Tag Archives: Tumor

Happy 1st Anniversary, ODNT!


Yes, that’s right. Just one year ago today, I wrote a blog post

… then sweated buckets about it, sent proofs to half a dozen people, second guessed myself, ate a pound of cheese and drank a bottle of wine contemplating it, considered scrapping the whole thing, third guessed myself, cried quietly, berated myself in front of the mirror …

and hit publish.

It’s been a very interesting first year. CLICK ON THE IMAGE BELOW to see just a few of the highlights in my scrapbook.

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If you’re interested in reading some of the stories in this scrapbook, I’ve included the links for you at the end of this post. Because I understand lazy. And I know I would NEVER bother to look them up on my own. And I’m assuming that, if you read this blog, you’re probably lazy like me. So I did your heavy lifting for you today.

Thanks to all of you for riding shotgun with me the past year. Here’s to year number two!

The Posts that Inspired ‘Things You Read About on ODNT (2011-12)’

  1. Man Boobs Quiz  & Answers *
  2. Hoarder on Wheels
  3. Naked Mole Rats Introduction & Tweeting Spree
  4. Norma Stitz *
  5. Bitchy Barbies Introduction, Playdate & Acquisition
  6. Red Hair Dye Phobias
  7. Drug Hallucinations
  8. Tumor Look-a-like Contest *
  9. The AMC Letters: One, Two, Three & Four
  10. Bag Balm
  11. Just Say No to Saving the Earth
  12. Paging Mr. Baldwin: The Appeal & The Response
  13. Hunger Games Prequel
  14. My Junior Novel (maybe)
  15. How does one say Goodbye to a Toilet?
  16. A Hairy Day at Disney World
  17. A Cow named Michele
  18. Creating a New Identity for my Class Reunion
  19. When Johnny Depp came to my BBQ
  20. Spray Cheese Delivered to your Door
  21. Things You Learn While Drinking Wine
  22. A Bloody Good Idea for Next Summer
  23. The Hamster’s Going to Need a Lot of Therapy

* These posts have been deleted for undisclosed reasons. And, for the record,  it is NOT because I’ve been served with restraining orders from John Travolta, Norma Stitz and Homer Simpson.

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Keeping that tumor in my past


Today started like any other Monday during the school year. We all woke up overtired from the weekend.  Dave immediately flung himself into the shower.  I began rousing sleepy children who, unlike either of the kids of the past two mornings, would have been willing to stay in bed until noon if I had allowed it. My girl was very cranky and my boy needed to look over a little something for a test today so I raced to get him ready and to his books while trying to exhibit any patience a Monday morning would allow me with my daughter.  Suffice it to say, we got through everything and I watched as they rode away with their dad to school.

I had a few things to take care of at home before jumping into the shower for my doctor’s appointment.  Today I would be seeing the thorascopic surgeon who removed the tumor in my chest cavity last December.  I can hardly believe it’s been three months.  It sort of seems like ten years ago … and, then again, it sort of seems like ten minutes ago. Much has happened in my life since then and, while I try to remind myself every day of how lucky I am to have received such a positive outcome with everything, I will admit that I am human and have had plenty of selfish ‘woe-is-me’ moments since the surgery.

Truthfully though, I mostly don’t think about it much anymore.  Every now and then, I run into a family member or a friend who I haven’t seen in a while. Someone who keeps up with the blog but hasn’t seen me since everything happened. And they always hug me and ask “How are you feeling?” And I find myself standing there, stupefied for a few seconds, fighting the urge to say “Fine.  And you?” because I know what they mean.  I just keep forgetting that the story in the back of my mind was my own.  I forget about all of the doctors I saw, for business and for pleasure last fall … and all of the tests I took … and all of the reports I wrote.  Frankly, I don’t know how I had the energy.  It’s been a very exhausting 2012 so far.

But today I was anxious to put things behind me for a while with this appointment.  To get it over with, as they say.  Which is why I was a little frustrated when I got the call from the doctor’s office to come in two hours later.  But I know my doctor and I know how busy he is so I complied and busied myself with some of the many things I put off around the house until it was time to leave.  I literally had one foot out the door when my phone rang.  Not recognizing the number, I took the call. It was the radiology department of the hospital calling to make an appointment for a chest x-ray.  No one mentioned anything about it to me so I called my doctor from the car to confirm it and learned that I did in fact need to have the x-ray.  It would be my 6th since November. 106th if you count my CT scan, which my doctor says is equal to 100 x-rays.  (Incidentally, when I googled it, all the other websites had even higher ratios.  The record was one CT scan being equal to 1,000 chest rays.  So perhaps this would be my 1,006th x-ray since November.)

In any event, I needed to get another one. Today. This morning. Before moving on to another part of the hospital for the actual doctor’s appointment, for which I was clearly now going to be late.  I managed to find a parking spot pretty quickly and headed off through the garage to enter the hospital. I realized as I was walking toward the main building that I hadn’t been in that area since my big surgery weekend.  It was kind of odd being back there again walking into the door I walked out of after the surgery.  I remember sitting pathetically on that bench while Dave went to get the car and save me the long walk.  And making small talk with a very bothersome but very well-meaning old man who wanted nothing more than to hear all about my surgery while I was still looped on its accompanying drugs.  This time, I walked in by myself, fully coherent but increasingly anxious about the whole thing.  Something I was just now realizing about myself.

I took a few wrong turns once inside the building and was about to call the radiology department from my cell when I finally saw the signage I was seeking.  Honestly, it was such a direct path inside the building that I have no idea how I got lost in the first place.  Then again, I get disoriented traveling from my bed to the bathroom in the middle of the night so it’s really no big surprise.

I approached the desk and was just starting to get my bearings back when the receptionist began speaking to me.  It was obvious she had no idea what I was talking about when I began explaining why I was there.  So, she called over a co-worker who seemed equally confused about the strange woman who materialized requesting an unauthorized chest x-ray.

Do I have the papers? Who called me? When did they call?

Shit if I knew. I just wanted to get my damned x-ray and get out of there.

And then, thankfully, I remembered that the caller left a voice mail on my cell phone.  So, I played the message which, apparently, unlocked the mystery and revealed the desk upon which my paperwork sat uselessly. And I was granted permission to begin the process of registering for the x-ray that I didn’t even know I needed thirty minutes ago.

Finally.  Everything was rolling along.  Until I made a big mistake.  Huge.  With an x-ray, you always get asked the pregnancy question. Well, women do anyway.  Only this time, it wasn’t as black and white as I remember.  It seems like in the past they’ve merely asked ‘Are you pregnant?’ It’s a simple yes or no question, to which I would have answered ‘No!’ But today, they threw me for a loop and asked some existential version of the same question.  I think it went something like …

“Is there any chance that, in this life or past, based on the Moon being in the 7th House and Jupiter aligning with Mars, to the best of your knowledge, establishing justice and ensuring domestic tranquility, you could be pregnant … with liberty and justice for all … on a sesame seed bun?”

I was confused.  I was in the headlights.  And I was a complete and utter dumb ass. Geez, I don’t know.  Is there a chance? Between 0 and 100%?? And all the decimal points in between???

Me: “Uh, yeah, I guess there’s a chance,” I stammered … like a COMPLETE idiot.

Her: “Then you need to take a pregnancy test. And that’ll take another hour.”

Me: “What? Noooo! I mean NO, I’M NOT.  I’m definitely not pregnant.”

Her: (laughing apologetically) “Sorry, baby. It’s the rules. You said you weren’t sure so now you have to take the test.”

Me: (defeated) “Fine. I’ll take the stupid test.  What is it? Just a urinalysis?”

Her: “No, it’s a blood test.”

Me: “Of course it’s a blood test.”

So, I surrendered to the lab tech, thankful that she was at least quite handy with a needle and that my bitching completely distracted me from the one prick necessary to obtain the sample she needed. I asked permission to grab lunch during my hour wait, since I hadn’t eaten since 6pm the night before and it was now past noon.  I went downstairs in the hospital and grabbed a surprisingly good sandwich.  Rosemary bread.  Better than I expected for hospital fare. Oh, and I had a cookie. Totally cheated considering I’m trying to lay off sweets. And now I’m confessing it … to you. Please just tell me to say ten Hail Marys and let’s get on with it.  I also killed time reading my book.  Thank you, Suzanne Collins, for occupying me with the second installment of your Hunger Games series.  I think I speak for tweens everywhere and the moms (like me) pretending to read your books for the sake of our children when I say your work has definitely sucked me in.

At the end of the hour, I returned to radiology ready to learn if my family was getting any bigger or if I was getting a chest x-ray.  My money was on the latter.  And I really wish I had placed that bet because I was in a hospital gown prepping to be exposed to more radiation within minutes.  The tech took only two images, confirmed that they were satisfactory and sent me on my way (scans in hand) to see my doctor.

As I walked out, I wondered about the scans and what they revealed. I resisted the urge to look at them.  Until suddenly, I was overcome with curiosity and thought “They’re my damned scans.  I don’t need anyone’s permission to look at them.” (I am such my son’s mother.) So, I stepped to the side in the long hallway, slid one out and stared at the now eerily familiar images of my own bones.  I checked the spot where the tumor had formed previously. Nothing.  Well, at least nothing as far as I could tell.  My years of medical training total exactly zero.  Still, I thought seeing nothing on the scan was better than seeing something, right?

Now operating on autopilot, I finished my walk and found myself standing at the door of my doctor’s office.  I went in, approached the receptionist and explained, no doubt unintelligibly, why I was arriving nearly five hours later than my original appointment time and handed her the scans. I don’t know if she even said anything back to me.  God, I was more nervous than I thought.

I sat in the waiting room, taking in more of my book.  I’ll probably have to read those pages again though.  I’m not sure I actually processed any of the words.  I noticed every person sitting around me was holding the same, oversized white envelope from radiology.  And I wondered about their back stories.  Was this their first visit? Were they about to get life-altering news? Were people waiting for their calls as soon as they left the building?  Yeah, I probably need to read those pages of my book again.

Then, they called my name.  And the first thing they did was to weigh me. Really?  I’d just had a Bacchanalian feast in their coffee shop. Well, at least I won’t be surprised at the staggering numbers. Blood pressure was next.  I really would have worn a different top had I thought about all of the things that were being done to me today.  It was bad enough that I had blood drawn topless.  (How many of you can say that? Stupid fitted sleeves.) After a few attempts to get a good reading through the fabric, the nurse was finally satisfied with my pressure results.  She exited the room and I waited to see my doctor.

When he came in, he looked just how I remembered him.  Jerry Van Dyke.  My family thinks that comparison is hilarious, given the actor’s usual dimwitted, slapstick performances. But, of course, that’s not how I mean it.  The two men simply look alike physically to me.  But that’s where the similarity ends.  Fortuitously.

He took a few minutes to review my files and re-familiarize himself with who I am and why I was there. I heard him talking to himself about “tumors” and “spindle cells” and “schwannomas.” (How many of you think of that old song by The Knack every time you hear the word ‘schwannoma?’ No one else? Just me? Guess that figures.) He seemed surprised all over again that someone like me would exhibit this medical condition. I reminded him of my actual age.  He laughed and said he thought I was “much younger.” (If you thought for a moment that I wouldn’t share that little gem then you don’t know me very well.)

He tacked one of the scans up onto the light and stared at it. “Not even a trace of it,” he muttered under his breath. Then, he put the second image up. “I don’t see anything there at all.”

These are good words to be hearing from my doctor.  I exhaled.

He took a look at the actual incisions and I explained that I had my dermatologist zap the scars with a laser to help diminish them just last Friday.  I also explained that, just prior to that treatment, the largest incision (from which the tumor was removed … I know, gross. Sorry!) was starting to bother me a little again.  I talked about my recent vacation and everything else I was doing around the time the pain started and he said that it was normal for these feelings to occur.  Especially with the jerking around associated with roller coasters and rides of that nature.  Oops.

We talked a bit longer and he deliberated the need for another CT scan but then decided against it.  He went on to discuss the dangers associated with repeated and unnecessary exposure to radiation.  (“That’s alright, Doc. I’ve already been exposed a potentially deadly 1,006 times,” I thought to myself.) And, in the end, he merely recommended that I come back to visit in the next year or so.  We both laughed when he suggested making an appointment for that future visit.  There’s no way in hell I’d remember something that far away.  Of course, now it’s even worse because I have to remember to call and actually make the appointment in the first place.  Can I assign someone here the job of reminding me in a year or two? Will you all still be around?

I will.  I confirmed that today. I wasn’t aware of how nervous I was until I started encountering all the obstacles blocking me from getting through this appointment.  I walked back to my car and realized that I felt like I was about to fall asleep.  I’d used up my entire day at the hospital and it was now time to pick up my kids.  I drove through McDonald’s on the way home and bought a giant Diet Coke.  Besides the obvious caffeine, a bursting bladder always has a magical way of keeping me uncomfortably awake.

Everything looks good.  That’s the three-word version of the ridiculously verbose epistle above.  I needed to flesh it all out in writing.  If not for you, then for me.  Thanks for “listening.”

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Warning – there is a picture of a real, live tumor embedded in this post


Alright, I’m going to stall a bit. Why, you ask? Because when this blog post is opened on your laptops, tablets, smart phones, etc., I need there to be enough text here to fill the screen. I want you to have to scroll down to see the picture below. I don’t want it to pop up unexpectedly and frighten anyone. So, I need to fill a little space here and use long words like “hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian” which, ironically, means of or pertaining to extremely long words … and “floccinaucinihilipilification” which means the estimation of something as valueless, such as this introductory passage. I could even use this opportunity to extol the many virtues of the East African Naked Mole Rat but, after yesterday, we all know where dedicated ODNT follower, El Guapo, stands on these beloved rodents. So, I’ll try to resist the urge.

(A distant voice calls out from offstage. Speaker turns to acknowledges the voice.) What? That’s enough? (Turns back to address the audience) Okay. Well, let’s get on with it then.

A few days ago, I mentioned that I actually had a picture of my old friend, the lung mass, taken during surgery last week. And I decided to let you determine whether or not I would post this picture … in all of its blood-and-gutsy glory … on the blog. And do you know that, despite having featured three prior polls all related to boobs aka the roots if not the backbone of this website, the ‘Wanna see a picture of the tumor?’ poll had the greatest response to date. (I guess I could change the ‘T’ in ODNT to tumor.)

There were three options available in the poll – yes, no and do-whatever-but-warn-me-first. Because the yes vote was so much higher than the no vote, we at ODNT decided to do it … and, per the request of many, we are warning you first.

So, all of that said, I give you … the tumor.

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I’m pretty sure you can identify it (dead center) in this picture but, to give you your bearings, the rings around it that appear on the left are my ribs. Directly beneath it in black is some kind of major artery. And the slightly deflated pink entity below that is my lung. Dave thinks it looks like the top of Patrick’s starfish head. (My daughter watches a lot of SpongeBob.)

Yes, it’s gross. It’s a body’s interior after all. But I’ll add that my family said that the doctors and medical staff couldn’t stop talking about my beautifully pink, healthy insides. I’m blushing.

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Observations from the hospital


Michele is doing well. The kids got to visit for a short time tonight, which was great medicine for everyone. Our daughter hit every automatic hand sanitizer in the place, entering and exiting, and should be germ free to the bone until 2012. My apologies to the Germ-X refill guy. I assume tomorrow Michele will be taking the wheel of this ship back from “Gilligan” and hitting me repeatedly with her hat. I will leave you all with a few observations from the hospital:

People complain about hospital food but the fried chicken is always good. Always.

Kids don’t have the life experience to fill in the blanks. This can serve them well or scare them to death. You can only hope they open up enough to give you a clue as to what they do and do not understand.

“Scrubs” should not be allowed on hospital televisions. It really underscores how completely unfunny real hospitals are.

Insurance, prescription drugs and other woes aside, modern medicine is really pretty incredible.

Somebody needs to invent wireless heart/chest monitors. It looks like somebody dropped a giant marionette on the bed.

Etc., etc…It’s been a long day. There are still questions to be answered, but today went about as well as we could have hoped for. I don’t know what battles we have ahead, but right now…tonight…I feel like a pretty blessed, lucky guy. Thanks for checking in and following this blog. It means a lot to her. And she’s right. It’s pretty darn therapeutic. Goodnight.

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Goodbye Stupid Tumor


Hello. Cub reporter Michele’s Husband coming to you live from the hospital. The surgery is done. The tumor was fairly easy for them to remove and the procedure went well. Quickly too! The doctor was able to remove the tumor thoracoscopically (I’m fairly certain all those letters are a real word) through 4 or 5 small “ports”. I should probably know how many, but I’m not counting them now. Anyway, the port on her lower chest is a little bit larger to accommodate removing the stupid little tumor. The initial pathology is non-conclusive so we have to wait for more results to see what the next step is. If there even is a next step. We will know something about the pathology by Monday and should have a detailed evaluation in about a week. It will be a long week. Michele is in the ICU right now and doing well. She’s sitting up, groggily, and is connected to various wires and tubes. Once the chest tube (the big painful one) is able to come out, she can come home. Hopefully that will be Saturday. Thanks to everyone for all your thoughts and prayers. We’ll keep you posted. One last note. I just got a mumbled request to inform you that her chest hurts and it’s worse when she coughs.

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