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Yay, it's good to hear from you! :D I'm glad you can speak, that is awesome! Also, lol @ Doc Pretty. :)

On the bonus side of that gross episode, he allowed me twice or thrice to beat him up when I see him on the corridor tomorrow.

I am quite looking forward to that.


Yeah well, let's talk some more about these strange doctors.

The dude that did the complicated part of the surgery was awesome for that job, because he was convinced that he was the best man in the staff at this time. That's why the surgery happened so quickly and so suddenly. If I had been looking for emotional support though, he'd be an absolute failure. He was blunt, honest, and interested in doing his job well, not in the emotional troubles of his patients. When I hit some of the ugly topics of this disease, he didn't flinch at all. That's something all others do.

The dude that gave me the diagnosis is a strange case. He evoked feelings of trust, even though I know that he didn't tell me the whole truth. Then we had a more complicated other meeting, which did not go that well at all. And finally, when he met me here in the clinic, I was crazily glad to see him at last. He's at the moment giving emotional support a lot with thumbs up signs and smiles and stuff.

And then there was the surgist who was sent to me in the intensive care unit to tell me how the stuff had gone. I saw him today during the doctors' walk through all the rooms, and he didn't appear to recognize me at all. That was very, very strange.

Upier, I have some more stories about Doc Pretty, indeed. It's somewhat gross though. You know, they had to cut my trachea during the surgery, yeah? I had some gross thing inserted in there to keep the cut open so that I could breathe. That thing did not allow for speaking at all.

It got replaced by a thing that allows for speaking on Sunday, by Doc Pretty himself (with the help of Sister Brutala). First, they removed the funny borg tubes from the sides of my throat. I got squeamish during that, because I wasn't high on intense drugs as I had been in the intensive care unit, so Doc Pretty said: "so, and now the worst is over. Please lean back now so that I can place the speaking tube into your throat."

I shall spare you the grossest technical details, but let's leave it at "I went into a combined coughing spasm frenzy + crying fit + short time of puking" during that procedure. My sister, the psycho-doc had witnessed such a removal procedure once in an intensive care unit and also thought that it looked absolutely gross.

So much about Doc Pretty's truthfulness.

Anyway, he's still pretty! The current doc for this week, let's call her Doc Blonde, is also awesome though. Not as pretty as Doc Pretty though.

What I find awesome about her is the fact that she's the ONLY female doc of this specialization here at this clinic, and also she's extremely nice and cute. She could be a bit more skilled with the application of the needles, but I'm willing to admit that my veins just suck.

YAY!
Good to hear you are doing well!

Now, let's talk about that cute doctor!
^^

Yeah anyway, I am happily walking around now and I even can talk again, but it sounds funny. Doctors give me thumbs up and smiles when they see me do that in the corridor, but I guess that's more because I had a rapid recovery since Saturday and they like to see that - not because of mortality rates or chances for good lab results.

hi guys! I just escaped from the waking room.

The surgery went apparently very well, at least the doctors are all very excited and optimistic (but I am wary of doctors' optimism). They did not have to remove a part of my right arm to insert it into the tongue! That's why everyone is so excited.

I woke up at around 17 in the intensive care unit, which was a horrible experience. A woman was shouting all the time, a man had apparently several broken bones, and I was drowning in my spit and got the first contact with a male nurse removing the spit from my lung and throat - in the brutal way.

The female nurses were all super nice there, one even brushed my hair and applied something to my lips (which were hurt during the surgery, what with all the instruments being showed down my throat).

Then I went into the waking room and stayed there until today. Recovery process was rapidly, but I still found it quite annoying in the end. No, I didn't need assistance to wash myself today anymore and yes, I could walk around freely again. Ah well, she meant well.

So, the cut out pieces are in the lab now and I expect the results on thursday at the latest. :)

Sorry babes, I can't bring myself to read through your procedures - I am on the verge of fainting each time I start to read about it! I kid you not - I am really that much of a pussy. >.>
I DID just scroll though the part about the cute doctor so ... more information about that!

I too hope everything went fine - although I am guessing you're now in intensive care and won't be able to report anything for a bit!

It is now Friday! So I hope everything went well yesterday. Sill sending hugs and prayers. :) <3

Wow, I wish I had anything constructive to add, other than that I am fascinated by all the procedures and hospital drama, and amazed by how well you're handling everything :O Also, Ms. Psycho-oncologist sounds super professional and awesome!

And as for gross pictures...I love them. They're cool. If you want any you'd like to post I will look at them. >:D

Please keep us updated as long as you're able. :) I'm sending my prayers already for Thursday, in case you don't get to post before then. :D

A bit of a longer report today (mostly because I think that I will be too disabled to type a lot very soon). Today was intense.

We were woken up at 8am (perhaps a bit earlier), which was a lot better than expected, really. As a side effect, the doctors' visit happened before I had changed from nightwear into normal clothes - I find it important to run around here in normal streetwear instead of the "I am a patient in nightie and dressing gown" thing.

To my surprise, that visit consisted of about a dozen doctors, nurses, and students. No, I really did not have any questions when he asked me then.

Right afterwards, when I was still drinking my coffee, I was sent in a hurry over to the anesthesia department for the briefing. All went well.

When I returned my files to the nurses here, I was shaking though, and then it happened: I had my crying fit infront of nurses, some young nurse who was just beginning at that job, and the doctor joined the crowd as well. I didn't want that crowd, or to cry into sister claudia's shoulder (or to take any drugs, which she offered immediately)... anyway...

I escaped with my life (lol, it wasn't that bad, really) and seized the opportunity of an almost empty room here to have a semi-massive crying fit here in peace. All was well afterwards, as expected.

And LUCKILY, the psycho-oncologist phoned me right then and arrived here some minutes later for a talk. She then told sister claudia what I told her in a more appropriate fashion that I might have been able to. ("this patient needs to feel in control at all times, and she prefers to cry without witnesses, and she seems to know what suits her best", I think she might've said. That lady is a pro, she'll know how to talk to nurses just as she knew how to talk to me.

She'll also help me tomorrow with another bit that I think might be helpful for my control-freak nature.. a paper telling the doctors that I don't want to be the next Terri Schiago, you know. I don't know though if she'll get it to me before I'm starting to be drugged up tomorrow, which I will and which is fine.

So, next was another briefing by doc Pretty (he really is!), then a briefing at the gastroenterologists for the Borg Tube (tm)... erm

erm... this is just the first Borg Tube out of about 20 that I'll have. But anyway....

And then I received a disgusting lunch even though I should've gone to the throat-nose-ears dudes. I can't barely eat more than about 2 bites per meal at the moment (the stomach borg tube would be very welcome right now), learned to know the new roomie.

the new roomie is... I am sorry to say, but that is type "hypochondriac". I listened to her worries about her "complicated" surgery next morning with the empathic ears of someone with a background in the "listening to crazy people"-line of work from university. I frankly do not know why she is in the hospital at all. She'll most definitely not get a full knockout at all tomorrow, probably just a local anesthesia - that's obvious because she had all the disgusting meals today. :P yeah right, she's also not empathic at all and freaked out by miss cancer-in-final-stage in the 3rd bed and not interested at all in what her roomies might have. No matter, she'll be gone soon anyway.


Yeah, and then I went to the throat-nose-ears ... freaks. bastards. *******s. Ahem. it started right at the start. Not "oh, you're the one from mouth-jaw-face? just go left and then room 34"... nooo. "What's your insurance type?! pull a number and sit down". And then they let me wait for THREE HOURS. That wasn't the best thing about it, no. the briefing was the worst thing imaginable.

Yeah, laws say that they have to tell you what MIGHT happen in these things they're about to do to me. But no law says that they have to present it as extremely likely to happen, when it bloody well isn't. Also, what the **** was that ***** thinking when she had finished reading the file, looked at the tumor - to smirk like a bastard and to say "oh, they want to fix that with a piece of skin from your arm? Well, you know, WE here do these surgeries often as well, and we just cut out tumors like that. heals just fine, and who cares anyway, you can remove a lot of stuff from the tongue without doing any harm".

dudes, the thing is 1.3cm. with the additional security margin, they will be cutting out a piece of ~3cm diameter. that's a bloody huge hole in a tongue!

anyway, it looked like me as if there are some moronic rivalties between these two departments about patients like me, and as if that was the reason for the insanely long waiting time and that ****ty briefing. What worries me most now is that these throat-nose people will also stick stuff into my throat on thursday, and they might just "accidentally" hurt my throat during that to kick their "rivals" a bit into the nuts.

I talked with doctor Pretty about this instantly afterwards and I think he phoned them and had a talk about it.


yeah well, and then my parents were here for 3ish hours and that went fine as well.

so. apparently, I'm getting a needle into the veins tonight for antibiotics. tomorrow, the stomach Borg tube is put into place and I'll be drugged up for that.

I am still allowed to eat for 3 more hours, and to drink for 4 more after that, the rest of the day will be spent sleeping and asking my final questions to the doctors, dr. pretty mostly, I suppose.


pondering now if I want a valium (well, a benzo) for the night or not. Miss cancer next-bed happens to walk to the toilet 2 times per night, and that is sort of a sleep-breaking event always.

miss hypochondriac is in nightie all day already and now already sleeping or just lying uncommunicatively in bed. too bad that miss broken jaw has left earlier today, because she was cool.

So...

There has been a change of plans.

This change of plans occurred because according to that doctor, "time is of the essence" now.

Not 1 week of hardcore diagnosis and borg tube insertion. No... erm. It's 2 days of hardcore diagnosis and then a surgery on Thursday. Starting at 8, ending at the very earliest at 17. That's the time he reserved on his plan, he basically re-arranged 3 short surgeries to get at me earlier.

The assistence doc is a cutie with an appropriate name (he's called Mr "Beautiful" in my native language, which is an uncommon name), and he seemed a bit shocked about what his boss came up there, too.

That boss ran around in green surgery room outfits, had no name tag, had smiled at me before in the corridor, and he was absolutely weird at first. I was "the tongue carcinome, born 1973", and he didn't ask me anything, f.i. who had analysed the biopsy. He only adressed the assistant doc at first and only looked at my tongue. Not at me.

Anyway, the thing is 1.3cm long, and when he learned that it hurts, he started silently to re-arrange the schedule. I sort of let out an "EEP!" when he said "Thursday", and I was even assuming the Thursday of NEXT week, not this week.

What's going to happen:
- cutting out the tumor
- cutting out a piece of skin, artery and vein from my right arm
- cutting my throat, removing the upper lymph nodes
- inserting the piece of skin as a new part of the new and improved tongue
- cutting my throat some more; I'm going to get a extra breathing hole at the front for a week. Obviously, an intubation tube would be in the way when they're busy stopping the artery in the tongue and the veins to bleed all over the place.
- the throat, nose, ears specialist will also look into the throat; they'll do that all in one instance instead of in two. Sooo.... there are some bad news: I won't be able to take pics of the tattooed tongue and post that as a gross picture here. (I could post a pic of the tumor though, if anyone wan't to freak out and assuming that I figure out how to get the pic from the handheld phone to a computer?)


I'll then get into the intense care unit for at least a night. I'll probably be back amongst the living on Saturday, and incapable of speaking for a week.

Then another week and I'm out of here.

... this is assuming that they don't find out that they have to re-open me to cut out some more stuff.


So, that's the new status. Enough for the moment, I dislike the keyboard on this laptop a lot. No GWing for me, I guess, but I'll put Dwarf Fortress on here.

I want to elaborate that "my parents are ...difficult" thing, but just a bit.

You see, what would your first reaction be to the news that you won't be able to speak for a while soon? I can tell you that my first reaction wasn't "oh, I better try to clean up my messy handwriting style so that I can send postcards from now on for communication" - no. My first reaction was "family is going to get used to IRC then."

My family does not consist of computer nerds like myself. They know how to read email, how to surf the internet (at least a little bit), and my sister even knows how to read a forum. I actually think that she even posts there sometimes.

So, the "family goes to IRC" project had to take place early, while I was still capable of giving assistance by phone. It seemed to go very well, actually. My parents found the channel just fine, and after a time interval of confusion, they seemed to adjust just fine. I was even pleased to witness them master the fine art of idling so quickly. With "fine art of idling", I mean "join the channel, then go do something else. Sit down at your convenience and read the log or leave it, whatever."

So, now I learned today, that they didn't actually master the fine art of idling. No. At great cost to their normal daily routine, they apparently sat there and stared at the channel all the time, while I was doing what I always do - practicing the fine art of idling in combination with some chatterboxing when I find it convenient. And this great personal cost of theirs was of course my fault (especially since they never ever complained so that I could tell them that they got it completely wrong).

Yeah... "difficult". Gah.


RIGHT. In less than 12 hours, I'm in the clinic. I'm going to cry some more in advance now. Night.

My parents are... well... difficult to handle, extraordinarily skilled at sending me onto a guilt trip. Anyway. That matter is settled now, thanks to the intervention of my sister. It's good to have a semi-psychologist in the family sometimes. One who actually works in the field, I mean.

Next issues. Must not forget:
- my medicine
- my toothbrush
- my hairbrush
- the bowls of the cats
- the towel for the cats
- some money for a taxi
- my phone
- some tampons? I really don't know if it's due again? Better pack some.

Emotions are changing extremely rapidly now; I'll just hope that they'll settle down somewhat once I'm in the clinic, unless my worries about the "getting drugged up because I'm hysteric" come true. Perhaps I should try to cry some more in advance?

Feel more like smacking someone into the face rightnow though, some smoking people, for instance. (maybe I got it from passive smoking?) That mood will change within the hour though.

---------

Checking out the Zquests now, because, even if there's a mortality rate of 50% even after the treatment, I am still annoyed if Nefertari won't become a GWAMM, and she follows the Zaishen order of things to do.

Monday evening:
- Tahnakai miss = 1 miss
- Iron Horse mine squish = 1 squish (2 if I don't do today's)

Tue eve:
nothing relevant today

Wedn eve:
- Dasha miss (2)
- Khaabus bounty (2)
- Plains of Jarin squish (I could do that anytime, but 50 zoins are nice.) (2 or 3)

Thur eve:
- Wilds miss (3)
- Sparkfly Swamp? I've done that already, but it would be more Asura points (3 or maxed. meh)

Fri eve:
- Unwaking waters miss (...maxed, meh. Abandon Wilds if room needed)
- Stygian bounty (3. time for another go at DoA next weekend)
- Kessex Peak (yes, I'd like this one. Abandon Jarin or/and Sparkfly, if I need room)

Don't worry about rudeness. If your cats are what you need, go for it, and just kindly ask your parents for some space. Say that the hospital is full of people and you need one last night alone with your pets. They care about you so they will understand.

Sorry to hear about this. We are all rooting for the best possible outcome for you.

Hmm... yeah, it's growing now. Quite rapidly, too. In other words: the radiation therapy better not be delayed too long.

In all my rudeness, I am at the moment most concerned about how to handle my parents later today. They kindly agreed to help me transport the cats' luggage to the friend today, and the cats to the friend tomorrow; meaning that they've taken a room in a nearby hotel. Me in my rudeness, however, am worried if it would be too god damn rude to dump them into the hotel room after we went to dinner, so that I can have a last evening for the snuggling with the cats.

That really helps me more at the moment than being told by my parents that I should follow their "please don't cry" line. Also, I can't talk now very well anymore, and being pitied in silence or listening to stories about all the various wonderful miraculously cured from cancer people in their line of friends and pals would drive me even more insane than I already am at the moment.

My friends and family are acting oddly at the moment as well. Maybe I should explain: When I looked at the tongue about 1 month ago and the alarms went off in my head at that sight, I informed my sister (the psycho-doc) and my best friend. My sister directed me at the correct doctor I should go with that thing to at the nearest opportunity (the dentist doctor, that was). These two basically know for 2-3 weeks longer that some crap might hit the fan, 2-3 weeks longer than the rest of the family and friends.

I kept it "secret" to avoid becoming the target of that inappropriate "extreme empathy" as I am receiving now from every physician's front desk lady and stuff before I knew that it really was what I suspected. My parents for instance, would've sent that kind of "extreme empathy" into my direction during that waiting time. Not to receive that, helped me quite a bit through these 2-3 weeks of uncertainity but worry.

There's a weird result now though: while my sister and my buddy are emotionally adequate to myself now (i.e. they are sometimes *****ing at me and they inform me that they're suffering too, and that's alright, really), the rest of the family is in the denial ("maybe it isn't cancer at all"... duh?) and in the "oooh, please don't cry"-stage. Also in the "I must not tell her that it sucks for me now as well"-stage.

They've some catching up to do, because this is a bit weird and just as inappropriate as their most likely reaction during the waiting time would've been.

With my brother, it's going to be most difficult. He left country for a holiday vacation with his kids and wife, and when he returns on the 16th, I'll be hopefully already in radiation therapy. "So, it's not as bad as you thought, right?" - "Nah, my mouth just feels like some lunatic poured acid into it, it's fine!"...




I also think that oncologists learn some retarded stuff in their lectures. Yeah, statistics like the mortality rates are crap to know, but by knowing these, the compliance with the therapy increases.

Same with the first descriptions that I got about radiation therapy effects on the mouth at first ("oh, it's not too bad, really. Just like when you've sucked on too many sour sweet drops"). I inquired more and further and asked the same person until she told me the truth ("well, after 1-2 weeks, it's sort of hell for the patients"), and now I can cope with that.

Knowledge > happy bliss.

Oncologists are morons if they think otherwise.

Yeah, I tend to be rational and aware of my emotions, which doesn't mean that I wouldn't act irrationally on them quite a bit. Might be a result from the esoteric adventures from my not all too troubled youth years, you know, meditation and "find your inner archetypes" kind of crap. Actually, the meditation thing was not too bad of an idea, it helps to hit the aforementioned "lala-land" that I need to be in when I get poked with needles.

I am not a lawyer, so I am really not sure if they would be allowed to drug you up in a normal clinic against your will or not. The place I am going to next week is a part of the normal university clinic; the psychiatry and neurology is 2 bus stops further along the road. Psychiatry is closer to the radiology therapy building and to the chapel thing for the religious freaks than the building I'll spend this first week in.

I'm just hoping now that the radiation therapy will be an ambulant sort of 3 weeks of fun. With the Borg tube in my stomach, I should be fine, shouldn't I? As long as they prescribe me something that I can inject into it directly, I mean. There wouldn't be any point in having me stay there, I hope.

I just hate clinics, that's the problem there. Annoying people, you get woken up at annoying times of the morning, then you get disgusting food at annoying times of the day, and the roomies are probably annoying too. And it's annoying to have to keep an eye on the laptop at all times. The most annoying thing is that this would mean another separation from my cats; and erm dudes, the cats are the best therapeutic effect I could think of right now. A cat biting me gently into the toes for crying too loudly, or a purring cat on the lap calming me down... that's awesome and should count as psychotherapy.

But noooo... "pets aren't allowed in the clinic", my arse. *growl* Annoying, as I said.


I'm sorry about your family, Nikhera. Looks like the cancer gene is running in your bloodline as well.

It's hard to gauge subtext from just writing, but from what I'm reading you're actually being very down to earth and levelheaded about your situation. Very aware of the emotions you're feeling...meta, as it were.

And at this point, I don't think my word will be as assuring as your sister's may be, but whatever you're feeling, your doctors will have dealt with that and way worse, too. ;) But I don't think crying fits are an excuse to drug you. We're people. They are aware of what you must be feeling, they wouldn't forcefully drug you up.

And sometimes, we just win the mutation lottery...sometimes we don't. My grandfather died of stomach cancer, my grandmother, his wife, had lung cancer, and my grandpa from my mom's side had intestinal cancer. So I know either my parents or my siblings will strike that someday too. :/ What's important, is the good news you mentioned: no metastasis. That's what makes it truly brutal. And I'm glad to hear that and I hope the upcoming tests will reveal the same.

Also, 50% mortality is average for all of the patients, all age groups. While I wouldn't call myself "young" anymore, I'm not yet 80 y/o and about to succumb to whatever else I would have at that time.

If a glass is 50% full, do you call it "mortality" or "remission"? Ah well, I am rambling in a dissociative manner now.

Anyway, let's go for the "let's join another minority" approach. It's less likely to recover from cancer than to die from it, so let's go for the unlikely option. (If some anesthetician goes for the "let's do the unlikely thing and hurt her vocal chords while doing an intubation" approach, I'm going to kill him though before the end. Oh yeah. They better watch out.) *



* arriving at "hysterical euphoric mania" mood now, apparently. Bipolar depressive disorder must be something awful to have.