It Might Get Messy

I had to travel last week. For the whole week. Those of you whose first thought was “dude still has in and out drains, can’t eat or drink, can’t talk, and is too weak to carry a briefcase, much less a suitcase, this must’ve looked like a bad Marx Brothers movie” are spot-on. Between the big toxicology meetings in Boston, and a client meeting tied to same, it was rather professionally required that I attend. Thanks to the tolerance of the research sponsors and the foresight of the project manager, I didn’t have to muddle through a formal presentation at the conference. But I am coauthor on much of the work and responsible for a bunch of it. Had to be there. Slapstick or not!


Among the key comedy-script themes is the Butt Problem. I used to weigh 276 pounds. I now weigh right around 190. My hip bones spent the first 57 years of their life amply padded. Now, they stick painfully right at whatever I am sitting on. 


Oh, did I mention I took the train to Boston? I couldn’t see facing airports in general, much less trying to get my peg, port, and extra drain through security. Besides, the train ride is relaxing and pretty, running from the upper Chesapeake, along Long Island Sound, and past Back Bay. Only thing is, even on the Acela it’s more than 6 hours of sitting. And even with the nice, comfortable Acela seats, my butt hurt after an hour, and was pretty well bruised after the full trip.


Then there’s the Food Problem. I’m supposed to be on a routine of pouring a couple of cans of UN emergency rations into my feeding peg several times a day. This engenders several contretemps. First, there’s not really opportunity to peg-feed on a crowded train. I suspect the discomfort level is not unlike a woman breast-feeding a child, with perhaps the addition of a little general public disgust for the fact that the tube sticks straight out of my abdomen. So, first, I gotta carry enough cans of food in my luggage to eat as soon as I arrive somewhere private. Under no circumstances am I able to swallow actual food in meaningful quantities. Which means I also need food for the entire week. So I fedX’d a case of ration cans to the hotel. Which worked ok, except for a) the conference venue being 600 or 700 meters from the hotel, meaning a lengthy hike to get my several-times-a-day rations, and b) I had to switch hotels mid-week, meaning I had to carry even more cans of food across town with me. Feeding also requires that I have with me 60 ml syringes (which serve as the funnel to the peg), and plenty of water to flush the feeding apparatus with so it’s not stuck full of milky canned rations. Oy. I’m guessing I lost a little weight over the course of the week!


There’s also the Temperature Problem. Since the radiation really started to whack my physiology, say around April, my thermal response mechanisms have been out of kilter. Basically, I’ve been freezing since then. I spend almost all my working time at home in front of a blasting space heater, at the office right underneath a main heating vent. First night at the first hotel, the heater was not working. Called for maintenance. Took the guy not-too-long to arrive, but by the time he got there I was in the middle of feeding—had a syringe full of goop, cans on the coffee table, bottle of water at the ready. Had to answer the door to let him in. While he was futzing with the heating unit, I had an accidental  decoupling of the syringe from the tube and associated spill of liquid rations. Fortunately I had a towel ready for just such an emergency. Unfortunately, the towel didn’t catch the first half pint or so, which poured onto my sweat shirt and sweat pants. And while I’m fighting with my hydraulics, the maintenance engineer finishes up and is ready to leave. So now I have to a) cover the goop running down my front, b) hide as best I can the syringe (now back attached to the tube), c) find cash for a tip, and d) get the guy out of the room. Did I mention the word “slapstick” in conjunction with this trip? In any case, when I finally had things under control, I set the heater on “deep fat fry” and spent a cozy night!


Anyway, I survived the trip. Saw many old and good friends missed others who I know were around. Thanks much to the former, apologies to the latter but maybe this blog entry will help explain why I wasn’t hanging around the booth much—I was probably hiking back to get some “food”! Thanks also to all of you reading this. Special thanks this week to Janice M. for the wonderful, wonderful gift and uplifting letter.


I love you all—have a great Thanksgiving, everybody. I just finished making a huge pan of tomato sauce with meatballs and sausages for the baked ziti. I can just about smell that turkey and the seven-rib rack of beef cooking!