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Here is a history of the evil snowman

May 13^th — The final bit of the saga from the hospital on May 4^th to being released on May 6^th.

After a lovely hospital dinner Dr. B the endocrinologist stops in with a new intern. I had heard something about this — swapping over interns — from one of the nurses. Guess we can write Dr. F out of this soap opera; that or Dr. F has had a much bigger operation than mine. They pour over the results of the continuous bloodletting and seem to be happy. Dr. B brings me up to date.

I will be switching to pills rather than IV for the hydrocortisone and they will decrease the pre operation dosage of 40 MG daily to 30 MG daily. To be taken as 20 MG in the morning and the 5 MG at lunch and 5 MG at dinner. In other words a full pill in the AM and then a ¼ tablet at lunch and at dinner. The other drug Levothyroxine will be increase from 50 micrograms to 75. This should allow me to function normally and we will check everything again in about a month (June 8^th actually).

Will I be able to go home on Friday, drum roll if you please, yes, of course. There is still some concern about the urine and Diabetes Insipidus so they will continue to check the input/output business (damn), however, the IV can come out. Not the bite that has been in the back of my hand(s) since Monday — they may suddenly have to put me back on an IV and this will save them work. J arrives back with R and V in tow. They have stopped by for a visit, which is appreciated, though I really didn’t want to drag normal people into this ward.

The outside world it seems has managed to continue spinning without me out there to observe it. Good news for the world, bad news though for my megalomania. It strikes me that I am feeling a little out of touch.

The folks leave me to my own devices as Nurse N starts her shift. Until know the nurses have been absolutely 100% what I would call professional — they have all known their jobs so well that there isn’t even the beginning of a hint of a reason to doubt their abilities. I have been up to this point very, very impressed with the medical profession.

Nurse N might cause me to rethink this. A lot less ordered in the way she does things she is in and out of my little area several times. Temperature first, do you need Tylenol, Tylenol is good you know, back for BP and other stats. OK now the blood. Hmmm — that’s odd, oops. Hmmm indeed. Might watch this one for a while.

I do, and I watch a couple of films. After a while I realize this is just fate getting back at me. Just as I am not the classic trainer (I have my own style) Nurse N is not a classic Canadian nurse. Of more specifically, and here the accent should have given it away, not a Canadian trained nurse. I settle in realizing that she is probably getting use to some of the things she hasn’t worked with a lot from wherever she is from. The caring and compassion are there — I can hear it when she works with John and Betty.

Betty has joined the ward. Like John it would appear she is deaf as a post. Aneurism instead of Darwinism but very, very unresponsive — during the day with the full nursing staff they’ll get at both them at the same time. John, John, Betty, John, Betty, Betty.

So I pack up the DVD player and settle in for the night. Hoping to get a couple of hours sleep. The goes fitfully with charting every hour and blood work still every four. The fluids are good though and so I should be back on track for a Friday escape. I’m up at 6:00 and pull the curtains back so I can see the out of doors. They have the blinds open as well and it is a glorious day. Inside it will also be a glorious as the stuff comes out of my nose today.

Nurse E is back today and verifies I still know who and what I am — Skippy, 300 lb kumquat. Dr. ?, Dr. A’s assistant wanders in and covers off what will be happening today. Seems I nice chap now that I’m getting to know him a little. We will see about getting the arterial line out today and the other tubes and wires as well. Speaking of which time for the bits in the nose to come out.

Lord jumping Jesus — when I see the length of these things I know what was causing the low-level background headache. The freaking tubes were probably pressing into my brain. Best description I can give — yuck! But they are out and I can breath. I keep the dressing clean for the morning — not surprisingly there is a little bleeding initially but this subsides and after half an hour or so everything seems to have stopped.

By the time J shows up with coffee my nose is completely normal looking. I bring J up to date on what’s going on. Still looks good for me to get the heck out of here for tomorrow. I am getting very, very bored in here and frankly there are people that could use this bed. J goes off to meet her folks for lunch.

The word has now come in from endocrinology that blood work can now be Q12 (a secret code in the medical profession meaning every 12 hours) so the arterial line can be removed. This also means that I will be detached from the wiring harness and therefore able to move around a bit more. Nurse E comes over when she has some time to remove the arterial line. She will have to put pressure on it for at least 10 minutes to stop the bleeding. So for the first time Nurse E pulls up a chair and sits holding tightly on the spot the line came out from. Ten minutes and her hands are starting to shake from the strain, another few minutes and bleeding stops.

Only one uncomfortable tube left. Other than this I am free and Nurse E is suggesting strongly that I should take a shower. J agrees. Funny I don’t smell anything — but yes I will in a bit. LL has stopped in — they could use the bed and would like to move me to the ward. Sounds good to me — a TV would be nice. A quiet room would be nice. A little privacy would be nice. She wanders off to try and arrange this. Nurse E and J get their wish — I will go for a shower. J has to supervise in case I suddenly have a relapse and fall over. Off with the boxers — water — warm, clean and fresh. Feels good. Get dressed and back into the ward.

I will be in the ward tonight as seven folks got into the regular floor today. One more night of John and I should be able to go home. I can deal with this. J takes off a little early and I settle in the find-a-word-puzzle-hell I am becoming familiar with. Nurse N pokes her head and gives a warm smile when she sees the bandages are off and I’m looking human. I think they like to have people that actually recover on this ward. She isn’t taking care of me tonight — just saying a quick hello.

My nurse for the evening will be Nurse B (I think that was it). She comes in with bloodletting gear — apparently my salts were a little off during the last run and they want to make sure everything is OK. I point out the last bloodletting was just a little after dinner and that would be normal. Better safe than sorry though. Nurse E took the last blood hoping to be able to leave the next for the nurse the next day. It turns out Nurse B isn’t great at the bloodletting stuff. Smallest needle available and she’s looking for veins in the hands. Big vial — small vein = pain!!!!!

Eventually she finds a vein she can hit in the forearm. Good thing the BP monitor is out or I would have just gone off the chart. Thank god we don’t have to do that again till morning. Couple of hours latter it comes back all is OK with the blood work. Probably the last one was taken close to a meal. Sleep time for me.

Around 6:00 I’m up again and yes we try the blood from small vein using small needle to file a big tube. After only three or four jabs she hits something that works. Fine whatever — I’m going home today. Even though they may not know that yet. Nurse E is back, a little overtime. She isn’t sure I’ll get out today — I will. She does get to be the first to wish me happy birthday.

Then Dr ? drops in — seems he thinks endocrinology wants to keep monitoring for another day — I assure him endo said I could go home today. He isn’t convinced; I am so it doesn’t matter. LL the administration type is by — she wants to transfer me to the ward today — I explain this won’t be necessary as I will be going home today. Obviously the endocrinology people didn’t write all the stuff down they should have on Wednesday.

J arrives around 10:00 ready to take me home. I tell her what’s been going on. I suspect she is worried I might not get out today. It’s OK. Dr. B shows up with intern in tow. Everything is good and right and I’m in good shape. So as far as she is concerned I can go home.

Paging neurosurgery! Well yes if endocrinology is happy then were happy and he can go home. Nurse E comes in and removes the final tube and the IV leads from the backs of my hands. LL stops by to wish me a happy birthday and let me know administration is going to let me go home. Nurse E has to run down with a patient to CT Scan — she’ll be back to finish the paperwork and let me go.

An hour latter the bed with Skippy in it and Nurse E return. Here are your walking papers. Thank you. I start walking towards the exit — worried about someone changing their mind — J gives Nurse E a hug and we are out of there. I don’t stop worrying about being chased until we are in the car and going. Montana’s for burger and beer, then home sweet home.

I am weak. My body is run down from months of slowly being killed by this thing. But I feel 4 years younger and I can see. Hopefully by the end of the summer I might even be back down to golfing weight.

May 12^th — Today's update will be done tomorrow.

May 11^th — Today's installment covers Tuesday (May 3^rd) morning to Wednesday (May 4^th) in the hospital.

After the excitement of the code blue — start your day with a heart attack and nothing worse should happen all day — routine settles back like a blanket on the ward. I am by far and away the healthiest patient on the ward. John next door, who was up most the night, continues to frustrate all the staff by playing with the tubes, and collars, and diapers, and all the other medical care devices.

I can understand his frustration. Just suddenly waking up with this much medical care being thrust upon you would be bad enough if you knew it was going to happen. When you not sure where or when you are or how you got there — guess I won’t be complaining much this week. Nurse S comes by to get me ready to go for my morning CT Scan.

The wiring that provides the ECG, respiration and blood pressure has to come with. All these plug into a single data unit that plugs into a system on the wall. This displays all this information on the monitor over my bed and allows the information to be pulled up on the center console or to trigger alarms. Apparently the information has to be captured continuously. The data unit pulls out of the wall unit and is plug into the portable unit that will make the trip with us.

At this point there are five wires connect to my chest/abdomen; these connect to a socket that combines them and connects to the wall unit to provide ECG and respiration data. An arterial line (nasty needle that pokes into an artery) is connected to both a drip used to clean the line (bleach I think) after they take blood, and to a wiring harness to provide the blood pressure readout. I have a clamp-like thing on my finger, which is reading the % of oxygen in my blood — this is also running back to the data unit and being displayed. There is of course an IV tap in the back of each hand, the left hand (where the arterial line is) is the spare and the right is connected to two drip bags — a large one that is providing hydration and a smaller one that is providing hydrocortisone. These are connected through another beeping thing that ensures no air bubbles get in — good machine, nice machine (I checked; thank god there are no MS logos). Also attached is the output tube for the nasty thing (catheter) that is collecting my urine — I will simply call it the nasty rubber hose. All of these and then the bed is also electric and has a wall type plug.

I won’t be running away anytime soon!

After some preparation the burly "Logistics%quot; folks show up to move me down to the CT Scanning room. Shuffle all the beds again, bump, thump, sorry, excuse, pardon me. Being a little more alert, this is a good chance for me to see the rest of the folks in the ward. John might not know where he is but at least he looks alive. A lot of these folks, notably Mr. Code Blue, are not moving much at all. I am struck by the thought that most of these folks have done something very serious to their head/neck parts. The type of thing that you don’t normally survive — in other words — this is the Darwin awards ward.

The trip down to CT Scan is fairly uneventful. The elevator barely fits the two burlies and Nurse S, along with my bed. Rolling into the CT Scan area, they park me at the side of the hall and check in. I’m next and in a few moments the four of us are entering the room where the scanner is along with the two technicians. They pull the bed up beside the machine and are ready for me to just hop on over.

This is, of course, when I realize I am covered by a couple of sheets and that’s about it. Everything else was pushed down or removed or whatever. I have a hospital gown somewhere in the heap of bedclothes; however, with all the tubes etc there is no way to put it on. Hmmmmmm. This could present a "logistical" problem. I carefully start to move me and the wires and the tubes and a sheet over to the scanning table. Nurse S is trying to make sure all the tubes and cables and pipes and clamps and stuff come with me. The technicians don’t really care — they just want to get the pictures taken, that’s it. Eventually enough of my body is on the table, and the burlies are starting to move the bed. I point out that parts of me, or rather wires attached to me, are still attached. Nurse S is there immediately and clearing the problem.

Scan once, inject the dye, scan again. All this fuss and it’s over in five minutes. They are a little less aggressive with getting me back to the bed given Nurse S and myself enough time to get all the cables off the machine and back to my bed. Off we go back to the Darwin wing.

As we are settling back in Nurse S notices that in the rush to get me on the scanning bed they have managed to cut my IV feed. With this changed the liquids start to flow and life continues. Every hour my vitals and liquids in/out are checked. In order to help with this I start tracking my inputs — gives me something to do anyway. J comes in with coffee, not much taste but still hot and full of caffeine, just the way I like it.

We catch up and drink the coffees. After this she starts to unload the other stuff she has brought for me. Portable DVD player — no don’t put it there — some books and magazines and other amusements. Nurse S is offering a basin and washcloth so I might get cleaned up a little. Since I am as wired as I am (and not in a good way) J helps me wash up. Then the final items she has brought — most holy of holies in a hospital — boxer shorts. They aren’t silk, they aren’t even 10CountGear, but they are a shield of modesty.

The collection bag is passed down the left leg hole and then slowly I pull the boxers up. This simple act transforming one from savage to cultured person. There is a tremendous amount of morality one can take from the simple act of wearing boxers.

Modesty and morality are restored.

I sit in the chair in the small area I have assigned to me primarily to gain a different perspective. While this is happening Nurse S refreshes the bedclothes. Dr. A arrives to say hello. I give the quick run down — vision great, headache very mild, feeling good, ready to go home on Friday. He mentions I’ll be going for a CT Scan, I tell I’ve been and he’s off. The nurse suggests we should follow since he likely won’t be back.

Dr. A is a little shy I think. At very least he doesn’t like to stand around making small talk with people he doesn’t know that well. At least intellectually — anyone that has been that far up my nose knows me at least a little. The nurses have commented on this several times and have been telling me I really need to nail him down and get any questions answered etc. Frankly I don’t like the small talk thing either, and I understand that when you brain is tuned to a particular field or topic discussing completely irrelevant things is no fun. So I’m not going to drag him into those discussions — frankly there is enough information available that I can find out all I need to know.

J does follow him though to the computer terminal in the ward. There he can bring up the before and after pictures of my brain. Before is the cyst, tumour and gland; after just the gland. J reports he is happy with the results and in general folks seem to be happy with my progress. Always was a fast healer and since I’ve stopped smoking that should be even better.

It is a quiet day. J goes off for a while to visit her folks. I continue to lie about doing my bit. This now consists of making blood so they can tap it and counting how much water I drink. I notice in the afternoon that John has settled down. They have put him in a chair and opened the blinds so he can see out. This seems to have help put him at ease. Good — perhaps I can get some sleep.

Nurse A is back in tonight. J visits for a while but takes off early. I know she is also tired and now that the major drama is over she will need to rest as well. Surprisingly it can take a lot out folks to be that worried for that long.

I sleep lightly — but much better than the night before. The hourly intrusions ensuring I don’t completely doze off. Between the 4 and 5 AM and 5 and 6 AM checks I manage to get all the way to REM sleep. It would be easier if I could breath through my nose. But there is way too much packing and stuff up there for that.

Overnight a problem crops up. I’m outputting a lot more than I am inputting. The output is being measured in litres. They are concerned since one of the less frequent (and less dangerous) side effects of the surgery can be Diabetes Insipidus. All night they are carefully monitoring my salts (in the urine) and blood. Eventually things settle back down to normal. I suspect that the pituitary gland is starting to wake up. After a long period of inactivity things are starting to happen again and this is just some excess fluid being drained.

I manage to pull back the curtain enough to see daylight. There is not much light in my little corner and though this means it is private, you do start feeling a little confined. Today the part of the Nurse will be play by E — a lovely young woman with a great smile and a good laugh. Dr. ? drops by and introduces himself (too quickly for the hour of the day — breakfast, such as it is here, hasn’t been served). He is Dr. A’s assistant, apprentice, accomplice or something like that. He gives me a run down of where we are etc. The things come out of the nose on Thursday and yes if there is no bleeding I should be able to go home Friday. That assumes endocrinology agrees. The arterial line might be able to go; the other pipes and fittings though will stay.

T & D are supposed to stop in today and so J will be a little later. That’s fine she has other things that also have to get done and I’m well past any danger. F from Montreal calls and says hello just as Nurse E is starting to take more blood. J calls and let me know what’s up and that she along shortly with coffee. This would be nice. J shows up around 11:45 with T & D and M. They say hello for a couple of minutes but really this room isn’t great for visiting.

T goes for his eye surgery tomorrow — likely to be a little less involved since in his case it is the eye that is having the problem and not the nerves behind. They are amazed at how life-like I look.

May 10^th — This addition covers the first night (May 2^nd) in the hospital and settling into the NOA on May 3^rd.

Fizz . . . . . pop . . . beep . . . beep ding. Blink.

It’s alive!! Alive I tell you!! What? Shake shake

. . . some restriction apply, see your dealer for details . . .

Awake!

Made it — long climb to being conscious but there you have it. The nurse in the recovery room is asking who I am, where I am, what day is it. Shit — shouldn’t she know these things. I try to tell her but my throat is dry, like a desert. I manage to convince the nurse I know who and where I am. Damn my throat hurts — did he drop that Squonk thing down there and have to go after it?

Water, just ice really. Relief! More, please — no chewing ice; in this case, not a sexual frustration thing. I’m trying to get my throat to stop hurting. Slowly, then some water, small sips. Worried I’ll throw up — they don’t know me very well. I have done scotch, beer, vodka, wine, champagne, Galliano and several other things all in the same evening and not thrown up. Wished I had, would have felt better the next day.

Did Dr. A call my wife? Answer, a shrug, not important at the moment; strikes me, suddenly, I will live. Guess it was worth paying my taxes. The world begins to resolve itself into something I can recognize and even sort of understand. I ask again about whether someone has let J know — don’t want her spending the insurance money yet. What’s the number? A phone appears in my hand, ring, ring, ring. "Hello". It’s J. "Hello, I made it". Miss most the conversation but the emotion was there. Now it is time to begin recovering. It is Monday and I want to be out on Friday. I think I have succeeded in letting her know she can visit me the NOA after 8:00 tonight.

Dr. F is here; Endo come to say hello. Was that Barbara or, no, Rebecca — hello. She is letting me know Endo is here and will be monitoring. They need to move in quick since so much of the body is controlled by the pituitary. She is excited, I guess that not all students get to see a pituitary tumour. Nurses are interrupting her (I feel bad for her) the word has come down — there is a bed available in Neurological Observation Area (NOA). And so I’m on the road she’ll go get Dr. B and meet us up there.

Enter burly "Logistics" person. Up shift to the new bed — hmmm much nicer, much wider. My butt not falling off. 1, 2, 3 away we go, Dr. F. mouth open in mid sentence; hope that wasn’t anything I needed to know about.

In the hall we stop for an elevator. Dr. F, who has been trying to follow the bed, is trying to bring me up to date. Don’t think she’s had surgery yet — trying to give me too much info for my tender state. Truthfully I feel vaguely sorry for her but you can tell where she is in the pecking order.

Down the hall comes Dr. B, with crutches, flying as fast as she can on them. I can tell she hasn’t had them long as the progress is slow and looks like a strange flamingo threesome. Just then the elevator arrives. Away I go leaving her and Dr. F in the dust. It strikes me now that I have just lived something out of a Carry On movie. It appears I have been carried through this on the spirit of Sidney James; thank you sir!

This feeling continues, they now have to shuffle all the beds helter skelter to get me into the back corner of the NOA. Bed number 7 more of a forgotten, unplanned nook that happens to fit a bed. Quickly and efficiently a team of nurses and interns and burly "Logisitics" types. Soon they have confirmed my identity and taken blood and done several other things. Questions from all the medical types are firing at me quickly; yes, no, thanks, water, yes, about a 4, two ducks and a cow, Ottawa, what?

Dr. B and Dr. F have made it up and are checking over the blood work that has been ongoing for hours now. Dr. F tries again to let me know what’s up but the medico are busy and don’t have time for interns. Dr. B does get through to let me know she’ll be back to check on me and that all seems fine. She is a full Dr. so the medicos part — slightly — for her.

The hub-bub dies a little and I’m left with nurse K. She is starting me on ice again and trying to gather as much of my life story as she can. In short order I’m up to full cups of water and left fairly much to my own devices. Between the hourly visits to check fluids in, fluids out, blood has pressure, temperature, pupils etc. etc. At this point I don’t realize this is going to go on for some time, with every 4 hours adding a battery of blood letting. No, we have not come that far from leaches.

Time to shut down a little and let the anaesthetic work its way through my body. Nurse K is kind and brings water for me. She ensures that everything is in order and even notes in the charts that I want out on Friday (my birthday). The next couple of hours pass in a kinda fuzzy manner. J arrives at 8:00 — guess I don’t look that bad since she doesn’t immediately scream and run away.

J seems to be relieved that all has gone well and thus I am relieved she can stop worrying. It is really only when she asks me about the vision that I think about the fact that, yes, I can in fact see fully again. I know Dr. B and Dr. F had asked and so had several of the nurses, however, only now does it sink in to my conscious mind.

Nurse A is now on duty. In talking with her we find that there are no restrictions noted on my diet. This is good since dinner had been Full Fluid — not really that good. Mind you I seem to be missing my sense of smell. Without a sense of smell the taste buds just don’t work that great. This could be a good thing given I will have 4 days of hospital food.

The anaesthesiologist that took care of me during the surgery drops in to check up on me. Both J and I thank him for taking such good care of me. We chat for a couple minutes and he leaves happy that again everything worked. Thanks again Doc!

At 9:30 J leaves. It has been a very, very long day and she is tired. She will return in the morning — with real coffee. Caffeine is my friend, it is also one of the last vices I have. The night passes. I’d like to say well, however, this is the first night trying to sleep with John in the bed beside me. He doesn’t hear well, isn’t sure where he is and is very frustrated by all the medical stuff happening to him.

Between John trying to pull out various tubes and nurses putting them back there is a constant stream of activity next door. At a volume too loud to ignore, so John can hear. Nurse A continues the hourly vigil of taking all possible vital signs and blood letting every 4 hours.

Needless to say by the time morning has rolled around I am fully rested and ready to face another day. Guess I’m not the only one as the chap in bed four goes Code Blue. Thankfully there are ½ dozen doctors doing there morning rounds and he comes through the code blue without issue. Nurse S is now on duty and will be taking me down for a CT scan shortly.

May 9^th PM — Here is the first part of the big update covering entering the hospital on May 2^nd up to the point of falling asleep.

It has been hard to sit down and do an update for the site since I’ve got home. Frankly I feel like I’ve just caught up on about 4 years of sleep and sitting down typing is — a little too calm for me right now. Looking for a good marathon!

Seriously, it does feel like a lot of years of the death pallor have fallen off and that perhaps, maybe, just possibly there is some reason we keep going. Mind you the weather sucked badly when I went in and the sun is shining and the patio is working now that I am out. There could be some co-incidence here.

About a week ago now, I was waking up in the recovery room and trying to remember important things like how my limbs are attached to my body and frankly what they are for. I still think the brain surgery and the balancing of the hormones after the fact are a lot less draining than 3-4 hours under general anaesthetic (which you’d be amazed to know I can now spell — don’t know if that is because of the surgery).

I should warn you this update will take a while and will probably go up in fits and starts — for those of you that know me well I’m having a hard time right now not taking a couple of walls down and rebuilding the downstairs bathroom (with a curved glass block wall that splits just so). That is how much better I feel. I hope my body will be able to keep up since I seem to have let it go over the last couple of years.

I suppose to give some sense of this operation and continue these chronicles, I should move back a week to the day of the operation. We started with the admissions folks in the hospital — like checking into a hotel but with a much different recreational program. Request the private room, TV and the phone – I know how bored I can get and don’t really want to inflict this on others.

This is particularly important with recent changes to the hospital visiting hours. They are now set as 3:00 PM to 8:00 PM, only two people at a time. I can only guess that somewhere along the line they had a problem with an entire family moving in with papa when he had the bunion removed. Everything was probably fine until someone decided to have a BBQ.

Anyways, with the administration portion settled I get an armband, identifying me and allowing folks to verify who I am. I’d really hate to get mixed up with Smith in the next bed who, after years of struggling as Bob, now wants to be called Wanda. That frankly is not the growth I want removed. We wander the long main hall of the hospital to the other end (admissions and pre-admissions are at opposite ends of the building).

In pre-admissions (notice I’m not evening commenting on going to admissions and then pre-admissions and the complete counter logic that shows — I’m resisting) I check in and we complete the last couple of pieces of paperwork. They then send me down the hall to wardrobe — time to get those horrid clothes off and slip into a nice pair of hospital gowns. They use these things in pairs now since even they can’t keep up the façade they do any good. One on forwards, one on backwards. I get to keep my socks for a little longer.

Into a waiting room with others that will have bits removed, augmented or added. Staring at nothing really 'cause, well, it isn’t quiet 07:00 and already we have lost control of our day and most of our identity, and frankly socks can only take you so far. One by one the nurses take us to a row of waiting beds and begin to prep us for the journey upstairs. Check the name; verify that what I think is about to happen is what they think is about to happen, close enough. Right here’s a shot, here are some drugs, here is some paper work. Thanks for playing have a nice day — NEXT!

Really the nurse that checked me in was very pleasant and was trying to keep me calm and ready for the surgery. Nurse B I believe was her name. And it probably would have helped if I hadn’t known that shortly a burly "Logistics" worker (they called them orderlies at one point — guess that got out of hand) would push me, bed and all, upstairs. Certainly I think Nurse B was reassuring for J who at this point is still doing all the worrying for both of us.

G, the burly "Logistics" worker, pushes me up to an elevator. This is where I have to say goodbye to J since the next stop is the operating rooms and no dirty humans are allowed — burly "Logistics" types are only allowed out of necessity. Occasionally there are bodies that need to be moved. The farewell is a quiet moment, deep, heartfelt and personal. She will cry for a while — I know this — she cries a little when I get on a train or plane for a trip and those are statistically safer than letting people futz about in your brain. I note though that she manages to hold most of it back, either that or the elevator is too fast and I am whisked off to next stop.

Operating room number 10 looks about the same as all the others, particularly from the outside. Dull, uninteresting and clean. If you have to have a look for operating rooms, this is probably a good one. I wouldn’t want them to be overly stimulating or distracting even, since really this is all about ME. Me and my Squonk. The nurse comes out to greet and introduces herself as does that anaesthesiologist; they then degenerate into a medical banter too fast for me to follow and both start throwing their stock questions at me. All this is so quick I don’t even really get their names. The one good thing I hear is that the tube will go down my throat after I go bye-bye. I’m happy to hear this since it means I go away sooner and can begin my part.

In the operating room I am transferred to the table, and bits and pieces and tubes and stuff and junk and probably a pair of fuzzy dice are attached. Breath deep, this will help you — zonk. All gone bye-bye. Now I’m in my zone — laying around on my back, unconscious.

May 9^th — For those that have been following and waiting for me to do an update I will do this soon. I have been taking the first couple of days at home easy - this has been due to culture shock. Imagine actually having to get out of bed!

May 6^th — HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROB!!! Yesterday they finally freed his nose in the morning, and then his arms (tubes for blood-letting) in the afternoon. The last tube (ouch!) comes out this morning, and then I can bring him home! Happily, Rob heals quickly. He has been anxious to leave the hospital for a couple of days now... we await the list of do's and don'ts, but do not expect anything overly restrictive. Next update coming from a Squonk-Free Rob!

May 3^rd — Dear Rob is festooned with tubes and tape, poor thing. They are monitoring many functions, and all are functioning well. A large wad of gauze conceals the nose-packing, although I have to say his nose looks hardly larger at all! Visiting hours in the NOA are much more plentiful – one can stay most of the day, but still only two persons at a time. And Rob is bored already… so this morning I go to visit armed with a little DVD player, movies, paper and pens, etc. I’m sure he will be more comfortable when he gets into his own room – and we are still hoping for Friday release.

AND MOST IMPORTANT – his sight seems to have returned! This is a gargantuan relief, as there were no promises and low likelihood… but he has binary vision again! I can hear that motorcycle now...

May 2^nd 15:15 — Wow - Rob just called! He sounded stuffed up (duh) and said he felt like he'd been hit in the face with a shovel. It seems things are progressing well enough that he will be moved to the Neural Observation Area (NOA) within the hour, instead of being kept in the Recovery Room overnight. Coolness - I can visit at 8pm tonight!

May 2^nd 11:00 — Quick update - Dr. A. telephoned and the surgery is finished, all went well, no problems at all. I will see Rob this evening - nasal rockets and all - and provide a little more news then. Nasal rockets are the straws they leave sticking out of the nose-packing, so he can breathe! And Juudy edits/removes extraneous photos, so now there are fewer shots of Shauna's back...

May 2^nd — Just after 5:00 AM and again there is some silly surgery thing on TV. Amazing how much more you notice these things when your about to go there. Chop, chop, snip, snip oh what a relief it is. Hopefully there will be a couple of updates through the day, but please be aware I am not scheduled to come out until at least 12:00 noon. I'm hoping Juudy will be able to pry some information out of the administrainium of the hospital this after - if so she should post an afternoon update for you. She and likely my brother (family only) are going to be allowed to see me in the recovery room after 6:00 – I'm likely to have quantum physics solved by then to fight the boredom – so after visiting and then updating parents she should be able to post a futher/first update.

Please remember Juudy will be busy and though we really do appreciate the support, remember there is only one person on this "help desk" and her husband is undergoing surgery. Thanks again and see you all in a few days.

May 1^st PM — Thanks to P5 for all the pics – I have added them to the site on the Party Pictures page. And no I don't edit, crop or judge so don't ask.

May 1^st — Judging by the size of my head and the mess in the house it was a hell of a good party – many thanks to all that came to the send off. Today will be a slow moving kinda day I think; the cat licking its pillow is very loud in my ears and these keys sound a little bit like foot steps. On an up note the wee beastie has been name Squonk after the Genisis song about the mythical monster that "lives only in the hemlock forests of Pennsylvania". How such a beast has come to dwell in the small space behind my nose I cannot say – I will admit though to having been through Pennsylvannia once, a very very long time ago.

April 30^th — The of the party is upon us and there is a little rain in the AM, however, the bulk should go south of here so all should be good.

April 29^th — At the appointed time I did call upon the beast known as the Pre–Admission Unit (PAU). And lo, I did beg of them please, great beast of administration, grant me a time that I might appear in person to serve tribute to you. And there was a great rumbling, and there was unneeded repetition of useless information, and, in the end, came a time, 06:30. And I did declare praise for the beast and I did thank the beast for the appointed hour it had declared.

Blessed so with an appointed time, I did sally forth and cleanse myself and in offering of the beast did shave off the hairs that would be in the way. Thus, and lo, I did take up looking like an Amish gentile. And life will again be good.

April 28^th (update) — Aspirin-gate is behind us now and we are go for Monday.

April 28^th — And today we go screeeeeching around and hit the administrative side of the hospital, pushing full throttle, accelerating out of the corner. The Pre Adminission Unit seems to exist to ensure that all the folks who are about to undergo nasty, complicated and potentially life threatening operations are fully informed that this is just exactly what they are doing. "And by the way, here is what we are gonna to do to you after your operation to ensure your continued patient discomfort". In my case this took the form of again filling out the medical history (god knows they can't keep it on computer) and before I'm finished, Nurse H is dragging me off to a separate room. Divide and conquer. Pleasant sort, though, fills me in on the activities of the day and breezes through the basic measurements — weight, height etc. In the room I finish off the history and a quiet little woman (didn't catch her name) comes in to do an ECG on me. The five–second procedure takes longer to set up for than to perform.

Nurse H grabs the history when it is done passes it off to Nurse L, obviously more senior by the tan she is sporting. She covers over my history with me and then tells me about what to expect. Every time I go to write something down though, I am told it is on the papers she will hand me. Fine then, fax them to me. The only snag is that Dr. A and I haven't sat down to discuss what he is going to do to me - apparently you are not allowed to be blissful - rather they insist you are fully and horribly aware of ever detail of the torture they are going to inflict . so... that you vell talk! – n,o sorry, so you can give informed consent. Frankly it's a brain tumour - choices are leave it in and see how big it grows before it kills me or let the best surgeon in the area, for this type of operation, have a go at it – wow, hard choices.

Oh, and a quick thank you to whatever freaking moron invited the family to come live in hospital with them. The visiting hours are now 3 to 8 PM and only 2 people allowed at a time. Great, wonderful, freaking hell - why can't we just shoot the stupid people!!!

Next is a little blood work - surprisingly it is just a little. First try and Nurse H gets the view and quickly fills three vials. Done. Cool.

Then it is time to meet the gas passing guy. Dr. L (I think - one of the medical types mumble). Nice guy runs over my history again and seems concerned about getting the tube down my throat after I'm asleep. He is thinking that the person on Monday might want to put it down while I'm awake. I don't really care — it is sounding like every orifice will be busy and frankly they seem to be planning new ones. This is gonna be fun. And this is the best choice for brain tumours — I feel sorry for the other folks.

Dr. L. also tells me that it is possible that I might need blood. I'm thinking so what, Dalton de–listed it and now I have to pay. No need to be aware of the risks, I don't think they really understand — do nothing & die! When that is the other option, really a little risk of infection or even the risk of Dr. A sneezing is nothing. Chance of a positive is better than the certainty of a negative.

Now Dr. M comes in to look and figures there shouldn't be a problem getting the tube down while asleep. HOWEVER of greater concern is the ASA I use for headaches — it’s a brain tumour, I get headaches, I take ASA. Been doing this for over 20 years. Thins the blood though and since it takes 7 days to clear the blood stream they aren't sure if the operation can go ahead on Monday. Pity I hadn't read that; more of a pity all these concerned medico omitted telling me. I'll eat nothing but lasagne to thicken it right back up, OK. No! They attempted to call Dr. A, no luck. They can't reach his secretary, oh dear. If I don't hear from him by end of day start bugging him cause he has to make the call.

April 27^th — Today there were no updates. This space left intentionally blank.

April 26^th (PM) — A young lady from the Civic pre-Admissions office, we will call her C, phone and arranged my pre-admission appointment. This will involve meeting the Gas Passer and also having large amounts of blood removed for "testing" purposes. Arrive at 8:20 AM and plan to spend the next 3 hours playing musical chairs in the waiting room between interludes of blood letting and interogation. Looking forward to it ;) C did give me the option of normal, semi private or private accomodation ($150 or $200 respectively) since I'm under J's plan and it is the plan for the feds I figure I'll ask. GSHMIP MOUSE will only cover $150/day and only if you have level 3 coverage. Ask J what level she has and what the number is - J didn't know about the levels either. Call Sun Life and talk to S – after taking my (well J's) life history to ensure I'm "OK" I ask the big question; turns out we have level 3 so all is good and I will take semi private.

April 26^th — Voting page is now open and we have announced an open house for Ottawa folks - if your an Ottawa folk and we missed you just drop me a line. It will be Saturday and has been dubbed the "Say hi to Rob just in case the doctor sneezes" open house.

April 25^th (PM) — J has managed to finally to get ahold of Dr. A's office. The Secretary M apologizes greatly for taking so long (?) to get back to us but there are 4 tumours ahead of me (if this were a blog I'd be talking about a major conspiracy.) The surgery will be next Monday May 2nd at 0800, futher she M will call J back with an appointment for me to meet the gas passer. Things move forward and soon the EVIL SNOWMAN will be out. Thanks to all for well wishes and prayers, in a quantum way you are helping me influence which reality will remain when the results are observed.

April 25^th — As I wait to hear about when I go under the knife I have added some Calvin and Hobbes strips I found on the net – the snowman series. Started the levothyroxine today which is suppose to help with the hypothyroidism (under active). Also rebooked my sleep clinic appointment (again) – a bed to sleep in will have taken 16 months. Thankfully they are moving quicker on this tumour thing.

April 24^th — More work here and I hope to have a new (not borrowed) snowman image today. >>. Mom and dad dropped by and brought the new snowman – so we now have a completely original and authentic piece of art for our snowman. Thanks ma!!

April 23^rd — Added this history page and moved the voting date back so I could let some of the other folks know.

April 21^st — Started the Cortef (hydrocortisone) last night. The drug paper lists a pile of side effects but does mention the drug works quickly and reduces swelling. The swelling seems to be down a little as I think my vision is a little better. Dr. B mentioned this may not come back fully but seeing even a little more is promising. I also seem to have more energy (twitchy nervous energy; but energy none the less.) Stopped by to see Dr. R and bring her up to date on what’s been happening – she was thankful since not much has been getting back to her - just the odd blood report.

April 20^th (cont.)—Dr. F writes a prescription for the medications that will begin to rebalance the hormones and Dr. A calls Dr. B – no make that Dr. B calls Dr. A and asks when he can get me in. The answer is next week – this is good since Dr. A is working on five brain tumour patients right now (this is Ottawa!) Stop at the vampire stations on the way out, just a single today. (Blood pressure is 130/89.)

April 20^th — I'm suppose to see the Endocrinologist, one Dr. M apparently, normally Dr. Z and Dr. A normally works with Dr. K but she is on sabbatical until August. Dr. M is filling in, however, she seems to have been replaced with Dr. B. In the little room Dr. B turns out to be Dr. F. She records my story again (now available on-line) and does a basic examination. She notes that all of the hormones that run my body are depressed but border line normal, she explains the results of the CT Scan and MRI and the MRI tech has made the SNOWMAN diagnosis official (interestingly the tech does not note the evil intent of the EVIL SNOWMAN.) Turns out Dr. F is a student and Dr. B joins us. Dr F. briefs Dr. B on my story (I might have to hire Dr. F to retell it for me – she does a good job.) Dr. F also talks about what she thinks is going on. Dr. B gives Dr. F and us some feedback. Turns out that this tumour cannot be handled using drugs. The across the board depressed hormone levels is an indication that the tumour is crushing the Pituitary. Additionally the 1G1 (HGH) test wasn't done and since my feet have gotten bigger and there are other signs of swelling (current weight is 142.5 kg – convert it yourself – BMI of 45.3). This means that they will need to start managing the hormone levels and want the HGH (1G1) test done. Noteably the Cortisol level. The Thyroid is also in trouble. Additionally she point out that the vision may not clear up.

April 15^th — Travel home from Thunder Bay and go for an MRI. Did you know the Germans build these things for the little people that live in the forests outside their villages? Really it is a basket for a strange version of basket ball that involves German dwarf-tossing – certianly it is not built for the finely tuned Scots warrior body to fit into it. The process came much too close involving K-Y jelly in a hospital for me. After a half hour of buzzing and creaking and cracking and splitting of atoms they pull me out of the machine with a loud popping sound. Great fun if you’ve ever wanted to be a cork.

April 7^th — I give blood for the blood work. Seems the blood pressure medication is working as they can no longer find a vein easily – and when they do it rolls away from the needle. Thanks Mom. The first vampire just gives up and sends in the second string – second vampire manages the job of draining just less than half the blood in my body, I'm not legally dead but day light is bothersome.

April 6^th — It’s 9:30 and I haven’t heard from Dr. A the neurosurgeon. Dr. Z had mentioned this could happen – check in with him and he gets through to Dr. A. (Thanks again Dr. Z.) Cover over the story again and between this and the CT Scan the doctor is 85% sure it is a Pituitary Tumour. We get to see the fuzzy CT Scan and for the first time it truely does look like the EVIL SNOWMAN. Wants to do an MRI to make sure 100% it is a Pituitary Tumour. Also needs me to do blood work and to see an Endocrinologist Dr. M to balance the hormones and see if this can be treated using drugs. These will be arranged for ASAP. Clear my travel – I’m teaching in Thunder Bay next week – with him and all is good. One a side note this was a different travel agent – not sure its an improvement. (Blood pressure is now at 130/92.)

April 5^th — Dr. Z sees me and quickly comes to the same conclusion. He then takes me to Radiology and I am now next in line. (Thank you Dr. Z.) It should be noted that the blood pressure must be getting better since it now takes them a few tries to find a vein. Looking at the CT Scan we see the EVIL SNOWMAN for the first time – more of a lump now. We also hear the T word – tumour – the following word benign is a relief. It is a Pituitary Tumour. The growth is pressing on the Optic Chiasm (where the two nerves carrying peripheral vision cross). This is causing the loss of peripheral vision and likely crushing the Pituitary gland surpressing hormone production. Neuro surgeon tomorrow.

April 4^th — Hear nothing from the CT Scan folks.

April 1^st — At the Eye Institute – which I only find after a long hike through a construciton maze – they don’t seem to be expecting me. Dr. Z isn’t even in on Fridays. Eventually they find the referral from Dr. N and a send Dr. J to fix me. He checks everything over again and confirms the findings of Dr. N. The eyes are fine and the nerves are the problem. Explains that from the field of vision test and the state of the eyes something is wrong with the Optic Chiasm. I need to see Dr. Z and a CT Scanner – preferrably in the reverse order. He requests the CT Scan (hopfully for Monday) and sets up an appointment for me for Tuesday. (Does mention the CT Scan might need a push from Dr. Z.

March 31^st — The March rush is over (sort of) and I have time for appointments (and enough money to pay taxes). On the 31st I see Dr. N the optometrist. My left eye was weakening last year and she had warned I would need glasses – I'm thinking possibly a monocle. The exam will cost $43 – thanks Dalton. The exam reveals that both eyes are fine – the nerves, that another story. Does mean OHIP will cover the visit though so I get the $43 back. The left eye has no peripheral vision (actually its about 90% blind) and the upper peripheral vision in the right is going. Get to meet Dr. Z the specialist tomorrow at the Eye Institute. On another front though Dr. R finds the blood pressure at 122/88 - yahoo!!

March (cont) — In an unrelated (to this story – it relates to onther stories though) decision, I want a change of pace in life. Therefore I decide I will finally get the full class M (permanent Motorcycle) license and start riding during summers again (which I did for many years just renewing a class R (motorcycle learners permit) – don’t ask why, I don’t know). Means getting the eyesight fixed – make an eye appointment to this end.

March 2005 — Back from Petawawa and on the 3rd go to the doctor about the vision and headaches. Dr. R informs me that a blood pressure of 180/115 is bad – in the sense of not being good. Oops! Start taking Atenolol in the evenings 50 mg. A week later Dr. R finds the pressure is at 140/100 – still not good but in the right direction. Since J was in Victoria visiting for the that week can't be sure if the improvement is the pills or the quiet (kidding) – she does have a better travel agent. Better still the headaches have eased up (not gone though).

February 2005 — Back to Petawawa for another three-week stint (did this just before the holidays as well – no offence T but I need a new travel agent). Starting to loose vision in the left eye and fighting daily headaches. Thankfully I’m not driving and my aspirin (actually Aspirin, Caffeine and Codeine) are keeping the headaches at bay. Must have this looked at when the Petawawa stint is over. Still not drinking and just in case have stopped the vitamins and supplements. Still watching the food and still gaining weight (mass actually I know). Something is very wrong.

January 2005 — After the holiday season it is time to start to ease off from the over indulgences. Time to start trimming down and getting ready for summer. Don't worry this has nothing to do with bathing suit weight just getting ready for golf. Start to take vitamins, stop drinking and start to eat better. The result is headaches and weight gain. This seems very odd, however, training industry in Ottawa in January – time to stop thinking anyway. One week Trenton, one week in strange blue lighting and one week in a room with no windows.