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Curse of the Mommy (May 4, 2002)(Transcribed from a recording made by Kent in the morning of day 2 of chemotherapy.) There was a joke in our family that Kent's mother had received her MD from Reader's Digest. She was a surgeon's delight. There was never a doctor or a scalpel that she didn't like. She had had more surgeries, more medical procedures than about anybody we had ever run into. But she had never had anything that was standard. No gall bladder attacks, or appendicitis, or things like that. She always had to do something strange. Her symptoms were always confounding, and she seems to have passed this along. In my own situation here, I have had difficulty getting diagnosis because so many things were being pointed to. Ultimately, when the diagnosis comes down, it's called Burkitt's Lymphoma, exceedingly rare in the United States. More common among youngsters in Africa. The treatment is aggressive. Prognosis is good. Presumably I should lose all my hair, but it will come back. Now all these things being put together, it will probably come back short, black and kinky. I can live with that. In the interim, my cousin Gay has promised me all of her collection of wigs which I have promised to our minister to model in church. In the meantime we do what we can to get on with it. My appetite is good and I have no nausea. Chemo seems to be doing all of its proper indications from external observation of outbound catheters and so forth. So things seem to be working there. I have not yet started physical therapy. I need to get fully evaluated before we start figuring out what to do with that. But that should this afternoon, which is Saturday, May 4th. So that's pretty much where it stands right now. Living the "Simcoe, keep 'em confused motto." Don't do anything straight forward; don't have any of the symptoms point straight to whatever is going on; always give way too many symptoms; make them work for their money, etc. etc. The hospital stay is good. The staff is excellent. The food is better than I would have fixed it for myself which, of course, maybe still doesn't say much for it. I'm appreciating it. I've only met one Nurse Cratchet and I think I converted her by the end of the shift. "You vill do it my vay." Actually, her name was Helga. (snicker) "You vill do it my vay, and you vill like it." So, that's pretty much the "direct from the horse's mouth" report as of the day before Cinco de Mayo. We certainly thank all of you that have me in your thoughts and your prayers. It is a great source of strength to understand the great faith that you all have and I will be eternally grateful. Thank you. |