It Might Get Messy

Indeed, it HAS gotten messy. Adam Yauch. Member of genius rock band The Beastie Boys. Mastermind of the series of Free Tibet concerts and concepts. Dead at 47 of parotid gland cancer. Same cancer I had.  Apparently Yauch’s was his primary tumor, mine was secondary to the big fat one on my tongue. Yauch had radiation therapy and surgery, fought for two years. And gave it up last week.


Time to pull out that copy of “Lincense to Ill” you almost forgot you had back there on the CD shelf and play it. Loud. Pure, sheer genius. And fun!


Adam Yauch is dead and I’m still here. What can that possibly mean? Well, seems likely it means either the universe isn’t paying attention, got the wrong guy, or doesn’t really give a rat’s ass. I’m guessing the latter, but am not prepared to go the whole philosophical way down that road. I AM, however, prepared to give you an excellent image of a rat’s ass:

Used this one several times in professional emails the past few weeks. And I wonder why my career is in the toilet. 


Anyway. There’s an interesting undercurrent bubbling around the cancer treatment groups at the Greater Baltimore Medical Center. I first got a whiff of it…did I just mix a metaphor beyond recognition? Oh well. I first got wind of it...for some reason that sounds less mixed, although still marginal…when I was getting reports on the weekly faculty/doctor/tech meetings where they go over active cases and review progress and planning. The radiation oncology folks would often let slip that the surgeons couldn’t help themselves from cutting so much that treatment was physically tough and recovery and long-term quality of life were difficult. The surgeons said the same things about the radiation people. Ongoing battle, no easy solution. And I didn’t give a rat’s ass (see above) because they’d saved my life at least twice and I could fight through the post-treatment quality of life issues.


So now I’m in twice weekly lymphedema therapy, where the primary issue is to mobilize the lymph fluid trapped around my jaw by the excision of most of my lymph system north of my shoulders, and move it someplace where it can be resorbed by the circulatory system. The therapists like the fact that Dr. H left corridors beneath each ear unscarred by surgery, but are intensely frustrated by the long scars under my throat, two of them in parallel because of the need for three successive surgical ventures to stem the runaway flux of lymph from my ruined lymphatic system. The therapists had me scheduled for a special visit last week—they are running an impromptu “education series” for the surgeons to show them lymphedema patients by way of trying to convince them to think about post-treatment quality of life in planning surgery.


The therapists almost had me on board. Until one of them said in frustration “Those surgeons. They’re always so concerned about saving lives, they forget about quality of life.”  And I’m thinking…uhh…maybe under the circumstances that’s not really a bad thing. But what the hell. I’m willing to be a demo dummy for doctor education. 


After all, I will never make as much of a contribution to the world as Adam Yauch. So I gotta do what I can.


Thanks for visiting, y’all. Check out professional blog at http://aehsfoundation.org/, nature photos at http://docviper.livejournal.com/, and urban ecosystems book chapter at http://sustainablebiospheredotnet.blogspot.com/ . Most of all, check out the wonder of springtime returning to the northern hemisphere (autumn for those of you in the antipodes). It’s a wonderful world—enjoy it with whatever faculties and body parts you got left!