On the 0-10 Pain Scale....Stupid = 8

Coming out of the anesthesia, Rich is increasingly disturbed by the pain and discomfort from his catheter. He is crying from the pain of not being able to pee. We explain there's a catheter; but we quickly realize the catheter is not draining. As it worsens, I begin to request the matter be addressed, with increasing urgency. Fifteen minutes from my initial request, Rich is writhing in pain. The surgery resident appears. Rich's nurse reports the situation in such a manner that I feel confident the matter will be addressed without delay. Another fifteen minutes of Rich's pain and suffering increasing and I'm becoming disturbed.

It seems the surgical resident wants a bladder scan to determine how to proceed. On hearing this, I'm ready to pull the can opener out of my pocket so as to open the Number Ten can of Whoop Ass. I'm trying to CALMLY explain to the resident that the man is writhing in pain and the foley is not draining any urine... so a). something is wrong with the foley and it needs to come out or b) something is wrong with the foley and it needs to come out. A bladder scan isn't going to mean jack shit... Pull the goddamn foley!!!!
(Please reference the scene in Terms of Endearment when Shirley McLaine was going ape-shit to get Debra Winger her pain meds.)
Luckily Bob Pyett was there to grab me by the scruff of the neck before I committed a Class A Felony. Yeah, it turns out there was a problem with the position of the foley causing blockage and once they removed it, he was peeing just fine.

The next day Rich was doing better and some friends were in to visit. In walks the Radiology Resident. Introduces herself and without asking the patient's permission to discuss his case in front of those present, she begins to rapid-fire announce radiology's plans for his treatment. They're going to fit him for a sling that will contort him into the correct position for optimal radiation. Every day Monday through Friday. Today is Thursday, they'll start Monday. By the third or fourth week he will experience loss of bowel control, possible loss of bladder control. This treatment will proceed for approximately 8 weeks and he will be given chemotherapy concurrently which can cause nausea and vomiting. Everything possible will be done to control your pain. Do you have any questions?

Yeah, my questions, in no particular order, are 1) HIPPA?, 2) common decency? 3) human compassion?

Verbally I pose the following... “His surgeon says nothing will happen until the 37 staples are removed from his abdomen. His surgeon and oncologist have outlined three different options, none of which we have decided upon thus far, and none of which include anything you've just mentioned. So my question is... are ya'll talking to each other? Because I'm thinking ya'll are not talking to each other.”

She stammered and stuttered and slithered away. I looked at my husband, who was in shock, I looked at our friends who were stunned and appalled, I tried to deep breathe my way through the adrenalin rush I’m experiencing from resisting the urge to smack the living be-geesus out of her.

On the Pain Scale of 0-10.... Stupid is an 8, flirting with jail time.

At this point it seems pointless to continue to detail the medical issues of Stage Four Pancreatic Cancer, aka Neuroendocrine Cancer. Whatever. Allow me to clarify. There are three types of cancer.

Cancer YPWS... You Probably Will Survive. It's annoying, it's going to put a major hitch in your get-along, but you'll deal and move on and hopefully learn something about Life in the process. Your survival odds are totally and solely dependent on your willingness to cooperate and follow instructions. Your doctors will enthuse you with their confidence because they are just all over it and, well, please just don't screw it up.

Cancer SFS... Scaring Fucking Shit. Major battle that will really take a lot out of you, no guarantees but your will to survive will trump the cancer if you're totally committed, and you'll surface on the other side of the struggle as an advanced life form on the planet. Your doctors will appreciate a challenge beyond the day-to-day drudgery between the totally easy and the totally hopeless.

Cancer FUBAR... Yep...Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
You'll be lucky to find three people who believe in your fight, and chances are none of them will be a doctor. Pity will become quick sand; you will spend long periods of time suspended in mental/spiritual/physical hell, interspersed with brief moments of hope and joy that make you weep for the fear of their beauty. Reality will become relative and relatives will become exhausting. You will enter a dimension that few can comprehend, and those who could comprehend are probably dead. If you are blessed, and the stars are correctly aligned, and the tumblers of life fall into place...Your doctor will be inspired to embark on this journey with you because there is something so amazing and magickal about you that he/she moves forward with you for reasons they cannot comprehend.


Me...I've got Cancer FUBAR by Proxy. And this is gonna hurt like Hell. Because on a Pain scale of 0-10.... Stupid is 8.