Saturday,
June 8, 2002
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strength in Hyde Park
"No lesson seems to be so deeply
inculcated by the experience of life as that you never should trust experts.
If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome: if you believe the theologians,
nothing is innocent: if you believe the soldiers, nothing is safe. They
all require to have their strong wine diluted by a very large admixture
of insipid common sense." [Very timely quote, I think. For me and the world.] It is not enough to be happy; it is necessary, in addition, that others not be. |
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really must write something A lot can change in a short time. And really things are the same. Those of you with scorecards know that I've written of my mother of the mystery ailments. Turns out that her real problem is alliterative, too. Multiple myeloma. Don't feel bad if you haven't heard of it. It's one of those things you learn about after someone gets a diagnosis. You learn more than you ever wanted to know. I handed Dad a article printed off the Internet yesterday. "I probably know more than I want to already," he said and handed it back. I went with her to a doctor the GP referred her to on the twenty-second. It was my wedding anniversary. I had played hooky from work because they had a SIX HOUR rah-rah meeting. Instead, I finished some work I had to do and sat in this doc's office with my mother. The appointment was allegedly about the mammogram but I couldn't figure out why. The mammo people hadn't even found last year's film though they did it. Mom was confused and in pain. The doctor tried to figure out why, poked on her here and there besides the breast exam. But it was as unsatisfying as the other doctor episodes. That night Dad called. She was having bowel problems and although he gave her an enema and she had some results, her abdomen was hard and painful and distended. He figured an obstruction and took her to the emergency room. They dealt with that, carefully, over the next couple of days with the new surgeon trying to avoid surgery. But the doctor in charge started suspecting a larger cause, ordered tests, quized my dad. With the big brains on the doctors and this list of symtoms:
and the test results (obvious 'punch outs' in skull films, high protein levels in blood and urine, anemia, high calcium) they concluded that they had diagnosed multiple myeloma and were oh so proud. Meanwhile the symptoms threatened her. Calcium soared, a real danger. Pneumonia arrived. The bone marrow biopsy showed 50% plasma cells. Bingo. Days in ICU, in intermediate care and graduating to a 'regular' room again even though she cannot swallow or walk or stand. I don't know if she will get better, but I do know that this disease or a resultant infection will probably be her denouement. Just for the record: I understand that something gets all of us. An accident, an illness. The suffering is a little hard to understand. The religious among you think it all means something. To me it's chaos. Yet she does suffer. Has suffered. While we shook our heads and doctors wrote it off as old age. There is a record in my journal. Legs hurt too much to stand, frequent infection, confusion, 'a knife in my back', 'my back is broken.' I didn't know. It's not my profession. Doctors see patients for minutes or seconds, make judgments. At the hospital her chart is a fat notebook. Some nurses see the initial diagnosis ('constipation') and throw her about like a malingerer. No one takes the time. The patient is sadly lost in it all, I'm afraid. The hematological oncologist is young, like Dougie Howser. I call him that. He's all about the power of drugs. He isn't even curious to track her pain. It's just a set of numbers? Aren't her numbers better now? People (statistically) respond well to treatment.
So the last couple of weeks have been consumed by the hospital and trying to do the most important work things. It puts a focus on what you think it important. I have hosptial tidbits that I've thought about writing about. But I can't do it yet.
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180
JUST
TYPING