line that would make me "nice and sleepy"... and then I woke up in the recovery room with some guy hovering over me saying "[Foo]... [Foo]... scale of 1 to 10... how much pain are you feeling?" and shooting incremental doses of morphine into my IV line. Now, I may have just fallen asleep before I was supposed to and they decided to leave me that way, but I wonder if they didn't trick me to keep me from getting nervous as they hooked me up to stuff in the operating room. Or maybe it's amnesia. In any case, I didn't have much chance to get really nervous, and I'm grateful for that.

After they got me back up to the room, my surgeon came by to see me and told me that the surgery had gone well and that he'd been able to safely remove the thyroid without harming the nearby nerves or the parathyroid nodes. He did say that he'd had to remove one enlarged lymph node--which the pathology results have since confirmed was tumorous. He didn't see any others, however, so I take that as a good thing, and he has confirmed that the lymph node doesn't change my overall positive prognosis.

I stayed overnight and didn't get much sleep, what with the pain and the nurses coming in to check me and my roommate at least once an hour for most of the night. Ice packs, ice water, Darvocet, nasty instant chicken broth and suspicious yellow Jell-o made up most of my Saturday. I had to hang around until 3:00 to have blood drawn, because the doctor wanted to make sure my calcium levels were okay before releasing me. Calcium absorption in the body is controlled by the parathyroid, and although mine weren't damaged, I'm told that they customarily go into shock for about 30 days after a surgery like this, and I'm on massive doses of what probably amounts to oyster shells to combat this temporary problem.

Got to go home about 4:30 and have been doing pretty well ever since. I'm nearly off my pain pills now, only taking them when I've spent too much time talking to someone (mostly retelling this whole story). My voice tires easily and becomes hoarse, but again, I'm told that this is a temporary situation.

I have my first post-op office visit with my surgeon on Thursday, and I suspect that's when he'll fill me in on my schedule for the next couple months--let me know when I'm going back to work and all that. I do know that he's keeping me on my short-term hormones for 30 days, which will carry me safely through my July 19 visit to St. Louis. This will allow enough time for my natural thyroid hormones to leave my body. I'll be taken off the Cytomel and be on nothing for a number of days, after which I'll receive my radioactive iodine treatment.

The precise reason for this I-131 treatment or "iodine bomb" as I've come to call it) is a little confusing to me. I've been thinking that this was designed to kill any surviving thyroid cells (and, ostensibly, cancerous ones), but from the way the surgeon was talking it may be to allow another scan to see where there may be other cells that need treatment. I'm not sure. It may serve both purposes at once.

In the meantime, I'm doing pretty well. My throat doesn't hurt too bad, and as long as I'm not on my pain pills I'm driving myself around just fine. I just want to say how much I've appreciated all of you guys' thoughts and prayers through all this.

But keep them coming, because it's not over yet.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 4 of 9

25 June, 2001: Meeting the Surgeon

I had my first appointment with the surgeon who will be removing my thyroid, and we spent about an hour getting acquainted and discussing the procedure. A trim, neat man in his late 40's, he spoke with a soft Texas drawl and drew diagrams of the throat and thyroid on a napkin (I wish I'd kept this to scan). He used this impromptu teaching aid to explain where all my parts are, which ones will be removed, and how he's going to go about leaving intact the bits that need to stay there. After more of my questions about anaesthesia, my odds of getting medical insurance if I were to succeed in changing jobs, and how I was going to feel after the surgery, we got down to brass tacks and the question of scheduling.

My surgery will be this coming Friday, June 29, at 1:00 in the afternoon. Because I don't have a support network here locally, the surgeon seemed to think he'd prefer to have me stay overnight at the hospital, but as it stands right now I'm being scheduled as a day surgery. In the case that I'm released on Friday, I don't really have a feel for a timeframe. I'm guessing some time in the evening, which would be a pain in the arse for my buddy Kyle, who has agreed to chauffer me around.

The way I'm told this whole thing will go down is that I'll go to the hospital on Thursday to get some lab work done and complete the pre-certification that's required by the insurance company. On Friday I'll probably be told to show up around 11:00am (I won't know for sure until They tell me at pre-cert on Thursday). Surgery at 1:00. I'll go home either Friday evening, or Saturday morning(?) if I'm kept overnight.

Initially, I'll be put on a regimen of "temporary" thyroid hormones to get me through the healing stage, after surgery. This is a medication that leaves the system quickly, and after a number of days, I'll stop taking it. The doctor says I'll go for about a week without any thyroid hormones, which will crash my metabolism. As near I can tell, I'll be the human equivalent of a tree sloth, so I'm going to plan on being out of work during this time. The point of this is to make any surviving thyroid cells hungry so that when they give me my dose of iodine isotope, the cells will greedily gobble it up, maximizing the treatment's effectiveness. After this is complete, I'll be put on my long term thyroid medication, and the doctors will begin working to balance my dosage correctly.

The surgeon says that, with a little luck, I should feel well enough by June 19 to make my planned trip up to St. Louis to see [Turtle]. If I don't, I'll lose about $230, as the ticket is non-refundable--but of course, if I'm feeling bad enough to blow off the trip, I probably won't care about the money.

That's all for now.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 3 of 9

5 June, 2001: On Pins and Needles

Well, needles, at least.

I had my biopsy this morning and, while it falls way down my list of Bad Things™, it's not an activity in which I'd care to participate on a regular basis. True, the needles themselves weren't diameter of a coffee stirrer, as one of my 'friends' had claimed, but there's a bit of fishing around; by the 5^th and 6^th samples, I was pretty tightly clenched, all the way 'round.

No lasting ill effects to report, though, unless you count feeling rather sore. On the other hand, neither do I have any results to report. The samples had to be sent off, and I won't know anything for 7 days or so (at which point I'm liable to be sitting on a county court jury, listening to some genetic fluke's lawyer try to convince us that there should be 'do not swallow' stickers on Nerf™ balls).

18 June, 2001: The 99^th Percentile

So much for statistically minute probabilities. I just heard from my endocrinologist, who informs me that my biopsy shows I have papillary thyroid cancer. As I type this, I'm not really sure what I'm feeling about this news, which suggests I'm probably in shock. Certainly, I'm not inclined to joke about my situation any more.

According to the doctor, this is "the very best sort of cancer to have", but you'll understand if I refrain from turning cartwheels down the hallways. He says the drill will be to check me into the hospital, where my thyroid will be removed. I'll spend the night there and then, barring any complications, check out the next day. They'll dose me with radioactive iodine to kill off any of the thyroid that they didn't remove, and if all goes well the only reminder of the ordeal will be a 2" scar and the medication I'll have to take for the rest of my life (which, of course, I would have had to take even if it hadn't turned out to be cancer).

Time for a good stiff drink. Or a dozen.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 2 of 9

22 May, 2001: Status Update

I had my appointment with the endocrinologist and, although he shared with me that my situation doesn't fit any of the classic profiles for thyroid problems, he was able to tell me, with some certainty, the following:

• My pituitary is working fine and doesn't indicate any kind of tumor. Basically, the pituitary secretes a Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (or TSH), which is what tells the thyroid to do its thing. Duh. The fact that my TSH levels are elevated says that the pituitary is doing its thing as it should, and my thyroid is blowing it off.
• The problem with the thyroid probably isn't cancer. Apparently, the thyroid is not one solid mass, but rather is composed of multiple "nodules" all clustered together. If the thyroid were cancerous, I'm told that there would have been enlargement of a single nodule. The entire left and center portions of my thyroid are enlarged, so the problem isn't cancer unless I have one or more cancerous nodules hiding within the enlargement of the gland itself--a possibility that the endocrinologist says is "statistically minute".
• Although my situation seems to be uncharacteristic in ways that I'm not fully able to appreciate, what I'm told is that I definitely am suffering from mild hypothyroidism.

I go back on Thursday for one more test, and then I'll probably be put on thyroid hormones for six weeks. The doctor says he'll evaluate how I respond to that and then go from there. The likelihood is that I'll have to take the medication for the rest of my life, but the situation could have been a lot worse. Given the choice between taking pills ever after and chemo/surgery/daily injections, I'll take the pills as a nearly insignificant price to pay.

25 May, 2001: Another Test

Since the first attempt to irradiate and scan my 'roid (that's thyroid, for the record) failed so dismally, my endocrinologist invited me back to his office to try again. Another $10 co-pay. As Yakov Smirnoff might say, "Whaaaadda contry."

But I digress.

This time, they weren't fooling around. This time, there was none of this swallowing of a radioactive capsule and coming back the next day. Instead, the doctor--one of the associates, since my doctor wasn't there yesterday--shot the stuff directly into a vein. I cooled my heels, chatting up the assistant for about 15 minutes, and then hopped up on the gurney to be scanned under a rather ominous-looking device – a big conical thing supported by two thick metal arms and counterweights that reminded me of the ones used on the front ends of tractors at a tractor pull to keep them from pulling wheelies.

They took two scans, and when the assistant was finished, she brought them up on the monitor for me to see. It showed a large dark area in the left lobe of my thyroid, which indicates that there was none of the radioactive goop absorbed there. She told me that, based on what was showing up, the doctor would probably want me back in for a biopsy.

Mmmmmmm... more needles.

Next »

The Thyroid Diaries: Part 1 of 9

In 2001 BB ("Before Blogging"), I was diagnosed with a malignant but slow-growing variety of thyroid cancer. While going through some old directories on my computer, I stumbled on a web page diary I kept at the time to keep friends and family up to date. I figured I'd post those entries here because, in retrospect, the whole experience was sort of funny.

25 April, 2001: Mysteries and Mayhem

A number of months ago, I just happened to be rubbing my neck and swallowing at the same time and noticed a hard knot along my windpipe, slightly below and to the left of my Adam's Apple. It feels like it's maybe a half inch in diameter, and it's not tender. I sort of blew it off, figuring it was one of those inflamed lymph nodes you get sometimes from fighting a cold.

When the pesky thing hadn't gone away by the time I was due for my annual physical, I made a mental note to mention it to my internist--who has subsequently had me running all over the place, being irradiated and stabbed. Here's the short history:

• My primary physician (internist) says, judging from the position of the thing, that I appear to have a "thyroid nodule". This could be the result of a number of things, among which are scarring from an old infection, inflammation due to some current issue, and some sort of tumor. He tells me that it's very rare for men to have thyroid problems and, statistically, cancer would be the least likely possibility. Then again, I recently took the Gender Test, which concluded with 86% certainty that I'm a woman. But even if it's cancer, he says thyroid tumors are among the most successfully treated.
• So... it's off for an appointment with the department of nuclear medicine at the hospital. The drill here was for me to show up, barely awake, at 9:00 in the morning, sit in a waiting room full of people who were obviously (to my worried mind, at least) dying. After filling out lots of forms, freeing the hospital from any responsibility should I be inadvertently rendered sterile or brain dead, I got to go into a storage room/office and take a small capsule of radioactive iodine.
• Next day: back to the nuclear medicine department, where they scanned me to get their reference radiation levels in preparation to calibrate the thyroid scanning machine for my test. Which was never done, because it turns out that I didn't absorb any of the iodine into my thyroid. "How can this be?" I asked, now certain that my long-time relationship with Murphy was once again making itself known.

  "Well," he said, nervously fingering his malpractice waiver forms, "I don't know. Your readings are inconsistent, and with your TSH levels, the only way you could have not absorbed any iodine is if your thyroid has completely shut down." Quoting Sherlocke Holmes--I think--I told him that when you eliminate the impossible, the answer must be what's left, no matter how improbable: the thing's an alien implant.

  He didn't get it.

• Back to my internist, who, in the absence of much useful information from the puzzled nuclear doctor, wants to schedule me with a top-notch endocrinologist. So top-notch, in fact, that I can't get an appointment until May 21. I asked the receptionist if she figured I might drop dead before then. She said she reckoned I wouldn't; but if I do, I should be sure to leave a message on their system and she'd try to work me in sooner.

  Oh, such a laugh we had over that one.

Next »

Making adjustments

I've been having a disappointing amount of trouble (or a troubling amount of disappointment, perhaps) getting my climbing legs this year. Last season, I felt like a mountain goat; this year, I just feel like an old goat. I haven't had to walk this many hills in the entire time since I switched to the recumbent bike.

To say I've been feeling dispirited is an understatement. Turtle's gotten tired of hearing me kvetch about feeling like a loser, so when my recumbent-riding buddies, The Stradas, told us how ecstatic they are with their chiropractor's work with Mr. Strada's IT band and Mrs. Strada's back, she made an appointment for me and made me promise to keep it.

So I did. Yesterday, after work, I showed up at the chiropractor's office and spent half an hour filling out reams of forms promising that no matter how severely I might become temporarily or permanently disabled, I wouldn't hold the practitioner responsible. No big deal, I thought. It's not as if I'm here to have my broke-down neck and back worked on. He's just going to help me clear the lactic acid from my legs.

After a while, I was shown to the examination room. The doctor came in and I was immediately struck by how triangular he was. From shoulders to waist, like a pyramid stood on its head. Neck like a bull's; biceps as large as my thighs.

“Haveyoubeentoachiropractorbefore?” he asked, speaking so rapidly that I had to play the question back in my head before I understood what he'd said.

“No,” I said. Then, ignoring the little voice that warned me not to provoke someone who twists necks for a living, I felt somehow compelled to add, “I've always felt like chiropractors were more or less on a level with witch doctors.”

He smiled, flashing me his perfect, too-white teeth. “Ah,” he said, completely unperturbed. “I'lljusthavetoseewhatIcandotochangeyourmind,won'tI?”

He had me lie face-down on the padded table and told me he was going to do his very best to get me fixed up. Now we're cooking, I thought. Work those hamstr–

CRRUNCH!!

“Unf!” I said. Holy Mother of Pearl!! I thought.

“Now we're cooking,” Dr. Crusher said.

“Hey, I–”

CA-RRUNCH!!

“What the–”

KRAKK!

Well, you get the idea. The good news is that we're still a one-paraplegic household. The better news is that last night I had my first full night of sleep (without the aid of drugs) since last September's bike crash.

I went back today for my second session and informed Dr. Crusher that, in light of last night's pain-free sleep, he'd advanced a couple positions up the line of respectability, past voodoo priests and snake oil salesmen to just ahead of acupuncturists. He smiled, crunched my back and neck a bit more, and then went to work on my legs.

Contemplating contentment

I've never put much stock in a lot of the psychological manure thought up by the classical psychologists. Although Carl Jung always struck me as being less full of crap than many, the notion of synchronicity sure seems like a large wheelbarrow load of the stuff. And yet when, two days after posting my album cover made from a photo of a classic Rolls Royce, I was tailgated home by a late model Phantom, “synchronicity” was the first word that came to mind. I'll leave off repeating the next few; I hate being tailgated, and I like to try to keep this blog under the PG-14 wire.

Anyway, with that huge silver grille looming in my rear view, I pondered what sorts of wrong choices I might have made in my life that had led the guy in the Rolls to be driving what he was driving and me to be driving what I was driving. The thought occurred to me that if he didn't get off my bumper before the next time the driver in front of me randomly applied her brakes, I might find myself a bit nearer to being able to afford a Rolls – but I digress. I imagined I knew where he'd eventually turn (north into the neighborhoods of sprawling mansions and two-acre lots in Fairview) and wondered to myself what sort of work he must do (if any). Was he married with a family? Were they happy, or did they only put up with their workaholic husband/father because it was a lifestyle choice? Could he afford all of those fancy things, or was he in hock up to his eyeballs, developing an ulcer while chugging Dewar's and agonizing over how to stay afloat and keep the IRS at bay?

It was about that time that we came to an intersection where we parted ways – he turning north toward Beverly Hills Fairview and I heading south toward where my loving wife and kittens waited in our unpretentious, warm, dry home to welcome me after my day at the software mill. After I'd had a chance to relax in my humble but comfortable chair, we'd thank God for our many blessings and have a simple but satisfying dinner. We'd clear away the dishes, washing some by hand and tossing the rest in the fancy dish washing contraption, and then we'd settle in to watch a movie on our new flat-screen TV and enjoy the luxury of deep bass and crisp surround stereo from the new receiver and speakers I installed over the weekend.

And I'd realize that I didn't want the Rolls Royce (I love my Dorian); the house with ten bedrooms, five baths, two kitchens, and a media room with theater seating; the alcoholic trophy wife and avaricious snob-spawn; and certainly not the financial headaches. I realized, in that moment, that when I stopped long enough to realize it... I'm content with how green the grass is (or isn't, at this time of year) in my own yard.

Stop draggin' my heart around

Almost exactly a year ago, I was taking advantage of my use-'em-or-lose-'em vacation days to get some doctor appointments out of the way. My internist and his PA heard a heart murmer that they hadn't heard the previous year, which prompted an echocardiogram and two attempted appointments for cardio stress tests. The scheduling nurse couldn't pull her head out of her... Cosmopolitan long enough to get it right, and I ran out of vacation days. I figured I'd get it rescheduled after the first of the year, but then things got busy and I never bothered. If hitting 190 beats per minute on my weekend bike rides hadn't given me a massive coronary, how bad could it be?

I went for my annual physical today, and the murmer's still there. The doctor is perplexed, because the echocardiogram didn't show anything to suggest where the gooshing noise is coming from. And he wants to know where the gooshing noise is coming from.

So now, I get to add a cardiologist to my growing collection of specialists and hope that he'll find nothing worth cracking a sternum over. I prefer to keep my medical issues in the realm of abrasions, contusions, and dislocations. You know: stuff you get from bike crashes.

The up side is that my labs came back good, all my boy parts passed muster, my neck and back haven't flared up since earlier this summer, and I have a new pair of bifocals that I can actually see through without giving myself a headache. It's a pretty good place to be, heading into Thanksgiving week.

Reporting in... Suh!

After bagging on the Colder Than Crap Century,* I turned right around on Sunday and logged my first metric century (100 kilometers or, in this case, about 65 miles) of the year. At 45 degrees, it made for a very chilly start, but the wind had blown itself out and the sun was shining. By mid-morning, we were stopping every 20 miles or so to peel off layers of clothing. I felt strong all day and had a great training ride.

Monday morning, I was well into my first major neck flare-up of the year. It had nothing to do with the previous day's ride, but with all the whipsawing of the weather I'd suspected it was coming. By that afternoon, I could no longer hold my head completely upright and could barely turn my head. The treatment options: a Turtle-imposed freeze on all evening laptop sessions, and a trip to the neurologist for some new prescriptions. The former (and my load at work) accounts for the lack of postings to this blog and the ones I visit; the latter explains why I'm once again able to turn my head without seeing stars.

Looks like I'm back in business.

* Polar opposite of the Hotter Than Hell Hundred, you might say. Get it? Polar opposite?

Bunny update

Some of you may be wondering about our nest of rodents little furry darlings. Last Friday, just as our nasty storms were rolling in, I went out to check on them. Their eyes were open by that time, and the biggest of the litter eyed me suspiciously as I approached.

A teenager already? Ah... they grow up so fast, I thought.

"Well, Señor Conejito," I said aloud. "Are you and your buddies ready? There's about to be a lot of rain, so you'll maybe want to climb off the other kids so they don't drown."

It eyed me for a couple seconds and suddenly scrabbled over the lip of the nest, scampered along the fence line, and wriggled under. I could see Turtle watching me out the kitchen window, waving her hands and mouthing something that looked like Go get him! Go get him! I shrugged at her and headed back inside as fat droplets of rain began plopping on the concrete patio.

Turtle continued to peer through my binoculars out the kitchen window as the rain pounded down. Two more... three more emerged from the nest and milled around in the downpour. We haven't seen a sign of them since, but I'm sure they're fine.

Probably digging an elaborate warren under the foundation of my house as I type this.