LOSING NUMO ( “pneumo”) - NEMO’S EVIL TWIN

It’s funny what causes the heart of the Clot to twitter-pate these days. Dr. Fenton came in to check on Dennis, and (this is a direct quote) said, “You’re peeing like a racehorse.” That’s “doc talk” meaning the guy’s system is really in gear. We could tell from the grin on the doctor’s face that this is a good thing. We are so proud of him, and we plan to include it on his resume. There have been days when the cup was not only not even half full, it was completely empty. So the racehorse analogy was just fine with us! (Although I must admit I don’t know just how much a racehorse urinates.) But it does give a whole new meaning to the term, “Goin’ for the gold!” Dennis was so happy that he twisted his feeding tube into a valentine. Forget the flowers and candy. He really knows how to drive a woman wild!

Tuesday the medical team is thinking of starting Dennis on solid food. (That usually means lime green jello and ice chips. Yum.) But Dennis actually had a hunger pang today, and the Clot is going planning to go out and kill the fatted buffalo in celebration. (This might be a little drastic, but it just doesn’t sound the same to go out and kill the fatted chicken broth.) Dennis has a pneumothorax, which means there is air between the lung and the chest wall. It has increased a little, in spite of our lap-walking and work on the spirometer. So they will probably put a little “pigtail” in somewhere or other to help lose “Numo.” This is OK. We can do this. We can do this.

Dennis’ feeding tube is being ratcheted up from 40 to 60, and while this is an improvement, we are all looking forward to the moment that he has a “meal” instead of a “feeding.” We are working our way to the eventual feeding frenzy, but all in good time, my pretty!

The sub-clavian tube was removed, and now there is only one intravenous thingee left in his skinny body. I have committed myself to not blogging more information than is necessary in polite society,(Brodi just said, “too late!”) but suffice it to say that the Clot has put away the pom poms and stilled the cheers of bowel encouragement. (However, the nursing staff has requested our services on behalf of other patients on the floor. And we would be willing to make house calls should the need arise.) If there are any questions, please see me privately.

The best evidence of Dennis’ progress was the Super Bowl game on Sunday. Whenever there was a time-out or a break for the ads, he would get his hangee thingee, and we would all do laps around the fifth floor. The Clot and the grandchildren followed, and he began to look like a rock star with his entourage. But the funny thing was, everyone else would come out of their rooms, pushing their hangee thingees, and it began to take on the appearance of some sort of athletic Easter parade, with everyone in variations of hospital attire. There soon evolved two lanes of traffic, with the slower lap-walkers staying to the right, and the faster walkers passing on the left. Shared adversity produces an element of commonality, and it is easy to strike up a conversation with someone else with like tubing and uniform.

It struck me that as we watched the football game, the real heroes were the ones doing laps around the hallway, not the ones on the field. Talk about courage, determination, stamina. It is not easy pushing around a bunch of wires and bags after being poisoned by chemo, singed by radiation, and being deprived of a major portion of one’s innards. The only “tatts” visible were those used for radiation, and there were absolutely no dreadlocks. Heck, there was hardly hair at all! The Super Bowl was very exciting, but it paled in comparison to what happened Sunday night on the 5^th floor of the Huntsman.

Tuesday is a very big day for us. We will be getting the pathology results. We are a little nervous. We are ready. We are grateful we even got to surgery. Miracles and tender mercies. We will hit the ball that is pitched to us.

More up-dates will be coming. Please know how much we appreciate your love and support.

Love to all,

The Clot