my jaundiced eye

the absurdities of life

Category: cancer

the waiting game

the waiting game

Sorry, loyal readers for keeping you hanging so long since my last post. MJE is stuck up the River Styx without a paddle just waiting to see which way the current takes her. Obviously it’s a one way journey for us all but I’m wondering whether I should pack heavy or light. Obviously spring cruise casual is suggested.

The OB&C continues to be plagued by his hysterical hernia. Persuaded his doc here to take blood samples and prescribe a CAT scan, both of which showed that his hernia is probably situated in his prefrontal cortex. But never one to relinquish an ailment he is flying back to NO for appointments with a urologist and his surgeon. FYI, if medicare goes broke you know who to blame.

Two doc appointments this week for MJE, one Monday with Dr. Mackie “the knife” and one Friday with the oncologist Dr. Cha Cha Chahin. Friday is the kicker, it’ll tell whether I’ll get the drip and zap or just the zap. I’ve banked on the latter and scheduled a hair appointment in ATL for Saturday (and a rez at the Ritz Carlton to soothe my weary soul) with my hairdresser Monsieur Pascal le Rascal. If it’s the former I’ll cancel it, ain’t no use spending good money on something that’s going to clog my shower drain in a month. Instead I’ll head over to the Talk of the Town barber on Hwy 170 armed with champagne and my posse and leave it all on their floor to clean up.




Well loyal readers MJE is back in the saddle, or on the barstool, after a brief roll through the operating room this morning. In less time than it takes to have your tires balanced and rotated I was relieved of one tumor and one lymph node. I was escorted into the surgery wing by Nurse No Nonsense who ordered the requisite strip down and issued me regulation socks and inflatable calf massagers.(!) Off with even my brand new fluorescent pink and turquoise underpants purchased just for the occasion. Then William the Irradiator arrived to pump me full of radioactive isotopes (felt like springtime in Nagasaki). Next up Dr. Nirvana the anesthesiologist. Out came the bad life style choice checklist, again. The hooch habit question was met with a resounding “Yes indeed, as much as possible.” I then relayed the fact that I hail from New Orleans and he nodded knowingly and said, “Got it, went to Tulane Med School” and moved right along. Then Dr. Mackie “the Knife” arrived and we were off to the races. Two minutes later I was headed for planet Percocet and beyond and woke up a couple of hours later to find myself half a six shooter short and bound up like a china doll in 1920’s Shanghai.

Made it home, Percocet in hand and headed for bed. The OB&C was wolfing down some BiLO sushi when I heard him bellow my name. Apparently a friend was at the door bearing gifts but the attack hernia had struck mid-California roll and he couldn’t move. Well neither could I so he had to waddle to the door, pants mid thigh. God help the person on the other side, that’s an image not easily erased, or explained. He then promptly took to the bed where’s he’s been ever since.

But several days ago, upon the advice of Dr. Susan Love in her opus magnum, The Big Breast Book, I learned that I would need a special post-surgery brassiere. After an exhaustive search I chanced upon the “Brunhilde.” at the Hanes foundations outlet store. Tipping the scales at about two pounds and larger than a fox terrier, it provides more support than an iron lung. Watch out kids, MJE is riding with the Valkyries now!

it’s all in the book

it's all in the book

The other night the OB&C and I were having dinner and I was having a bit of a sinking spell, as me ole mudda used to say. He assumed a peckish tone and asked why I was so goddam moody. I suggested he might like to leaf through the informative book that Nurse Navigator had given me, Breast Cancer is a Bitch and No One Wants to Hear About Yours which might enlighten him about what might be going on, breast wise and otherwise. He immediately shot back in a highly defensive manner “Well, YOU never read the book regarding MY recent extremely debilitating medical ordeal, The Heartbreak of Hernia Repair.” He got me there. The poor sod hadn’t even had a nurse navigator to get him through the ordeal of having to be driven to and from the out patient surgery center, helped up the apartment steps, into his jams and into bed and then play step and fetch it for an interminable period of time. Nor to lend a sympathetic ear to his weeks-long complaints that the doctor hadn’t done a damned thing, it hurt worse than before, he could still feel it (that also required a sympathetic eye as he poked and prodded his nether region on a continual basis), and he’d almost certainly need another (traumatic) surgery to finally get it right.

I guess MJE and the OB&C could both take a few lessons in being “mindful” of one another’s suffering.