Greetings, friends and family,
I'm going to try to make this short, sweet and to the point. But you know me and my brevity-challenged writing skills, so let's see how we do.
Vic is still alive.
Repeat: Vic is still alive.
I have so many things I could say, so many details I could add, but Vic. Is still. Alive.
I want to tell you about my time turner necklace and what Vic said when he gave it to me. I want to show you pictures of Vic before and after the surgery. I want to respond personally to each and every one of you who sent well wishes for the surgery and my birthday—I have read them all. Many of them touched me, many of them made me laugh, and the sheer number of them told me how much I am (we are) loved.
But right now, I just want to take my shower and go to the hospital. So suffice it to say this: The surgery went well. The doctor did everything he wanted to do successfully. He is cautiously optimistic about it. Vic's creatinine level was at its lowest since he went into the hospital (that's the level that worries doctors about the kidney—just the one). It was 1.8, down from 3; 2 is generally when they let you go home from the hospital. So, yea! I haven't heard about the liver enzymes, but I'm hoping to hear more of that today. When I got to see him after the surgery, he was (shocker) joking with the nurses and being his regular snarky self.
And yes, this is all great news—but do please take it with a grain of salt. His heart is still very weak. His organs have taken a beating. The surgery, while successfully executed, may still not solve the V-tach problem. These are all things we will find out in the coming days and weeks. So just keep doing what you're doing—those wishes and vibes and positive/healing energies and prayers and good thoughts seem to be doing the trick.
There is what I consider to be a slim chance that he will go home today. Slightly more likely that he'll go home tomorrow. I expect they'll want to keep him over the weekend and he will go home Monday. And whenever it is, I'll take it.
To those of you who read the last blog post—the whole freaking thing—I loved how you wore it like a badge of honor. "Hey, I made it through the whole thing. All the way to the bottom. And I wasn't even in the bathroom." I hope you're not disappointed by the length (or lack thereof) of this entry. I will provide a more detailed review later tonight, after I pick up Wags. Unless Vic comes home. And then you'll get it tomorrow. :-)
I also apologize to everyone that this blog post wasn't as humorous as others. I know you've come to accept a certain level of hilarity from me. Consider this blog post the storyline on Friends where Joey and Rachel dated. Not funny, guys. Ross is Rachel's lobster.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
STILL not dead! Midyear health update
Dear loyal readers,
It's been awhile since I let everyone know what's going on, so I'll start with the latest news for those of you who work for a living and just want the highlights, and then I'll do a little "how we got to here" for those of you who can't sleep or are in the bathroom and need something to read. Or for the two or three of you who are detail geeks. Trust me, if I hadn't written it, I wouldn't have made it to the end, so no judgment.
So first, the latest news: Vic is having surgery tomorrow (Wednesday, for those of you who aren't reading this on Tuesday). It's an ablation, where they go in and, like, scrape the scar tissue out of your heart. Egads. They'll also be adding a third wire to his defibrillator, which will turn it into a pacemaker that will pace his heart full time rather than just when his heart decides to misbehave. We are fine. He is a little anxious about the surgery (who isn't?), bored with being in the hospital (even though he has every iDevice known to man, five streaming services and free WiFi) and tired of being a lab rat (see below). As for me, I come from sturdy pioneer stock. And besides, I have to be fine. What other option is there? Worrying does nothing. I can't do the surgery. I can't change the outcome. We have done everything we can to make it better. I'm not in denial. I know the risks. I know what can happen. I choose not to dwell on them. The power of positive thinking and all that. Okay? Okay. (If you haven't read The Fault in Our Stars, that will be meaningless to you.)
And second, how did we get to here? Well, if you don't know about his heart problems, you can read all about them here:
Death: The Prequel: A stirring rendition of Vic's near-death experience in 2010.
Death: The Sequel: A stirring rendition of the first time Vic's defibrillator went off.
Still not dead! But also not driving.: A stirring rendition of when Vic passed out at the Safeway and had his first ablation.
I wouldn't, but then I wrote them so I don't have to.
Caught up now? Great.
So, after the first ablation, everything seemed to be going fine. Then we went for the first follow-up visit in February, and he was feeling pretty funky on that day. Turns out he had, like, seven instances of ventricular tachycardia (V-tach) in, like, the hour after we left the house to go to the appointment. His doctor wanted him to check into the hospital immediately, but he (the doctor) eventually decided it would be OK if he (Vic) just upped the dosage of this drug he was taking, amiodarone, from 200 mg to 800 mg.
Vic did not want to do this. He was not particularly fond of the drug because it was making him extremely sensitive to light and had a lot of side effects, such as damage to the liver and lungs. (But not the kidney. And this is important because—say it with me—he only has just the one.) But it was that or check into the hospital, so he went with the increased dosage. He did that for a week and had no V-tach incidents, so the doctor reduced the dosage to 400 mg. Still higher than anyone likes, but the lower dosage lowers the risks.
After that, he didn't have any V-tachs, but he was dizzy a lot and often felt like he was going to pass out. Then one day he did.
He was just taking our bird feeders out and BLAMMO. Fell face first into our rock lawn.
But when we went to the doctor's office, they hadn't registered a V-tach incident. So now he seemed to be passing out for no reason whatsoever. They adjusted some medications and reduced the monitoring device to a lower level. (He has a device that transmits data from his defibrillator if he has a heart event that occurs at a certain threshold--for example, if his heart has an event where it's beating at 140 beats per minute, that would register. 139 BPM would not. After the reset, it was registering anything 120 BPM and above.)
Still no incidents of V-tach, but still feeling dizzy. So the doctors tinker with his medications some more and decide, while we're at it, we should get a blood test.
So we go in on Monday the [whatever date it was]. Monday afternoon, the doctor calls and says "YOUR LIVER ENZYMES ARE THREE TIMES NORMAL. Don't panic, but STOP TAKING THE AMIODARONE IMMEDIATELY." (Emphasis mine.) And we went in to see the doctor the next day.
There were a lot of options at this point:
Last Thursday (June 11), Vic sends me an instant message (because I'm at work). He passed out again that morning (this time in our driveway, damage not as significant as the face plant in the rocks), and the doctor said Vic had been having a lot of V-tachs. 25 in the previous 24 hours, in fact. The doctor called it a V-tach storm. He wanted to schedule the ablation for June 17. Vic said, "Oh, I can't do it on June 17. That's Patty's birthday." He tells me this. I tell him, in a tone that I'm sure came across on IM, "Oh, you call that doctor back RIGHT NOW and tell him you'll take the June 17 slot." Vic says, "Oh, but I don't want to ruin your birthday." I say, "OK, imagine this. I take off for my birthday. We have a perfect day. Yummy dinner, fresh air, cake, presents. The next day YOU DIE BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE SURGERY ON MY BIRTHDAY. DO YOU THINK THAT WOULD RUIN MY BIRTHDAY? HMMM? DO YOU???" He says, "OK. I'll reschedule."
Then he calls me a half-hour later and tells me the doctor wants him to check in to the hospital that day so they can monitor him before the surgery. This delights him (not). Meanwhile, I'm at work with no way home. (Because I take the bus. I can get a bus at 11 that will get me home at 1. This seems a little to late.) Fortunately, a few months ago, my boss made me promise (we did a pinky swear) that if I ever needed a ride home for just such an emergency, I would tell her and she would take me home. Which she did. (Awesome boss. I know—you're jealous. Suck it.)
So Vic has been in the hospital since last Thursday. He loves it there. LOVES it. Because he doesn't feel sick. In fact, he never really has. Oh, sure, the dizziness. And some general feelings of gunkiness (it's a medical term; look it up). But he's taken Wags on their walk every day, and he even cleaned the house the morning he went to the hospital ("I didn't want you to be alone in a dirty house," he said). We used to describe his condition thusly:
Since he's been in the hospital, they've tried myriad things (not "a myriad of"—that's just wrong):
But I have faith in our doctors. The primary doctor, Dr. Oza, is coordinating with Vic's primary heart doctor, Dr. Reynolds, and one of the other doctors in his practice, Dr. White—both of whom Vic has been seeing for 10 years. They've been managing his condition very well—it's only been recently that things started acting up. He's also working closely with Vic's nephrologist (kidney doctor) to make sure that one kidney stays healthy. Today he asked for a consult with a gastroenterologist, who really helped us put the liver thing in perspective—Vic's enzymes are high (in the 300s), but similar patients in similar situations have had enzymes in the 1000s. And yes, the surgery (and anesthesia) will be hard on the liver, but he is convinced that the V-tachs are causing most of the damage—not the drugs. Fix the heart, you fix the liver. And he himself is coordinating with his partner of 30 years, one of the senior staff members at the University of Michigan Medical School. No one is sitting in a room with a slot machine saying "What should we try next. Come on, lucky number 7!"
Also, the nurses and nurses aides love Dr. Oza. Patient reviews can tell you how much patients liked the doctor and how the doctor made them feel and even whether they had good outcomes. But nurses and aides know things patients don't. I trust the nursing staff.
Finally, Dr. Oza has been very open about treatments and the options we have (other than driving—don't ask), he's conservative (but aggressive when he needs to be). He gave up his weekend plans last weekend to check in on Vic every day. He takes the time to explain things to us even when we know he doesn't have the time. It took me awhile to warm to him, but I now have complete confidence in him. I know he will take care of my husband and give us many more years together.
So that's our story. I did not do a spell check, nor did I reread for any grammar errors. If you find any, do not point them out or I will unfriend you.
And no, I do not need anything. Waggy is in doggie daycare until Thursday, the house is clean (thanks to Vic), the yard has been weeded (thanks to my brother-in-law and my nephew), and the trash has been taken out (thanks again to my nephew, who also cleaned my kitchen, if you must know). I have a book and my crochet to keep my head and hands busy tomorrow, and I have promises of baby pictures being texted to me. (I also take dog and cat pictures and, who am I kidding, anything that's cute.)
Who made it all the way to the bottom? You? Then you are an amazing friend. Or maybe you were just in the bathroom for a really long time. I hope you're feeling better.
Let me leave you with a video of Vic and Wags taken at the hospital on Sunday. Wags was very happy to see her dad, as you can see.
(You probably won't be able to see the video on your mobile device. Check it out on your desktop or laptop.)
It's been awhile since I let everyone know what's going on, so I'll start with the latest news for those of you who work for a living and just want the highlights, and then I'll do a little "how we got to here" for those of you who can't sleep or are in the bathroom and need something to read. Or for the two or three of you who are detail geeks. Trust me, if I hadn't written it, I wouldn't have made it to the end, so no judgment.
So first, the latest news: Vic is having surgery tomorrow (Wednesday, for those of you who aren't reading this on Tuesday). It's an ablation, where they go in and, like, scrape the scar tissue out of your heart. Egads. They'll also be adding a third wire to his defibrillator, which will turn it into a pacemaker that will pace his heart full time rather than just when his heart decides to misbehave. We are fine. He is a little anxious about the surgery (who isn't?), bored with being in the hospital (even though he has every iDevice known to man, five streaming services and free WiFi) and tired of being a lab rat (see below). As for me, I come from sturdy pioneer stock. And besides, I have to be fine. What other option is there? Worrying does nothing. I can't do the surgery. I can't change the outcome. We have done everything we can to make it better. I'm not in denial. I know the risks. I know what can happen. I choose not to dwell on them. The power of positive thinking and all that. Okay? Okay. (If you haven't read The Fault in Our Stars, that will be meaningless to you.)
And second, how did we get to here? Well, if you don't know about his heart problems, you can read all about them here:
Death: The Prequel: A stirring rendition of Vic's near-death experience in 2010.
Death: The Sequel: A stirring rendition of the first time Vic's defibrillator went off.
Still not dead! But also not driving.: A stirring rendition of when Vic passed out at the Safeway and had his first ablation.
I wouldn't, but then I wrote them so I don't have to.
Caught up now? Great.
So, after the first ablation, everything seemed to be going fine. Then we went for the first follow-up visit in February, and he was feeling pretty funky on that day. Turns out he had, like, seven instances of ventricular tachycardia (V-tach) in, like, the hour after we left the house to go to the appointment. His doctor wanted him to check into the hospital immediately, but he (the doctor) eventually decided it would be OK if he (Vic) just upped the dosage of this drug he was taking, amiodarone, from 200 mg to 800 mg.
Vic did not want to do this. He was not particularly fond of the drug because it was making him extremely sensitive to light and had a lot of side effects, such as damage to the liver and lungs. (But not the kidney. And this is important because—say it with me—he only has just the one.) But it was that or check into the hospital, so he went with the increased dosage. He did that for a week and had no V-tach incidents, so the doctor reduced the dosage to 400 mg. Still higher than anyone likes, but the lower dosage lowers the risks.
After that, he didn't have any V-tachs, but he was dizzy a lot and often felt like he was going to pass out. Then one day he did.
He was just taking our bird feeders out and BLAMMO. Fell face first into our rock lawn.
But when we went to the doctor's office, they hadn't registered a V-tach incident. So now he seemed to be passing out for no reason whatsoever. They adjusted some medications and reduced the monitoring device to a lower level. (He has a device that transmits data from his defibrillator if he has a heart event that occurs at a certain threshold--for example, if his heart has an event where it's beating at 140 beats per minute, that would register. 139 BPM would not. After the reset, it was registering anything 120 BPM and above.)
Still no incidents of V-tach, but still feeling dizzy. So the doctors tinker with his medications some more and decide, while we're at it, we should get a blood test.
So we go in on Monday the [whatever date it was]. Monday afternoon, the doctor calls and says "YOUR LIVER ENZYMES ARE THREE TIMES NORMAL. Don't panic, but STOP TAKING THE AMIODARONE IMMEDIATELY." (Emphasis mine.) And we went in to see the doctor the next day.
There were a lot of options at this point:
- Get another ablation (on the last ablation, the doctor stopped short of getting this one big piece because (a) he'd been operating for six hours already, and (b) it would leave Vic dependent on a pacemaker, which Vic did not want at the time but has warmed to since)
- Put another lead into his heart (his defibrillator has two wires [leads] that go into different chambers of his heart; they could add another lead to go into another chamber—and this would also make the device a pacemaker)
- Do both
- Try other drugs
Last Thursday (June 11), Vic sends me an instant message (because I'm at work). He passed out again that morning (this time in our driveway, damage not as significant as the face plant in the rocks), and the doctor said Vic had been having a lot of V-tachs. 25 in the previous 24 hours, in fact. The doctor called it a V-tach storm. He wanted to schedule the ablation for June 17. Vic said, "Oh, I can't do it on June 17. That's Patty's birthday." He tells me this. I tell him, in a tone that I'm sure came across on IM, "Oh, you call that doctor back RIGHT NOW and tell him you'll take the June 17 slot." Vic says, "Oh, but I don't want to ruin your birthday." I say, "OK, imagine this. I take off for my birthday. We have a perfect day. Yummy dinner, fresh air, cake, presents. The next day YOU DIE BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE SURGERY ON MY BIRTHDAY. DO YOU THINK THAT WOULD RUIN MY BIRTHDAY? HMMM? DO YOU???" He says, "OK. I'll reschedule."
Then he calls me a half-hour later and tells me the doctor wants him to check in to the hospital that day so they can monitor him before the surgery. This delights him (not). Meanwhile, I'm at work with no way home. (Because I take the bus. I can get a bus at 11 that will get me home at 1. This seems a little to late.) Fortunately, a few months ago, my boss made me promise (we did a pinky swear) that if I ever needed a ride home for just such an emergency, I would tell her and she would take me home. Which she did. (Awesome boss. I know—you're jealous. Suck it.)
So Vic has been in the hospital since last Thursday. He loves it there. LOVES it. Because he doesn't feel sick. In fact, he never really has. Oh, sure, the dizziness. And some general feelings of gunkiness (it's a medical term; look it up). But he's taken Wags on their walk every day, and he even cleaned the house the morning he went to the hospital ("I didn't want you to be alone in a dirty house," he said). We used to describe his condition thusly:
- Me: In between dying, he's fine.
- Him: I'm fine. Until I'm not.
Since he's been in the hospital, they've tried myriad things (not "a myriad of"—that's just wrong):
- Heart doctor: Let's do the ablation tomorrow. Or just the third wire. Or maybe change his drug. Or maybe do one of the surgeries Monday. [We end up deciding on the drug, sotalol.]
- Kidney doctor: No, that's hard on the kidneys. Kidney. Let's give him a lidocaine drip.
- Heart doctor: He's doing better. Let's send him home tomorrow.
- Kidney doctor: Hey, his creatinine level (it's something that tells you how the kidney is functioning—just go with it) is 3.0 (a "good" level is 1, but they're happy with 2). Let's give him a saline drip. And don't send him home.
- Heart doctor: Hey, his creatinine levels are better, but his liver enzymes are high. Let's give him a different drug. And schedule some surgery for Wednesday. Not sure which one yet.
- Heart doctor: Shoot, his defibrillator went off yesterday. We need to shit or get off the pot. (These are the only words in this tale that actually came from the doctor's mouth.) Let's do both surgeries on Wednesday. And then let's keep him here the rest of the week.
But I have faith in our doctors. The primary doctor, Dr. Oza, is coordinating with Vic's primary heart doctor, Dr. Reynolds, and one of the other doctors in his practice, Dr. White—both of whom Vic has been seeing for 10 years. They've been managing his condition very well—it's only been recently that things started acting up. He's also working closely with Vic's nephrologist (kidney doctor) to make sure that one kidney stays healthy. Today he asked for a consult with a gastroenterologist, who really helped us put the liver thing in perspective—Vic's enzymes are high (in the 300s), but similar patients in similar situations have had enzymes in the 1000s. And yes, the surgery (and anesthesia) will be hard on the liver, but he is convinced that the V-tachs are causing most of the damage—not the drugs. Fix the heart, you fix the liver. And he himself is coordinating with his partner of 30 years, one of the senior staff members at the University of Michigan Medical School. No one is sitting in a room with a slot machine saying "What should we try next. Come on, lucky number 7!"
Also, the nurses and nurses aides love Dr. Oza. Patient reviews can tell you how much patients liked the doctor and how the doctor made them feel and even whether they had good outcomes. But nurses and aides know things patients don't. I trust the nursing staff.
Finally, Dr. Oza has been very open about treatments and the options we have (other than driving—don't ask), he's conservative (but aggressive when he needs to be). He gave up his weekend plans last weekend to check in on Vic every day. He takes the time to explain things to us even when we know he doesn't have the time. It took me awhile to warm to him, but I now have complete confidence in him. I know he will take care of my husband and give us many more years together.
So that's our story. I did not do a spell check, nor did I reread for any grammar errors. If you find any, do not point them out or I will unfriend you.
And no, I do not need anything. Waggy is in doggie daycare until Thursday, the house is clean (thanks to Vic), the yard has been weeded (thanks to my brother-in-law and my nephew), and the trash has been taken out (thanks again to my nephew, who also cleaned my kitchen, if you must know). I have a book and my crochet to keep my head and hands busy tomorrow, and I have promises of baby pictures being texted to me. (I also take dog and cat pictures and, who am I kidding, anything that's cute.)
Who made it all the way to the bottom? You? Then you are an amazing friend. Or maybe you were just in the bathroom for a really long time. I hope you're feeling better.
Let me leave you with a video of Vic and Wags taken at the hospital on Sunday. Wags was very happy to see her dad, as you can see.
(You probably won't be able to see the video on your mobile device. Check it out on your desktop or laptop.)
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Still not dead! But also not driving.
OK, so, those of you who are loyal readers of this blog will know that about six months ago, Vic didn't die.
Oh, you don't remember that? Read all about it here:
Death: The Sequel
Did you read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.
OK. So. Now you know he used his defibrillator. Which we hoped he never would.
Since then, he and his doctors had adjusted his medications a few times, and while the pacemaker part of the defibrillator device paced him out of a few incidents, the defibrillator did not go off.
And it still hasn't. But.
A week ago (December 4, to be precise—which I am just now realizing is exactly seven months to the day after his defibrillator actually went off), he was—well, shoot, let him tell it:
So he went to the doctor on Thursday. The doctor wants to try this "ablation" surgery, where he'll go into the heart and try to scrape it out in case there is something going on in there that's causing the heart to go wacky. (That is the technical term. I can use it because I watch Grey's Anatomy.) But regardless of how that surgery comes out, the doctor ordered him not to drive for six months. "If it were me," he said, "I would stop driving altogether." Yeah. I'll bet you would.
As Lewis Black would say (TV-MA: language):
Oh, you don't remember that? Read all about it here:
Death: The Sequel
Did you read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.
OK. So. Now you know he used his defibrillator. Which we hoped he never would.
Since then, he and his doctors had adjusted his medications a few times, and while the pacemaker part of the defibrillator device paced him out of a few incidents, the defibrillator did not go off.
And it still hasn't. But.
A week ago (December 4, to be precise—which I am just now realizing is exactly seven months to the day after his defibrillator actually went off), he was—well, shoot, let him tell it:
So he went to the doctor on Thursday. The doctor wants to try this "ablation" surgery, where he'll go into the heart and try to scrape it out in case there is something going on in there that's causing the heart to go wacky. (That is the technical term. I can use it because I watch Grey's Anatomy.) But regardless of how that surgery comes out, the doctor ordered him not to drive for six months. "If it were me," he said, "I would stop driving altogether." Yeah. I'll bet you would.
As Lewis Black would say (TV-MA: language):
Apparently this video is not viewable on mobile
devices. Sign on to a laptop or a desktop to watch.
Or just imagine a bobble-headed Lewis Black
saying "Go fuck yourself," and you have the jist.
So Vic will no longer be driving, at least for the time being. He is exploring some alternatives. Bikes, scooters (he really wants a Vespa), a Segway (as-if). There's even a cute little bike car called an ELF. That's what I want him to get. Because it's so cute!
So that's Vic's newest health news. If you see him walking, biking or ELFing around Longmont, don't honk your horn. It'll scare the crap out of him.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Death: The Sequel
Those of you who were loyal readers of The Cancer Blog during Vic's cancer experience may remember that the year before the cancer experience, he died.
Oh, you don't remember that? Read all about it here:
Death: The Prequel
Did you read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.
OK. So. Now you know he has a defibrillator. Which we hoped he would never use.
Wellllllllll, he used it.
On Sunday, he went out to do some watering. He began to feel a little dizzy—nothing new; he feels dizzy from time to time, like when he stands up fast or whatever—and then BAM! He felt like something punched him in the chest. "Weird," he thought. And then 10 second later, "Hey, I think my defibrillator shocked me!"
He came upstairs and told me his defibrillator shocked him, and I went into Grey's Anatomy mode, asking diagnostic questions that basically led us nowhere. Not knowing exactly what to do, I googled it. Because the Internet is nothing if not a repository for every useless fact you might ever want to know with no idea whether anything is true. And All-Knowing Google said to call the doctor, which we did.
The on-call doctor called back and, after ascertaining that Vic wasn't dead or (apparently) dying, he said to go to the emergency room. And that since the defibrillator went off, he wouldn't be able to drive for six months. Vic was unconcerned about going to the emergency room, but he let fly a string of expletives about the thought of not driving for six months.
Mary the nurse checked us in at the ER. She was very nice. She got Vic all set up on the machine that checks vital signs and then did an electrocardiogram (ECG, or if you watched Emergency! when you were younger, EKG). She showed it to the ER doc, who said someone from Biotronic, the company that makes the device, needed to come in and take a look at it. The Biotronic person lives in Lafayette (we were in Boulder), so we expected her in a half-hour or so.
A half-hour later, Mary Anne, the new nurse, came in to tell us she had taken over for Mary. A half-hour after that, nothing happened. A half-hour after that, nothing happened. A half-hour after that (this is now two hours for those of you who are math challenged), Mary Anne said the Biotronic person was five minutes away. Fifteen minutes later, she showed up. She did her device magic and determined that Vic had had a ventricular tachycardia (V-tach) episode. Without a defibrillator, this probably would have killed him.
Then she said that not only had he had this V-tach episode, but over the past month, he had had several V-tach episodes and some atrial fibrillation (A-fib) episodes as well! In some cases, they resolved on their own. In other cases, the pacemaker "paced" him out of the irregular rhythm. Until the last episode, when the defibrillator did its job.
"Congratulations," she said, "you just bought yourself a night in the hospital."
Mary Beth, from the hospital pharmacy, came in to find out what medications he would need. Apparently, you can't throw a bandage in the Boulder hospital without hitting someone named Mary.
At this point, we had been away from Wags for four hours. She is not used to being alone for long periods of time because Vic is usually home, so he was getting worried about her. She hadn't eaten before we left, and four hours is a long time to go without peeing. He said the best way I could take care of him was to take care of Wags, so I went home.
Wags was not happy that Vic did not come home with me. She stood in the garage for several minutes, apparently thinking that he was hiding. She finally decided to come inside, disappointed and depressed.
Although it's not really like me, let me make a long story short: Vic is fine. He came home from the hospital on Monday, and his doctor is adjusting his medication to prevent the recurrence of the V-tach incident. But the best news of all? NO RESTRICTIONS! So if you see Vic motoring around Longmont, it's OK. ;-)
Oh, you don't remember that? Read all about it here:
Death: The Prequel
Did you read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.
OK. So. Now you know he has a defibrillator. Which we hoped he would never use.
Wellllllllll, he used it.
On Sunday, he went out to do some watering. He began to feel a little dizzy—nothing new; he feels dizzy from time to time, like when he stands up fast or whatever—and then BAM! He felt like something punched him in the chest. "Weird," he thought. And then 10 second later, "Hey, I think my defibrillator shocked me!"
He came upstairs and told me his defibrillator shocked him, and I went into Grey's Anatomy mode, asking diagnostic questions that basically led us nowhere. Not knowing exactly what to do, I googled it. Because the Internet is nothing if not a repository for every useless fact you might ever want to know with no idea whether anything is true. And All-Knowing Google said to call the doctor, which we did.
The on-call doctor called back and, after ascertaining that Vic wasn't dead or (apparently) dying, he said to go to the emergency room. And that since the defibrillator went off, he wouldn't be able to drive for six months. Vic was unconcerned about going to the emergency room, but he let fly a string of expletives about the thought of not driving for six months.
Mary the nurse checked us in at the ER. She was very nice. She got Vic all set up on the machine that checks vital signs and then did an electrocardiogram (ECG, or if you watched Emergency! when you were younger, EKG). She showed it to the ER doc, who said someone from Biotronic, the company that makes the device, needed to come in and take a look at it. The Biotronic person lives in Lafayette (we were in Boulder), so we expected her in a half-hour or so.
A half-hour later, Mary Anne, the new nurse, came in to tell us she had taken over for Mary. A half-hour after that, nothing happened. A half-hour after that, nothing happened. A half-hour after that (this is now two hours for those of you who are math challenged), Mary Anne said the Biotronic person was five minutes away. Fifteen minutes later, she showed up. She did her device magic and determined that Vic had had a ventricular tachycardia (V-tach) episode. Without a defibrillator, this probably would have killed him.
Then she said that not only had he had this V-tach episode, but over the past month, he had had several V-tach episodes and some atrial fibrillation (A-fib) episodes as well! In some cases, they resolved on their own. In other cases, the pacemaker "paced" him out of the irregular rhythm. Until the last episode, when the defibrillator did its job.
"Congratulations," she said, "you just bought yourself a night in the hospital."
Mary Beth, from the hospital pharmacy, came in to find out what medications he would need. Apparently, you can't throw a bandage in the Boulder hospital without hitting someone named Mary.
At this point, we had been away from Wags for four hours. She is not used to being alone for long periods of time because Vic is usually home, so he was getting worried about her. She hadn't eaten before we left, and four hours is a long time to go without peeing. He said the best way I could take care of him was to take care of Wags, so I went home.
Wags was not happy that Vic did not come home with me. She stood in the garage for several minutes, apparently thinking that he was hiding. She finally decided to come inside, disappointed and depressed.
Although it's not really like me, let me make a long story short: Vic is fine. He came home from the hospital on Monday, and his doctor is adjusting his medication to prevent the recurrence of the V-tach incident. But the best news of all? NO RESTRICTIONS! So if you see Vic motoring around Longmont, it's OK. ;-)
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Still cancer free!
Vic had his third follow-up PET scan in mid-December. We went to the doctor's office the following Friday, where she gave us the good news that Vic is still cancer free. 100 percent. It was truly our best Christmas present and is once again allowing us to rest a little more easily.
Also, Vic recently found his stash of cards that people sent to him during his treatment and wanted me to let you know that he really appreciated them. Going through them again made him remember how much your support helped him get through his ordeal.
Also, Vic recently found his stash of cards that people sent to him during his treatment and wanted me to let you know that he really appreciated them. Going through them again made him remember how much your support helped him get through his ordeal.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Good-bye Feeding Tube; Hello Freedom
Well, it's official. The last week in March, Vic got his feeding tube out. It was a question mark right up until the very end, because the first week on no cans went really well, and then we got the flu and were laid up for about a week. During that time, he lost about five pounds. On a frame that didn't have five pounds to spare. And in a week during which he wasn't supposed to lose any weight.
Fortunately, the doctor understood and said it was OK to get the tube out, and Vic has since regained the weight he lost to the flu.
I know everyone wants to know what the tube looked like, and what Vic looks like now without the tube. ;-) So here are a few pictures.
This is the tube:
Apparently, it was all curled up inside his tummy. So they cut it off on the outside, which makes it uncurl on the inside, and poof! You just pull it out. He didn't even have to leave the room. I didn't even have to leave the room. It was a little crowded, though, because all these people were in the room with us:
Then 1-2-3, the tube was out. Put on a gauze pad, send him home. Take off the gauze pad the next day, and voila! (Or "viola," as my friend Rhonda used to joke.) All fixed.
So now he has a second belly button.
It was one of his best days, because other than the constant dread that the cancer will return—this was his last reminder that he had (whisper) cancer (end whisper).
Meanwhile, our lives—and the lives of those around us—have continued. We have a new nephew:
We have a new grandson:
And of course, we still have Princess Wagglebutt Ginger Love:
So what's next, you ask? Well, there's a dilation on May 2. It's been a month since the last dilation, and Vic is not feeling like his throat is closing up yet. So that's a good sign. Would be really nice if he could always go two months between dilations. Or, you know, MORE. :-) And then there's a new PET scan. That's June 4. I'll be curious what happens after that—assuming it's clean. Vic's oncologist actually said "I don't think you need another PET scan, just a CT scan." But the radiation oncologist had said she wanted a PET, so the oncologist set one up. But if it's clean, I would bet that the next scan (which should be another six months from that) will be a CT scan. Woot!
Food is still a challenge—but he continues to learn what foods he can eat and what foods he can't. He continues to be disappointed by the foods he no longer enjoys, but I admire his stick-to-it-iveness in continuing to try things he assumes will disappoint him and to try new things that he might not have liked before. He's been quite the inspiration through all of this. If I ever get cancer, I'll probably have to read this blog every day just to remember how to behave. Because otherwise, you know I'm going to be whining 24x7. ;-)
Once again we thank our family and friends for their unwavering support. You all helped us get through this ordeal in ways small and not-so-small. LOVE YOU!
Fortunately, the doctor understood and said it was OK to get the tube out, and Vic has since regained the weight he lost to the flu.
I know everyone wants to know what the tube looked like, and what Vic looks like now without the tube. ;-) So here are a few pictures.
This is the tube:
Apparently, it was all curled up inside his tummy. So they cut it off on the outside, which makes it uncurl on the inside, and poof! You just pull it out. He didn't even have to leave the room. I didn't even have to leave the room. It was a little crowded, though, because all these people were in the room with us:
Then 1-2-3, the tube was out. Put on a gauze pad, send him home. Take off the gauze pad the next day, and voila! (Or "viola," as my friend Rhonda used to joke.) All fixed.
So now he has a second belly button.
It was one of his best days, because other than the constant dread that the cancer will return—this was his last reminder that he had (whisper) cancer (end whisper).
Meanwhile, our lives—and the lives of those around us—have continued. We have a new nephew:
 |
| Our niece Margeaux and her new husband Xan |
We have a new grandson:
 |
| Our new grandson, Ryan Scott Love |
And of course, we still have Princess Wagglebutt Ginger Love:
So what's next, you ask? Well, there's a dilation on May 2. It's been a month since the last dilation, and Vic is not feeling like his throat is closing up yet. So that's a good sign. Would be really nice if he could always go two months between dilations. Or, you know, MORE. :-) And then there's a new PET scan. That's June 4. I'll be curious what happens after that—assuming it's clean. Vic's oncologist actually said "I don't think you need another PET scan, just a CT scan." But the radiation oncologist had said she wanted a PET, so the oncologist set one up. But if it's clean, I would bet that the next scan (which should be another six months from that) will be a CT scan. Woot!
Food is still a challenge—but he continues to learn what foods he can eat and what foods he can't. He continues to be disappointed by the foods he no longer enjoys, but I admire his stick-to-it-iveness in continuing to try things he assumes will disappoint him and to try new things that he might not have liked before. He's been quite the inspiration through all of this. If I ever get cancer, I'll probably have to read this blog every day just to remember how to behave. Because otherwise, you know I'm going to be whining 24x7. ;-)
Once again we thank our family and friends for their unwavering support. You all helped us get through this ordeal in ways small and not-so-small. LOVE YOU!
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Vulture Been Doin'?
When last we met, Vic had just had a dilation that allowed him to start swallowing better. Since then, he has had two more dilations (and will have another one in about six weeks) and has continued to swallow more or less ;-) fine. It's good news that we're waiting six weeks for the next dilation. Since we don't know for how long he's going to have to have these things, at least having them farther apart is a good thing.
On the tube food front, he was at six cans a day. To get the tube removed, he needs to be off tube food completely for two weeks with no weight loss. So when he started eating, he started cutting down on the tube food. After a week at five cans with no weight loss, he decided to drop another can. I thought it was too soon. I thought two weeks would have been better—stabilize for a while—but once he gets it in his head he wants to do something, it's best to just let him do it. And of course, he was right. A week on four cans with no weight loss led to three cans, two and one. Today, he had what he hopes is his last can of tube food. If he can go two weeks with no weight loss, he will get rid of that tube. Nothing makes him happier.
With all that good news, I do so hate to complain. But I am, after all, me, so here goes. His taste still isn't the best. The first bite of most things is pretty good, but as he eats more bites, the tasty goodness disappears and nothing tastes great. Yet he must keep eating. Imagine if you will that everything you ate had no taste. It would not motivate you to eat much, would it? For many of us, that might not be so bad—if I couldn't taste, I might not eat as much, and BINGO! New diet. But he's lost just about as much weight as he should. And he still has to keep eating. So I feel sad for him. But he is learning what he likes—and what he doesn't—and we've even been to a couple of restaurants. Plus, he never whines. I can tell you (and so can he), I would be whining all the time.
At any rate, that's all the news from here. Considering he could be dead right now, or really sick, or a whole host of other things, I'll take what we have.
Much love from Vic, Patty and Princess Wagglebutt a.k.a. Wags
On the tube food front, he was at six cans a day. To get the tube removed, he needs to be off tube food completely for two weeks with no weight loss. So when he started eating, he started cutting down on the tube food. After a week at five cans with no weight loss, he decided to drop another can. I thought it was too soon. I thought two weeks would have been better—stabilize for a while—but once he gets it in his head he wants to do something, it's best to just let him do it. And of course, he was right. A week on four cans with no weight loss led to three cans, two and one. Today, he had what he hopes is his last can of tube food. If he can go two weeks with no weight loss, he will get rid of that tube. Nothing makes him happier.
With all that good news, I do so hate to complain. But I am, after all, me, so here goes. His taste still isn't the best. The first bite of most things is pretty good, but as he eats more bites, the tasty goodness disappears and nothing tastes great. Yet he must keep eating. Imagine if you will that everything you ate had no taste. It would not motivate you to eat much, would it? For many of us, that might not be so bad—if I couldn't taste, I might not eat as much, and BINGO! New diet. But he's lost just about as much weight as he should. And he still has to keep eating. So I feel sad for him. But he is learning what he likes—and what he doesn't—and we've even been to a couple of restaurants. Plus, he never whines. I can tell you (and so can he), I would be whining all the time.
At any rate, that's all the news from here. Considering he could be dead right now, or really sick, or a whole host of other things, I'll take what we have.
Much love from Vic, Patty and Princess Wagglebutt a.k.a. Wags
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