...A bullet dodged, apparently. Testing an much examination of Vampboy's nether regions have shown that it is indeed not chicken pox that's going on...What it is we're not sure yet, but it's manageable enough that they let us come home last night. So, we're enjoying a weekend that was almost spent in quarantine.
So this is what it's like to have a work furlough from prison!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
A Pox on our House
One of the tough decisions parents need to work through is the myriad of vaccinations that young tykes are given. There are so many questions -- are they worth it? Do they work? Could they harm my little one? Most choose to follow the advice of doctors, and proceed with the hopes that the "immunity armor" will pay off.
A recent addition to the army of vaccines is one for varicella -- that fantastic virus that causes chicken pox. Vampboy had it, as did many of this friends. As, perhaps, your young one did as well.
Given my day today, let me share with you some little known facts about the chicken pox vaccine. Whereas the polio vaccine prevents people from getting polio, the chicken pox vaccine does not -- in many kids, the vaccine simply prevents the severity of a chicken pox outbreak.
Remembering my own experience (I think I swam in a tub full of calamine lotion for about a week), I would normally be quite pleased at the concept ofVampboy not facing the "terrible itch".
Then again,"normally" is a word that has been stricken from my vocabulary. See, having a vaccine that doesn't prevent chicken pox entirely isn't very comforting when you are the parent of animmuno-compromised cancer patient. Which, I am.
And, you're little one gets chicken pox. Which mine might have.
I say "might" because the doctor's aren't actually sure that's what's going on. Granted, one of his dear friends he got a chance to hang out with during the "chemo vacation" came down with a mild case about a week ago, but the timing of the play date leading to exposure and outbreak doesn't totally add up. Even so, whenVampmommy noticed the rash on Vampboy's backside this morning, she quickly took the reigns and had him shuttled into quarantine at the clinic -- which turned into our first admission to the hospital since well before Thanksgiving.
Testing that detects chicken pox came back "inconclusive". To complicate matters further, the typical sores seen with "CP" look different in kids that are vaccinated -- and even more so for kids undergoing chemotherapy. So, on top of spending a night away from home for the first time in awhile, our little one has had the distinct pleasure of having about a dozen doctors, nurses and specialists staring at his bottom for the better part of the day.
Tomorrow will arrive with more bum-looking, and depending on whether things progress or improve they will hopefully arrive at a conclusion as to what's going on. Until then, we wait and pray that it's just a rash. Feel free to google the impact of chicken pox on kids undergoing
chemotherapy if you wish -- but trust me when I say it can potentially make my anti-itch bath time look like a relaxing wash of Jean Nate Bath Splash.
A recent addition to the army of vaccines is one for varicella -- that fantastic virus that causes chicken pox. Vampboy had it, as did many of this friends. As, perhaps, your young one did as well.
Given my day today, let me share with you some little known facts about the chicken pox vaccine. Whereas the polio vaccine prevents people from getting polio, the chicken pox vaccine does not -- in many kids, the vaccine simply prevents the severity of a chicken pox outbreak.
Remembering my own experience (I think I swam in a tub full of calamine lotion for about a week), I would normally be quite pleased at the concept ofVampboy not facing the "terrible itch".
Then again,"normally" is a word that has been stricken from my vocabulary. See, having a vaccine that doesn't prevent chicken pox entirely isn't very comforting when you are the parent of animmuno-compromised cancer patient. Which, I am.
And, you're little one gets chicken pox. Which mine might have.
I say "might" because the doctor's aren't actually sure that's what's going on. Granted, one of his dear friends he got a chance to hang out with during the "chemo vacation" came down with a mild case about a week ago, but the timing of the play date leading to exposure and outbreak doesn't totally add up. Even so, whenVampmommy noticed the rash on Vampboy's backside this morning, she quickly took the reigns and had him shuttled into quarantine at the clinic -- which turned into our first admission to the hospital since well before Thanksgiving.
Testing that detects chicken pox came back "inconclusive". To complicate matters further, the typical sores seen with "CP" look different in kids that are vaccinated -- and even more so for kids undergoing chemotherapy. So, on top of spending a night away from home for the first time in awhile, our little one has had the distinct pleasure of having about a dozen doctors, nurses and specialists staring at his bottom for the better part of the day.
Tomorrow will arrive with more bum-looking, and depending on whether things progress or improve they will hopefully arrive at a conclusion as to what's going on. Until then, we wait and pray that it's just a rash. Feel free to google the impact of chicken pox on kids undergoing
chemotherapy if you wish -- but trust me when I say it can potentially make my anti-itch bath time look like a relaxing wash of Jean Nate Bath Splash.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Shock and "Awwwwwww"
Well, one week into radiation therapy and Vampboy is doing shockingly well. Our surprise at this comes less with the fact of his radiation therapy (as there are little short-term side effects from that), but instead from the fact that he also had a rather intensive chemo round. Even so, he is running about, continuing to eat all of the pasta and cream cheese that he can, and overall in a great mood! This is not at all what we expected, and we are painfully aware that it probably won't last -- but we'll take it when we can get it.
So, let us turn our attention to last night's main event. I am, of course, not talking about the Super Bowl. Given that my favorite sport to watch is Westminster Kennel Club (to play...Candlepin Bowling), it should come as no surprise that I speak of the most brilliant piece of counter-culture television on the planet.
I speak of Puppy Bowl III.
Most stations understand that they're hosed pretty much regardless of what they put on while the Super Bowl airs. However, while surfing for a distraction three years ago, my wife and I stumbled across this brilliant effort on the part of Animal Planet to embrace this fact, throw their production arms in the air and say, "screw it".
Yes, there is nothing like 3 hours of puppies flopping around a mock-football field to ease the soul. Over the last couple of years they've added a few elements for pizazz:
Bowl Cam. This element has been there from the beginning, offering dizzying shots of dogs tongues as they lap up water in the bowl. Of course, most of the dogs are also obsessed with the light coming from underneath the bowl's glass bottom, so they spend their time pawing the water trying to get at it.
Human Ref. The first year there was never any sign of humans -- with the exception of the occasional hand that could be seen pushing the puppies down the chute and into the field. The last two years have included a referee, who calls time out to refill the water dish. Thrilling.
Kitty Half-Time Show. Forget Prince -- or any concern for a "wardrobe malfunction". Kitten's frolicking on a mock-stage to techno music takes the cake. The excitement of watching cats lounge underneath a disco ball is of course heightened by the fake cheers that emanate from the thousands of fans painted on the walls.
Tail Gate Party Shorts. What's a game without shots of the fans watching with baited breath? These dogs clearly know how to party, and this addition to the broadcast gave the audience a chance to connect with the "average snoopy".
Instant Replay. Didn't catch Spike falling on top of Lucy? Missed Fido tossing that ball in the air and hitting Pudge on the face? No worries -- here it is again in slo-mo, with cheese-cloth effects to make the scene look dreamy!
Vampboy does not watch TV yet -- but I think we may indoctrinate him with Puppy Bowl IV.
So, let us turn our attention to last night's main event. I am, of course, not talking about the Super Bowl. Given that my favorite sport to watch is Westminster Kennel Club (to play...Candlepin Bowling), it should come as no surprise that I speak of the most brilliant piece of counter-culture television on the planet.
I speak of Puppy Bowl III.
Most stations understand that they're hosed pretty much regardless of what they put on while the Super Bowl airs. However, while surfing for a distraction three years ago, my wife and I stumbled across this brilliant effort on the part of Animal Planet to embrace this fact, throw their production arms in the air and say, "screw it".
Yes, there is nothing like 3 hours of puppies flopping around a mock-football field to ease the soul. Over the last couple of years they've added a few elements for pizazz:
Bowl Cam. This element has been there from the beginning, offering dizzying shots of dogs tongues as they lap up water in the bowl. Of course, most of the dogs are also obsessed with the light coming from underneath the bowl's glass bottom, so they spend their time pawing the water trying to get at it.
Human Ref. The first year there was never any sign of humans -- with the exception of the occasional hand that could be seen pushing the puppies down the chute and into the field. The last two years have included a referee, who calls time out to refill the water dish. Thrilling.
Kitty Half-Time Show. Forget Prince -- or any concern for a "wardrobe malfunction". Kitten's frolicking on a mock-stage to techno music takes the cake. The excitement of watching cats lounge underneath a disco ball is of course heightened by the fake cheers that emanate from the thousands of fans painted on the walls.
Tail Gate Party Shorts. What's a game without shots of the fans watching with baited breath? These dogs clearly know how to party, and this addition to the broadcast gave the audience a chance to connect with the "average snoopy".
Instant Replay. Didn't catch Spike falling on top of Lucy? Missed Fido tossing that ball in the air and hitting Pudge on the face? No worries -- here it is again in slo-mo, with cheese-cloth effects to make the scene look dreamy!
Vampboy does not watch TV yet -- but I think we may indoctrinate him with Puppy Bowl IV.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Gloomy Monday
Well, we are back in the saddle of intensive-chemo hell today. It's been a long one, so let me simplify with "the list".
Into the White. The final days of chemo-free life included a return to form in Vampboy's eating. I'm proud to say my son enjoyed the typical cuisine of his age group -- entire plates of pasta and sauce (without the need to chew -- just swallow it whole!), banana bread with cream cheese (or more like, cream cheese with a little banana bread), sour cream (with a spoon), yogurt, and chips and salsa. Most of this all at once, by the way.
The Great Unknown. Today was started with our first trip for radiation therapy. After dealing with the bureaucracy of medical establishments, the efficiency of the radiology department was breathtaking. The smooth operation made the sheer terror we felt in this big step somewhat subside. Vampboy did okay, so we're off and running and hoping for the best.
Just breathe. Vampmommy's cousin is, as I type, in the midst of a double-lung transplant. Having a family member in the midst of such an intense medical drama on the same day as our beginning of "round two" made today a bit more difficult emotionally. We are certainly sharing the good energy that comes our way with him tonight.
The Sound of Silence. Vampboy is losing his hearing -- or at least some of it. This is largely due to a drug called Cisplatin. He will most likely need a hearing aid in at least one ear when this is over, and we are beginning speech therapy as soon as we can squeeze it in to take advantage of what remains of his hearing and keep him moving towards speaking in complete English instead of broken toddler-babble. His hearing may get worse, due to further Cisplatin doses over the next two cycles. But in the meantime, I'll make preparations by practicing charades, I guess.
There you have it. Let the games begin.
Into the White. The final days of chemo-free life included a return to form in Vampboy's eating. I'm proud to say my son enjoyed the typical cuisine of his age group -- entire plates of pasta and sauce (without the need to chew -- just swallow it whole!), banana bread with cream cheese (or more like, cream cheese with a little banana bread), sour cream (with a spoon), yogurt, and chips and salsa. Most of this all at once, by the way.
The Great Unknown. Today was started with our first trip for radiation therapy. After dealing with the bureaucracy of medical establishments, the efficiency of the radiology department was breathtaking. The smooth operation made the sheer terror we felt in this big step somewhat subside. Vampboy did okay, so we're off and running and hoping for the best.
Just breathe. Vampmommy's cousin is, as I type, in the midst of a double-lung transplant. Having a family member in the midst of such an intense medical drama on the same day as our beginning of "round two" made today a bit more difficult emotionally. We are certainly sharing the good energy that comes our way with him tonight.
The Sound of Silence. Vampboy is losing his hearing -- or at least some of it. This is largely due to a drug called Cisplatin. He will most likely need a hearing aid in at least one ear when this is over, and we are beginning speech therapy as soon as we can squeeze it in to take advantage of what remains of his hearing and keep him moving towards speaking in complete English instead of broken toddler-babble. His hearing may get worse, due to further Cisplatin doses over the next two cycles. But in the meantime, I'll make preparations by practicing charades, I guess.
There you have it. Let the games begin.
Monday, January 22, 2007
You Know who you are at Every Age
Well, it's birthday week in the Vamp household. Vampmommy celebrated her birthday with a little gathering on Saturday, even though her actual birthday isn't until Friday. That's "Return to the Hospital" day, so there won't be much celebrating to speak of.
In the meantime, my day is today, where I make the big transition to 35. Somewhere there's a form I'll have to fill out that will put me in another age category, and I don't think I fall into a subset any longer that considers me "a youth".
Ah, well -- as I start the day with Vampboy in my arms, desperately wanting to return to the banana bread awaiting his eager tummy in the kitchen, I thought I'd share with my readers my little ritual for this day - when I take a moment to listen to "Birthday" by the Sugarcubes. The video is a bit strange (it's Bjork, after all), but enjoy.
In the meantime, my day is today, where I make the big transition to 35. Somewhere there's a form I'll have to fill out that will put me in another age category, and I don't think I fall into a subset any longer that considers me "a youth".
Ah, well -- as I start the day with Vampboy in my arms, desperately wanting to return to the banana bread awaiting his eager tummy in the kitchen, I thought I'd share with my readers my little ritual for this day - when I take a moment to listen to "Birthday" by the Sugarcubes. The video is a bit strange (it's Bjork, after all), but enjoy.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
The Whole Price of Blood
There is, first and foremost, the cost to the body of the cancer patient. Scars, loss of hair, loss of hearing, loss of cognitive function, loss of weight. Damage both immediate and latent, both known and "yet to be seen".
But then there is the cost to those in the immediate ficinity -- family, loved ones. It's like the shockwave that rips the windows from homes miles away from a massive explosion. Crippling emotions that can be felt physically. Lack of sleep, lack of appetite -- lack, lack lack.
Then there is the ripple effect beyond that -- the plans laid waste, the perceived future that now sinks into darkness. The very nature of existence ripped from your world view, stomped on, and returned in pieces.
The cost comes in so many forms - physical, emotional, mental, financial.
How high a price can one be asked to pay?
If I haven't said it yet -- fuck you, cancer. Fuck you.
But then there is the cost to those in the immediate ficinity -- family, loved ones. It's like the shockwave that rips the windows from homes miles away from a massive explosion. Crippling emotions that can be felt physically. Lack of sleep, lack of appetite -- lack, lack lack.
Then there is the ripple effect beyond that -- the plans laid waste, the perceived future that now sinks into darkness. The very nature of existence ripped from your world view, stomped on, and returned in pieces.
The cost comes in so many forms - physical, emotional, mental, financial.
How high a price can one be asked to pay?
If I haven't said it yet -- fuck you, cancer. Fuck you.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Tiresias Speaks
During my days as a theatre student, I was a member of a comedy troupe on campus that did parodies of popular works of literature. Hamlet, the Bible, the stories of Edgar Allen Poe, all met the sword of our dark humor. Good times, indeed.
Our crowning performance, and one that I still have somewhere on video, was our version of Oedipus Rex. This is the classic Greek tragedy about the man who murders his father and marries his mother, pursuant to a prophecy that the father was told at his son's birth. While he does what he can, including leaving his son to die in the desert with his feet pinned together, it does not stop the series of events that were foretold. The son (Oedipus), after realizing what has happened, promptly expresses his shame by gouging his eyes out with curtain pins.
And, yes, our version of it was damn funny.
Anyway, the major theme behind the play is one of fate versus free will -- are we really masters of our own destiny, or are we flopping along like fish on the line of life, certain to act out whatever fate had been dealt us from some distant force? Complex concepts, do doubt -- but they are the ones that come up when you are faced with what we face.
Award shows (particularly the Grammy's for some reason) seem to be the perfect platform for even the most self-absorbed lunatic to credit God for the gift of the moment. As if the supreme being was sitting around one day and said, "You know what I need to do? I need to have that Lauren Hill lady make a killer record that sells like gangbusters!" Is it really that simple? Are our lives already laid out, and all we have to do is live them, and take the good and the bad as inevitable parts of who we are, what we were meant to do or learn? Or, is this all random chance, where some of us coast along while others get either the Grand Prize or the big bag of dog poo, each for no other reason than "because"?
We have had our meeting. We have heard once again about the tiny points of radioactive beams that doctors want to pass through my son's brain, into the space where his tumor was. We have understood that Vampboy will most likely die without this in his treatment. We have heard that he will have cognitive delays, which could range from the simple learning disability, all the way to being unable to live independently (the latter does not seems to be playing out as a possible result of this treatment according to the experts, due to the small size of the tumor site along with the low radiation dose. But, like any rare side effect, it's their job to make sure we're informed). The medical team has begun setting up appointments and tests to prepare for the 6 weeks of radiation treatment, while we contemplate the desire to continue.
But, is it really our decision to make? Forget the fact that the treatment team is in agreement that it makes sense, and that they think the risks are worth it. Forget that, given the likely scenario if we don't, we don't actually have a choice here. The reality is, if we believe that things happen for a reason, whatever decision we make is the decision we are supposed to make. The burden of second-guessing ourselves for eternity is lifted by the mere fact that we are doing what we are supposed to be doing.
Liberating, definitely -- a psychological construct to prevent us from going insane, perhaps -- but nevertheless we have "decided" to proceed with radiation therapy for Vampboy. It will start at the end of January, and go until March. It will also add 6 weeks to his treatment, meaning that our August end-date will be moved to September/October. It will make our sick little one that much sicker, and two tired parents even more spent.
Whatever road we are on, let us hope that our destiny ends more on the comedy than tragedy side.
Our crowning performance, and one that I still have somewhere on video, was our version of Oedipus Rex. This is the classic Greek tragedy about the man who murders his father and marries his mother, pursuant to a prophecy that the father was told at his son's birth. While he does what he can, including leaving his son to die in the desert with his feet pinned together, it does not stop the series of events that were foretold. The son (Oedipus), after realizing what has happened, promptly expresses his shame by gouging his eyes out with curtain pins.
And, yes, our version of it was damn funny.
Anyway, the major theme behind the play is one of fate versus free will -- are we really masters of our own destiny, or are we flopping along like fish on the line of life, certain to act out whatever fate had been dealt us from some distant force? Complex concepts, do doubt -- but they are the ones that come up when you are faced with what we face.
Award shows (particularly the Grammy's for some reason) seem to be the perfect platform for even the most self-absorbed lunatic to credit God for the gift of the moment. As if the supreme being was sitting around one day and said, "You know what I need to do? I need to have that Lauren Hill lady make a killer record that sells like gangbusters!" Is it really that simple? Are our lives already laid out, and all we have to do is live them, and take the good and the bad as inevitable parts of who we are, what we were meant to do or learn? Or, is this all random chance, where some of us coast along while others get either the Grand Prize or the big bag of dog poo, each for no other reason than "because"?
We have had our meeting. We have heard once again about the tiny points of radioactive beams that doctors want to pass through my son's brain, into the space where his tumor was. We have understood that Vampboy will most likely die without this in his treatment. We have heard that he will have cognitive delays, which could range from the simple learning disability, all the way to being unable to live independently (the latter does not seems to be playing out as a possible result of this treatment according to the experts, due to the small size of the tumor site along with the low radiation dose. But, like any rare side effect, it's their job to make sure we're informed). The medical team has begun setting up appointments and tests to prepare for the 6 weeks of radiation treatment, while we contemplate the desire to continue.
But, is it really our decision to make? Forget the fact that the treatment team is in agreement that it makes sense, and that they think the risks are worth it. Forget that, given the likely scenario if we don't, we don't actually have a choice here. The reality is, if we believe that things happen for a reason, whatever decision we make is the decision we are supposed to make. The burden of second-guessing ourselves for eternity is lifted by the mere fact that we are doing what we are supposed to be doing.
Liberating, definitely -- a psychological construct to prevent us from going insane, perhaps -- but nevertheless we have "decided" to proceed with radiation therapy for Vampboy. It will start at the end of January, and go until March. It will also add 6 weeks to his treatment, meaning that our August end-date will be moved to September/October. It will make our sick little one that much sicker, and two tired parents even more spent.
Whatever road we are on, let us hope that our destiny ends more on the comedy than tragedy side.
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