September 2004 Archives

My mother had brain surgery yesterday and she seems to be on the mend.

The neuro-surgeon told me that either surgery or radiation were necessary to remove the tumor. Each approach carried its own set of benefits and risks. Given the size (1.5 cm) and location (near the top just right of center) we opted for surgery.

The operation took about 3 hours. Our goal is getting her back home by Sunday. I had a great group of friends and family waiting with me during the operation; they were wonderful.

One of the more bizarre - almost surreal - aspects of yesterday was our conversation with the surgeon after he was done. About 4:30, out he comes in still dressed in his surgical garb, gives us the low-down on the operation, answers a few questions, and then goes back in to operate on another patient. This guy had just finished operating on my mother's brain but we could have been talking about her car or her refrigerator.

"Yeah, we found it and took it out. Surgery was the right choice."
"Thanks."

He just performed something remarkable all I can say is "thanks."
Thanks, indeed.
K-

Blogging will likely be unpredictable for a while. I'm back in Michigan looking after my mother as she faces another medical bullet.

For the last couple of weeks, she has mentioned that there has been some debilitation and weakness on her left side. Foot and hand aren't doing what she thinks her brain is telling them to do. She's fallen a few times but has managed to avoid any serious injury. Because she lives alone, I was very concerned about these falls. Stairs are all over her house and 75 year-old women don't tolerate falling down the stairs very well. But she hasn't been able to play her beloved piano either, which is something that pains her far more than any crash to the floor.

So Thursday she went to the hospital for a CAT scan of the head and an MRI of the spine. Once the tests were complete she was to check herself into the hospital. Everyone was thinking stroke, and because strokes have a small window of time before damage becomes hard to reverse, her doctor thought physical therapy should be started and the hospital was the logical place to start. But things don't always go as planned.

A brain tumor seems to be causing the problems.

Is it malignant? We've been told it is. Is it operable? Probably but another MRI tomorrow will provide additional data. Surgery, if there is to be any, will likely take place sometime next week.

So here I am in Michigan lending support, feeding the dog, and wondering what life will be like in a week, a month, a year.

I think most people - no matter what their age - aren't consciously aware they are adults. We're just "grown-ups". A soon-to-be 50 year-old man believes he could still be part of college campus life just like his 18 year-old son, that 20-something women he finds attractive don't really think of him as old, and that he can rock on with the best of them even if he does think great night life is being in bed by 11.

But there are those times when we get to be adults. We stop short and are foced to put away childish ways. Some of the adult times are good: first house, new life, proud parent. But we must face illness, heartache, and mortality. If we're lucky we don't have to be adults until we're grown-ups.

I imagine I'll be in Michigan for a week or so. But there are a lot of unknowns.

I'll keep you posted.
K-

The end of an era has arrived. At least it has ended for a while.

My son clicks no more.

At a very young age, my younger son, D-, developed this remarkable talent to click his tongue. You know the kind of noise I'm talking about... you place your tongue against the roof of your mouth and then pull it away quickly. The release of suction creates a distinct "click".

Well D- took that ability to a new level. He honed his click technique to the point that the noise was distinctive and quite startling... a quick, piercing pulse of noise. And loud... much louder than you can imagine. With a single click he would let everyone in the room know he had arrived.

One of his favorite pastimes was to "click" in forbidden places - churches, museums, schools - anywhere that a sudden burst of noise would reverberate to the annoyance or surprise of others. His clicking ability has gotten him into trouble... like the time he clicked in close proximity to a classmate's ear, sending the classmate crashing to the floor in utter confusion. So many times he has said, "Daddy, do you dare me to click?"

But all that has come to an end. A couple of weeks ago he had a tooth pulled and a spacer appliance installed to keep the gap between his teeth open until the adult tooth emerges. The gap created by the extraction of that one tooth and the concomitant loss of suction has rendered D-'s hearty tongue clicks into pathetic little sucking sounds.

"Ssssthhhk, sssthhhk, sssthhhk."

What can I say?
They pave paradise and put up a parking lot.
K-

This past weekend I spent camping with a bunch of kids in 6th and 7th grade. I was one of the adult leaders who dispensed pearls of wisdom to the 32 boys and girls who attended. We were at a camp about 70 miles from home deep in the heart of Frederick County. We camped in the Catoctin Mountains not too far from Camp David.

I brought 3 of the kids up to camp with me and, of course, it was expected that I would bring them home. (Old camp leader joke: "I haven't lost a kid yet... but I'm open to offers.") So about the time we were to leave I went to my trusty Camry, put the key in the ignition, and got... nothing.

Not a peep, not a wimper, no little lights coming on, no annoying chimes, nothing at all to indicate that I was sitting in the thing I needed to get me, and 3 kids who didn't belong to me, home.

Being the Boy Scout that I am, I quickly got out my jumper cables, found a jump, and started the Camry on the first try. I drove a few miles down the road hoping that I just had a dead battery which would charge right up. As I pulled into the camp, the car died. We jumped it a second time, I pulled into the parking lot, where the car died one last time. No jump could resuscitate it. It was also dead in the middle of the campground parking lot.

OK, now what? I've never actually been in a situation where my car was miles from nowhere and wouldn't start. Being in the mountains, the cell phone didn't work.

But the 21st century retail industry prevailed. We crammed me and my kids into the other leaders' cars and headed home leaving my car alone and stranded in the lot. Once my phone was working, I arranged for a new battery at an auto parts store near my house and found someone who was willing to drive with me back up to the campground. Once I got home, I got my battery, my tools, my companion driver, and headed back.

By the time I returned to the campground, all the other campers throughout the camp had left. There my car sat alone in the parking lot. I swapped batteries, turned the key, and, thankfully, I was good to go. I got back only 3 hours later than anticipated.

Not quite as good as other stranded camper stories I've read recently, but it'll have to do.
K-

While reading the paper this morning (Does anyone but me still do that?) it came under my eye in the sports page that the National Hockey League owners are going to lockout the players this year.

There might not be any professional hockey!

How many people actually care about that? OK... now take away the Canadians that care. How many does that leave? Six? Ten?
K-

We went up to the diner for dinner tonight.

Now around our house, we like to say that if D-'s awake he's talking but on the way home, D- was exceptionally voluble. He was asking things like "Daddy, how many Beach Boys were there? Could I be the fifth Beach Boy?" There was just a whole stream of steady words coming out of his mouth.

Finally, I commented that perhaps he could tone down the level of words just a bit.

"Tone it down? If it weren't for me you wouldn't have most of the conversations you have!"

And that's why I like him around.
K-

Brief conversation with my younger son, D-, as we headed off to his high school marching band practice:

"Don't you want your raincoat? It looks like it might rain."
"Nah, I don't need it. I'm a trooper."

K-

The Maryland football game was great. Not because the Terps beat Temple 45-22 but because the Mighty Sound of Maryland performed.

The Mighty Sound of Maryland is the University of Maryland Marching Band, of which my son is a part. We were fortunate enough to be invited by the parents of A-'s roommate to go to the Maryland game over the weekend. This was our first chance to see A- perform a gig in college. Wow, what a difference a year makes. The band is awesome. They also play constantly and are forced to stand the whole game. None of that namby pamby high school stuff where they get to sit down and have the third quarter to go get something to eat.

Because it was 9/11, the halftime show was somewhat subdued and had a distinct American flavor. The Mighty Sound of Maryland performed together with the Temple band.

Thankfully the game was basically a blow-out so I was able to get some pictures of the band performing that I otherwise wouldn't have. The band sits in the student section, mostly vacated by the start of the 4th quarter for a Saturday night of partying. That way we could sneak down from the "view level" where we sat for most of the game to the spot where the band was about half way through the 4th quarter. At first the stadium staff wouldn't let me go down to where the band was even though I pleaded that I just wanted to take a picture of my child. But eventually they lost interest in keeping me out and I was able to go down and get some pictures of A- performing.

Did you ever have one of those moments where the instant you ask a really dumb question the answer occurs to you? That happened to me on Saturday night. At the start of the game, 5 people came running onto the field each carrying a large flag. I watched them sprint down the gridiron. The flags spelled the word "SPRET". I turned to our hosts and hollered out "What does "SPRET" mean?

The question was no sooner off my lips when the obvious answer hit me.
K-

It's a sports weekend: Orioles baseball on Friday, Maryland football on Saturday.

Last night D- and I went to Camden Yards to see the Baltimore Orioles play the New York Yankees.

I have season tickets to the Orioles. And by season tickets I mean I split a 13-game season ticket plan with two other guys. So I end up attending 4 or 5 Orioles games a year. That' about right for me.

In the spring when we divvy up the tickets, I usually avoid taking the tickets for the Yankees. Not because I harbor particularly strong feelings against the Yankees but because whenever the O's play the Yankees, 4 billion Yankees fans come streaming out of the woodwork just like the cockroaches they are. They're loud and obnoxious and take over the ballpark. They all come dressed in their stupid Yankee costumes and strut around like peacocks. And these are nice Maryland Yankees fans. I shudder to think what dyed-in-the-wool New York Yankees fans are like.

But this year, scheduling conflicts forced me to pick the Yankees game as one of my four. Fortunately, the O's clobbered them (including a nifty 8-run third inning) and those 4-billion Yankees fans got to go home all sad and dejected. It was kind of a twofer for me.

This afternoon, we're heading down to College Park to see the Maryland Terrapins play Temple. I've never been to a Maryland football game; we're going with the parents of A-'s roommate. Should be a good time and we'll get to see A- play in the Mighty Sound of Maryland for the first time. He tells us that because today is 9/11 the band won't be as "active" as they were last week.

I'll take pictures.
K-

About 3 weeks ago my group at work moved into the basement of a new office building. Yes... it's the basement despite my employer's weak attempt to disguise that fact by calling it the first floor. But I know my floors. This is definitely the basement. Granted it's a walk-out basement but it's a basement nonetheless.

How do I know?

Like all good basements, we have a cricket.

Our cricket is chirping. It's down the hallway. In a locked closet. In a locked closet a cricket is chirping.

My group has a cricket. The VPW cricket. The VPW cricket chirps.

Jumping Jiminy.
K-

When you are hopelessly lost looking for the Airborne Express drop-off office, do NOT follow an Airborne Express truck thinking it will lead you TO it.

It could be going AWAY from the drop-off office.
K-

A- was home from the University of Maryland for the Labor Day weekend. We decided to hit one of our favorite Maryland diversions: the Maryland Renaissance Festival.

I'm not one for contrived entertainment. I love to wander through national parks and cities unfettered by what corporate America thinks is fun and exciting. I'm sure I'm the only person in the US who actually hates Disney World. I despise theme parks. And I'm pretty sure I'd have a low tolerance for cruises if I ever go on one.

But the Maryland Renaissance Festival is the exception that proves the rule. They've built a whole medieval town in the woods of Maryland. You wander around from show to show, most of which are bawdy and can border on "adults only". Many of the revelers are dressed in period costume including the occasional maid dressed in chain mail and brass bustier. That always grabs your attention. There's real jousting, which, believe it or not, is the Maryland State sport, kings and queens roam the glade, mimes, grovellers, wenches, dandies, and even the occasional strumpet.

We spent the day. It was dusty so I had a beer while watching a Celtic band. I had a wonderful time. I even managed to take a few pictures. Click on the link below to see the thumbnails; click on the thumbnails to see an enlargement.

Pity I can't live there.
K-

About a year ago I took the trip from hell. I blogged about it here. At the conclusion of the trip, the airport cab driver leaving me at my house decided that he just had to back over my mailbox, which snapped off the post and crushed the box flat.

Saturday night it happened again. I don't fault the guy. It was dark, my driveway has a turn in it, and it was the first time he was ever at my house. But today I had to run out to Home Depot and get a new post. Fortunately, the mailbox survived the collision so only the post has to be replaced.

I fully expect this post will suffer the same utlimate destiny. Some unsuspecting visitor will not negotiate the curve at the end of my drive and back straight over it. I'm on the lucky end of the collision. It only costs me $20 to fix the post. Broken tail lights and dented bumpers are much more expensive.

I'm off to labor on Labor Day.
K-

I like to read while I eat my lunch. Right now my lunch time book is The Republican Noise Machine by David Brock.

Anyway... part of my lunch today consisted of a Little Debbie's Oatmeal Creme Pie, which I enjoyed immensely.

After lunch, I started typing up some email. In the middle of typing, in walks a guy for a 5-minute conversation. After we're done talking, I returned to my typing to finish up my email.

It wasn't till then then I noticed a big blob of oatmeal creme pie stuck to the corner of my glasses. I guess I was so morally outraged by the sordid 20-year history of conservative manipulation of the media that I didn't get the whole pie in my mouth. Furthermore, I didn't notice it as I sat typing my email and I didn't notice it as I sat talking to my office visitor. But the guy I was talking with had to have noticed it. I mean this was one huge blob. Stuck there right to my glasses. What a gomer I am.

As my mother used to say "With a mouth as big as yours..."
K-

I had to take some time off from work this morning. D- has been having problems with an achy tooth. Our dentist told us the tooth had a big cavity but because it was a baby tooth and the permanent tooth would soon grow in, it was better to simply pull it rather than fill it.

Today we visited the oral surgeon. D- was appropriately nervous about the procedure despite my attempts to make the whole thing into no big deal. (Easy for me since I've never had a tooth pulled. Not even wisdom teeth which x-rays reveal are totally absent from my head.)

To relax him, the surgeon gave him laughing gas. Then some Novocain to make sure there was no pain during the extraction. They made me sit in a small room across the hallway from the dentist's chair. Evidently, more than one parent has fainted at the sight of his child's tooth extraction.

D- said afterwards "I really liked the laughing gas. It kind of made me feel as if I were lying in a hammock. I almost fell asleep so I had trouble answering some of his questions. The dentist kept his tools up high so I couldn't really see them. But right near the end I got a look at what he was holding... It was a pair of pliers!"

I wonder what he was expecting... some string and a doorknob?
K-