(OK, here's the story. I did not blog yesterday because I had absolutely nothing to say. Wouldn't it be nice if the real media did that from time to time? Lord the noise. I wonder sometimes, as I reach the reflection point in my life, how much folderol we really need. But that's just me.)--DCF
Whipped into the physical therapist's office today for an evaluation. A very nice lady named Kay made me push and pull and twist myself into something like a deviant tree limb. Every time she got done with this or that maneuver she would go "uh, huh" and write something on her clip board. She would also tell me after two or three routines that I was "doing great." There is not a medical person in the world I trust with those two words if I don't know exactly what they mean.
I went into that room thinking I was weaker than a new born pup, but found, surprisingly, that I could do, to some degree, most every thing she asked. Even twist my self into a deviant tree limb. She pushed against this or that and I pushed something or the other against her hand and she would say "uh, huh" some more and remind me one more time that I was doing great. Since George Washington was great and they do not have a monument for me in Washington, I figured she was stretching all that a little bit. OK, a lot.
Finally she gets all done and says, to my complete surprise, most of my physical issues are in the hip. Arms, legs, hands, etc. all about normal for a man my age. Now, you may remember that a few weeks ago I got down on one knee to take a photograph and could not get up. I assumed that was from a lack of leg strength. Nope, she says, it is all in the hip. And she said in 8 weeks she will have that all fixed up. I will be able to get down on my knees good as anybody and get up again without help. I ain't planning to ask anybody to marry me anything soon, so maybe she only needs to fix one hip. And she said you never know. I asked her about my swollen legs (which she agreed were swollen) and she pretty much shrugged like every other expert and told me to keep them up. Uh, huh. She did say I should not fight the naps, but take them in one-hour increments if possible. So I came home and slept for two with Sadie snoring right next to ear. Much better than PT.
And all of this hip business because of my laziness? Apathy? Fatigue? Nope (though Sherry does not believe that). Instead I bow to Decadron, that wicked little steroid they put me on after the last gamma knife. I still shake my head in wonder at that one. Like I said I sort consider things by their size. For example, getting whacked by a sledge hammer is much more damaging than a regular hammer. So I figured Sutent (50 mg) was the really tough stuff while Decadron (4 mg) was kinda like a salve on dry skin. Wrongo. Now they are weaning me off Dec and I am happy to see it go. On the other hand, if I start getting headaches they will most likely put me right back on it. From my point of view I have a 30% chance of being rid of it and start feeling like a real person again.
And then drops a small-size shoe: as I am weaning off I will most likely feel worse before I feel better. Thank you sir, may I have another. But I will tell you this, from the perspective of this poor warrior, I know I can whip cancer's arse, but Decadron brought me down to size. Who woulda thunk?
So there you go. The old DCFer goes into another therapy about the time the shotguns are coming out of the safe for real. Somethings going to pay for this and pay for it covered with gravy. And it ain't gonna be me.
To my thinking "You're doing great" is right up there with "We got it all".
Still my friend, I am very glad you are in better shape than you thought.
What a good Christmas gift eh?
Posted by: Manuel | November 30, 2007 at 11:01 AM