Hospitals are a bit like airports, some are architectural or technological wonders of the modern world, they have the compulsory Starbucks, porters dressed like they just stepped off the Flying Scotsman, and in both cases people visiting them are on some sort of journey, but no one actually wants to be there, everyone wants to move on and pass though it as fast as possible.
The difference, in a hospital they stick you in a outfit just long enough to cover your dangly bits, when seated you are like a bespectacled, ironed granny pants school girl, trying to clamp your legs tight for fear of terrifying the goldfish opposite you. In an industrial lit room that stinks of Dettol you are then told you are seriously sick, the indignity of all.
My problem is put into perspective, everyone of those folks behind the glass door of the terminally ill section will gladly swap their gremlins for a Quasimodo smile, a Captain Hook eye patch and a bit of the "just left the pub dizziness/nausea". At least I can go to a stationary shop and buy a 2010 diary knowing the pages will be filled, its an option many of those wandering around in a one size fits all garbage bin bag don't have. Instead of plastic flowers and the oh so 90s marble effect pastel wall paper, why don't hospitals get better gowns? I would feel a bit better being told I have days to live if I was dressed in a more flattering gown designed by some Italian poof.
As I was waiting in hospital for additional copies of my scan, I had a look at the free internet terminal. Its a good sign that while my spud was physically in my mind for the first time in weeks it was not on my mind, instead of Googling "tumour", I typed in "Seven wonders of the world" as it was on my things to do before I die list.
There are seven natural wonders, seven man made wonders, seven modern wonders, seven ancient wonders, some of which only exist as a lump rock in the middle of a busy roundabout that doubles up as a handy dog loo. So who ever choose "Seven" lacked a bit of foresight.
To top it off, the wonders that are chosen varies and depends on who you ask. It is like after loosing all your chums in an avalanche, your fingers are still stuck to your ice axe 50m below you, finally you reach the summit of mount Everest. You survey the majestic scenery, then through the corner of your frost bitten eyes you notice you are on the wrong mountain. It could turn out the seven wonders that you managed to visit in your final last ditch effort are the wrong seven, it should have been Borobudur temple instead of Machu Picchu.
The House Ear Institute, started by Mr. House in the 50s specialises in my spud and developed the method of surgery, even the tool used during the operation is called a House Urban Dissector, a fancy name for a microscopic vacuum cleaner.
The main man obviously is Dr. House Snr, but unless there is a radical new approach to surgery by séance he cant help me, he is dead. So main man number two appears to be Dr. Brackman, interesting not Dr. House Jnr. who actually works there but maybe he got in thanks to his Dad pulling a few strings or ears and Junior is just kept busy in photocopy room.
Dr. Brackman even developed a special scale of measuring facial paralysis, doctors being a creative lot, he chose an imaginative title, The Brackman Scale. 1 is normal, 6 you look like Arnold Schwarzeneggar taking bullets in the Terminator.
They say go with your gut feeling, which basically means there is no right answer. This day and age humans can prepare to send men to Mars, create black holes in linear accelerators. Yet for the simple bit of chewy grizzel in my head, there is no real 100% solution.
I woke up in the same frame of mind as Julius Caesar on the banks of the Rubicon, when he shouted to his first mate, "Damn the Greek torpedoes, full steam ahead" . Gut feeling told me to call Brackman up and say, "Let roll and get this bugger out".
Three surprising things happened, first the initial impression that he sounded a bit pissed during our conversion, was now put it down to his Californian laid back drawl.
The second surprise, there should have been a warning sign near me "Do not play in the storm drains sudden flash flooding may occur"just after the I hung up, I balled my eyes out like a right girl. That was totally unexpected, and even now as I write about it sends a shiver down my manlike spine. I have been so busy researching I did not really think about the implication, this was the first step that really confirms it is all real. The hope that I will be getting a call saying there was a mix up with the MRI scans is not going to happen.
You can be a muscle bound meat head that can crush beer cans with your butt cheeks, as smart as Mr. Stephen "quantum physics" Darlick in his wheel chair, rich as some Cambodian drug Lord. It will make zip all difference, that is what really got to me.
The cause, the symptoms, and the eventual treatment is out of my hands. Like a plane crash there is nothing you can do, on a ship or a train at least you can fight your way out and jump off, even in a bus you can dive forward and try and steer the thing, in a plane crash you just have to sit there and finish the inflight movie and wait for the spectacular fireball to come barreling up the now very bent aluminum tube.
The third surprise, I checked Dr. Brackman CV, very impressive he worked in the heads of Heads of States, Royalty, thousand of similar operations under his belt, but his birth date showed he was born when Florence Nightingale was still doing her rounds, he just turned 70, I have seen my dad who is also in his seventies park his car and the number of dents in it made me very worried.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Magic bullet
I can see why those poor desperate folks turn to snake oil peddlers, give me a few months and who knows I too will be chanting Urdu, under a magnetic pyramid while trying to balance a yogi blessed Himalayan kryptonite crystal on my on my head.
I have been hunting for the holy grail of treatments, a blue bubbling tonic in a glass vial, that will suddenly make everything normal again.
Bottom line I have two choices, well three if you include doing nothing which actually seem like a good idea as I have no symptoms, feels odd to effectively give a neurosurgeon a new Aston Martin so I can have a go at Russian roulette with the potential out come of the hammer hitting the handy orange Disable Parking bullet. If I leave it things will get more complicated, a stitch in time and all that.
So the two real options are Zap it with some Buzz Lightyear ray gun or make a big hole in my head and cut it out.
The local surgeon suggested he book me in to his clinic in two week time, stick a special Harold Robins like hat on and zap it for 20 minutes, then I can go home for a salad. Call me an old cynic, but like Gandhi once said if its too good to be true...
I did some more research and our "bit too laid back" Doc failed to mention the hat required a Black and Decker cordless drill and raw plugs, its screwed directly into your skull. The reason it has to be fixed, if I twitch during the Chernobyl like gamma ray firing there will be, as our American cousins say "collateral damage" which can range from slightly crisping the edge of a near by Arab kebab to totally vaporizing a Baghdad convent school for blind children.
It can take months if not years to see if it worked, as it is still flesh and part of me, it tends to expand, gets blistered and really upset when microwaved. This expansion may cause all sorts of complications as it twangs around all the nerves that pass through the tumour. So when your eyeball starts spinning like a jackpot machine and and you are on your knees barfing up from motion sickness, you really don't know if its because you are getting better or worse.
The icing on the cake, it could turn cancerous and if it still keeps growing then separating a now crispy, gnarled, scar covered and very pissed off tumour from hair like nerves will be a challenge of biblical proportions on a microscopic playing field.
If I went down this Dr. No route every time I forget my keys or drool a bit of Wheatabix in the morning it would be a full on Allah Akbar rush to the local ER to check if its just given birth to an even uglier offspring.
Option 2 cut it out, sounds easy enough, but your head is like a modern car, open the bonnet everything is covered and sealed, you would be hard pushed to find the dip stick let alone the spark plugs. Big yellow signs warning "Warranty Void if Opened" are there for a reason, its not designed to be messed with. If GAWD intended us to tweak around with our brains then a handy hatch would have been provided bit like the mouth for maintaining the teeth.
Once my bonce is open the neurosurgeon using microscopes has to try and scrape and cut away the tumour without cutting or bending any of the facial nerves, the surgery means the removal of the balance section of the inner ear, so when you first come out, for the next few days will be like setting up a bed on one of those spinning tea cup rides. Most end up with some form of facial paralysis, bit like that just left the dentist feeling, when you drink it all dribbles out the numb side. There are horror stories of having to stitch shut one eye, as you wont be able to feel when its drying out and turning into a raisin. Another odd one, you may not be able to walk in the dark, your body is now totally reliant on your eyesight to figure out if your are standing perpendicular to mother earth, if its dark you crumple into a heap on the floor. Lets not forget a common and life threatening problem of brain fluids leaking out of your nose and eyes months after.
The outcome of both options are so unpredictable. Here is my best analogy assuming you can get the best surgeons at the best hospitals, then you have the choice of a Mercedes, BMW, Lexus as opposed to Proton, Kia, Cherry.
Then there is the size of the tumor a small one means you get a concrete block about the size of an oil drum, medium size a block the size of a golf cart, and big, we are talking about a car like size lump of concrete.
Mine is medium, so lets stick this golf cart size lump of concrete at the end of a runway. I then have to get into the car of choice and drive at 50 mph straight into the block.
What I will be like after the dust and fires have settled is anyone's guess, some people just open whats left of the door and flick off the broken glass and plastic and walk away, others are crippled and some though only a few these days don't come out at all.
That is my bullet, a leather seated one with a Mark Levinson sound system. Heading down the runway, it has all the ABS, multi airbags, traction control, HUD, but the result of the impact? there is no magic with my bullet.
I have been hunting for the holy grail of treatments, a blue bubbling tonic in a glass vial, that will suddenly make everything normal again.
Bottom line I have two choices, well three if you include doing nothing which actually seem like a good idea as I have no symptoms, feels odd to effectively give a neurosurgeon a new Aston Martin so I can have a go at Russian roulette with the potential out come of the hammer hitting the handy orange Disable Parking bullet. If I leave it things will get more complicated, a stitch in time and all that.
So the two real options are Zap it with some Buzz Lightyear ray gun or make a big hole in my head and cut it out.
The local surgeon suggested he book me in to his clinic in two week time, stick a special Harold Robins like hat on and zap it for 20 minutes, then I can go home for a salad. Call me an old cynic, but like Gandhi once said if its too good to be true...
I did some more research and our "bit too laid back" Doc failed to mention the hat required a Black and Decker cordless drill and raw plugs, its screwed directly into your skull. The reason it has to be fixed, if I twitch during the Chernobyl like gamma ray firing there will be, as our American cousins say "collateral damage" which can range from slightly crisping the edge of a near by Arab kebab to totally vaporizing a Baghdad convent school for blind children.
It can take months if not years to see if it worked, as it is still flesh and part of me, it tends to expand, gets blistered and really upset when microwaved. This expansion may cause all sorts of complications as it twangs around all the nerves that pass through the tumour. So when your eyeball starts spinning like a jackpot machine and and you are on your knees barfing up from motion sickness, you really don't know if its because you are getting better or worse.
The icing on the cake, it could turn cancerous and if it still keeps growing then separating a now crispy, gnarled, scar covered and very pissed off tumour from hair like nerves will be a challenge of biblical proportions on a microscopic playing field.
If I went down this Dr. No route every time I forget my keys or drool a bit of Wheatabix in the morning it would be a full on Allah Akbar rush to the local ER to check if its just given birth to an even uglier offspring.
Option 2 cut it out, sounds easy enough, but your head is like a modern car, open the bonnet everything is covered and sealed, you would be hard pushed to find the dip stick let alone the spark plugs. Big yellow signs warning "Warranty Void if Opened" are there for a reason, its not designed to be messed with. If GAWD intended us to tweak around with our brains then a handy hatch would have been provided bit like the mouth for maintaining the teeth.
Once my bonce is open the neurosurgeon using microscopes has to try and scrape and cut away the tumour without cutting or bending any of the facial nerves, the surgery means the removal of the balance section of the inner ear, so when you first come out, for the next few days will be like setting up a bed on one of those spinning tea cup rides. Most end up with some form of facial paralysis, bit like that just left the dentist feeling, when you drink it all dribbles out the numb side. There are horror stories of having to stitch shut one eye, as you wont be able to feel when its drying out and turning into a raisin. Another odd one, you may not be able to walk in the dark, your body is now totally reliant on your eyesight to figure out if your are standing perpendicular to mother earth, if its dark you crumple into a heap on the floor. Lets not forget a common and life threatening problem of brain fluids leaking out of your nose and eyes months after.
The outcome of both options are so unpredictable. Here is my best analogy assuming you can get the best surgeons at the best hospitals, then you have the choice of a Mercedes, BMW, Lexus as opposed to Proton, Kia, Cherry.
Then there is the size of the tumor a small one means you get a concrete block about the size of an oil drum, medium size a block the size of a golf cart, and big, we are talking about a car like size lump of concrete.
Mine is medium, so lets stick this golf cart size lump of concrete at the end of a runway. I then have to get into the car of choice and drive at 50 mph straight into the block.
What I will be like after the dust and fires have settled is anyone's guess, some people just open whats left of the door and flick off the broken glass and plastic and walk away, others are crippled and some though only a few these days don't come out at all.
That is my bullet, a leather seated one with a Mark Levinson sound system. Heading down the runway, it has all the ABS, multi airbags, traction control, HUD, but the result of the impact? there is no magic with my bullet.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Acoustic Neuroma
You can imagine at a student bar, Mr. Goatee with interesting glasses and a well used leather manbag saying that the acoustic neuroma gig last night was really cool.
Despite sounding like a newage spa treatment, the elation of not having the big C was short lived. My spud is totally self contained and does not latch itself to my gooey bits in my head, but it just grows. The very nature of the bone dome means there is no room to expand, its like slowly inflating a bouncy castle in a crowed tube train, once it gets to a certain size, someone will eventually get a bit upset. If it was the Big C, then it would be like inflating a giant razor covered cactus.
"So whats the Prognosis?", is the sort of lingo you hear from some chisel, dimple clad actor in a B movie. I will live but, this is not going to be a walk in the park.
After spending a week solid on Google, just below the sunny everything is rosy surface, there's layers and layers of different subculture based around different ways of life.
You can see the everyday ones in the magazine racks, Gardeners Weekly, Railway Molders, then you move to the fringes of normality, Guns and Ammo, Badger and Vaseline.
What you don't see are all the strange medical conditions, each one has its own official associations, forums, and newsletter. Unless you are touched by that particular affliction brush, you would not be in the least bit interested in it, for example would you really want a yearly subscription to Spastic monthly? Whole industries pop up to support these people, EyePatch heaven, EARPlugs-R-US these are all staffed by one eyed, partially deaf folks hobbling around the office. Why is it that these online stores and website for the medically challenged have zero sense of design and composition, they all look like they were put together by someone who actually enjoys crochet and just bought a 3 buck DTP software.
These subcultures are the lifeboat for many, the "Oh lets all hug" news letter with blue autumn leaf background is read and re-read by all these people hoping to find some magic bullet, some new break through. It gives them all a reason to get up in the morning.
The Acoustic Neuroma community is quite big, and grows in the US by 2500 people every year, large enough to have conventions in Vegas, is that good or very sad?. While I am just sitting here reading the crappy online AN newsletter, every few minutes some poor newbie registers, saying they or a family member just got the bad news. Everyone is surprising jolly despite their "complication", I suppose we are all in the same boat, while its not exactly sinking, its never going to pull into port either.
The old codger staggering around with the brass trumpet in his ear, will most likely be a victim of our little unwanted friend. A large number of wrinklies will eventually get it but because of their age most cases can be left alone. There is a very low probability that it will flare up or grow in a particular way to cause problems.
I remember during my visit to Omaha Beach where the D-day landing took place, I read that only 1 in 3 who charged the beach would survive. If I was on the landing craft during the attack, I am the sort of bloke who would look at the two guys ether side of me and think poor buggers. Now that I found I have AN a 1/100,000 chance, suddenly probability takes on a whole new meaning. The other day I was walking in a huge lightening storm normally it would not bother me, unless I was in a medieval suit of amour, but this time I stepped under some shelter.
Despite sounding like a newage spa treatment, the elation of not having the big C was short lived. My spud is totally self contained and does not latch itself to my gooey bits in my head, but it just grows. The very nature of the bone dome means there is no room to expand, its like slowly inflating a bouncy castle in a crowed tube train, once it gets to a certain size, someone will eventually get a bit upset. If it was the Big C, then it would be like inflating a giant razor covered cactus.
"So whats the Prognosis?", is the sort of lingo you hear from some chisel, dimple clad actor in a B movie. I will live but, this is not going to be a walk in the park.
After spending a week solid on Google, just below the sunny everything is rosy surface, there's layers and layers of different subculture based around different ways of life.
You can see the everyday ones in the magazine racks, Gardeners Weekly, Railway Molders, then you move to the fringes of normality, Guns and Ammo, Badger and Vaseline.
What you don't see are all the strange medical conditions, each one has its own official associations, forums, and newsletter. Unless you are touched by that particular affliction brush, you would not be in the least bit interested in it, for example would you really want a yearly subscription to Spastic monthly? Whole industries pop up to support these people, EyePatch heaven, EARPlugs-R-US these are all staffed by one eyed, partially deaf folks hobbling around the office. Why is it that these online stores and website for the medically challenged have zero sense of design and composition, they all look like they were put together by someone who actually enjoys crochet and just bought a 3 buck DTP software.
These subcultures are the lifeboat for many, the "Oh lets all hug" news letter with blue autumn leaf background is read and re-read by all these people hoping to find some magic bullet, some new break through. It gives them all a reason to get up in the morning.
The Acoustic Neuroma community is quite big, and grows in the US by 2500 people every year, large enough to have conventions in Vegas, is that good or very sad?. While I am just sitting here reading the crappy online AN newsletter, every few minutes some poor newbie registers, saying they or a family member just got the bad news. Everyone is surprising jolly despite their "complication", I suppose we are all in the same boat, while its not exactly sinking, its never going to pull into port either.
The old codger staggering around with the brass trumpet in his ear, will most likely be a victim of our little unwanted friend. A large number of wrinklies will eventually get it but because of their age most cases can be left alone. There is a very low probability that it will flare up or grow in a particular way to cause problems.
I remember during my visit to Omaha Beach where the D-day landing took place, I read that only 1 in 3 who charged the beach would survive. If I was on the landing craft during the attack, I am the sort of bloke who would look at the two guys ether side of me and think poor buggers. Now that I found I have AN a 1/100,000 chance, suddenly probability takes on a whole new meaning. The other day I was walking in a huge lightening storm normally it would not bother me, unless I was in a medieval suit of amour, but this time I stepped under some shelter.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Ace Card
On the way to the specialist I was relieved to see a few Italian exotics in the car park under the doctors only signs.
The waiting room decor made me worry a bit, felt like I was sitting in some bad curry joint on the outskirts of a big city.
That time spent sitting in a purple velvet seat shaped liked female genitalia, made me realize my logic that the type of car is exponentially proportional to the surgeons skill, is seriously flawed.
If some retard who qualified from the Uganda Skool of Medicine, arrives at the job interview for a surgeon with his uncle, who just generously paid for the hospital new wing. My guess is he will get the job plus the prime parking spot for his birthday present from mum.
I saw the specialist and its amazing how much peripheral information you take in to try and figure the guy out, any strange photos of him with a head band, camo gear? No religious icons? anyone who relies on faith rather than skill to patch people up is always a little bit off. Room is a messy though, same as inside his head?
After seeing the scans, lots of teeth sucking like plumbers do before an outrageous estimate. Out popped the compulsory Fisher Price anatomy of the head set, he was explaining all the bits and he told me the tumour looks like an acoustic neuroma.
If I was an American I would have been up on my feet, making whooping noises and twirling my fist in the air. I was busy at home the night before doing my research, there was one ace card, a non cancerous tumour and this was it.
Whether or not pole dancers are suitable for my funeral is no longer an issue.
Acoustic neuromas are benign growths, its still a tumour, its still in your skull, but I can now say I have a non cancerous growth in my inner ear.
As it was beyond the scope of the Ear Nose and Throat specialist I was sent off to meet the neurosurgeon.
This time the rooms was very slick modern, smelt nice had upmarket magazines in the rack. This was more promising, as rich mummy's boy Dr. Uganda may have the job but his magazine collection would be all Retard Monthly.
Doc came in, awful as this sound but he had a reassuring British accent, once in the room, very zen, nice original painting on the wall, everything in its place. Out came the fisher price head but this time its no made in China knockoff, this skull was the real deal, at least I know I am in a better position now than the poor bugger whose head we are juggling around, I asked if it was one of his patients, apparently not it came from India and real skulls are no longer sold.
The bottom line, it may not be life threatening now, but it will be if left unchecked, it has to come out. This means cutting a hole in my head and rummaging around like a lucky dip pot.
The waiting room decor made me worry a bit, felt like I was sitting in some bad curry joint on the outskirts of a big city.
That time spent sitting in a purple velvet seat shaped liked female genitalia, made me realize my logic that the type of car is exponentially proportional to the surgeons skill, is seriously flawed.
If some retard who qualified from the Uganda Skool of Medicine, arrives at the job interview for a surgeon with his uncle, who just generously paid for the hospital new wing. My guess is he will get the job plus the prime parking spot for his birthday present from mum.
I saw the specialist and its amazing how much peripheral information you take in to try and figure the guy out, any strange photos of him with a head band, camo gear? No religious icons? anyone who relies on faith rather than skill to patch people up is always a little bit off. Room is a messy though, same as inside his head?
After seeing the scans, lots of teeth sucking like plumbers do before an outrageous estimate. Out popped the compulsory Fisher Price anatomy of the head set, he was explaining all the bits and he told me the tumour looks like an acoustic neuroma.
If I was an American I would have been up on my feet, making whooping noises and twirling my fist in the air. I was busy at home the night before doing my research, there was one ace card, a non cancerous tumour and this was it.
Whether or not pole dancers are suitable for my funeral is no longer an issue.
Acoustic neuromas are benign growths, its still a tumour, its still in your skull, but I can now say I have a non cancerous growth in my inner ear.
As it was beyond the scope of the Ear Nose and Throat specialist I was sent off to meet the neurosurgeon.
This time the rooms was very slick modern, smelt nice had upmarket magazines in the rack. This was more promising, as rich mummy's boy Dr. Uganda may have the job but his magazine collection would be all Retard Monthly.
Doc came in, awful as this sound but he had a reassuring British accent, once in the room, very zen, nice original painting on the wall, everything in its place. Out came the fisher price head but this time its no made in China knockoff, this skull was the real deal, at least I know I am in a better position now than the poor bugger whose head we are juggling around, I asked if it was one of his patients, apparently not it came from India and real skulls are no longer sold.
The bottom line, it may not be life threatening now, but it will be if left unchecked, it has to come out. This means cutting a hole in my head and rummaging around like a lucky dip pot.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Brain Lesion
The Doc who carried out the screening test, called unexpectedly, well it was not entirely unexpected after the "situation" the day before in the scan room.
When I went for my medical I selected every single heart test, even the receptionist raised an eyebrow, put it this way by lunch time most of the other patients had gone home I was still there when the sun was setting. My concern was while in the pool I might get a stroke while doing some strokes and my kid would have to try and swim back to the side of the pool under her own steam which is a bit of a challenge for a blob like me let alone a two and half year old.
The Doc. said there's good news and bad news, she confirmed that I have a good heart, no cholesterol, no build up in the arteries so I managed to get one up on the burgers. The bad news, there is a lesion in my brain, looks like the burgers found a covert team to hit back while I was not looking.
What is a lesion? apparently its anything that's not normal, a mosquito bite on your arm is a lesion, the lobster jumping out or Mr. Hurts chest is a lesion, so we can safely assume it is not good.
The head has very few moving parts so when they do pack in its normally fairly obvious what it is.
I Googled -Brain tumor- result, 1 to 5 years life expectancy, it was my first real" Kum by ya" moment, well there was another a few years ago, I was rushing to cross the one-way street looking left, when a bus coming from my right just clipped my foot and spun me around, it was a two-way road. I had cold sweat all night, but that was due to my own stupidity. Now fate has dealt a lemon hand at the black jack table of life. Though some argue its the result of early mobiles phones, remember those bricks ? they pumped out enough radiation to light up a small African township. Who would have guessed ordering my pizza twenty years ago would turn my head into one.
I always had a premonition that my demised would be due to a large dark body of water, I get goose bumps around large reservoirs or waterfalls. I am a glass half full kind of guy so not matter how grim the situation there is always some poor bugger in a worse situation, and if you look hard enough there will always be a silver lining to every cloud.
When you look at those sad videos clips of people in horrific accidents and you can see them gulping their last breath, cant help wonder what frantic thoughts are going through their heads.
I have now been given this fantastic, alright maybe the word fantastic is pushing the "kid yourself" boat out a bit too much. I have been given a crystal ball that has shown me when, and how Mr. G. Reaper will be popping for tea and biscuits.
I can now get off my butt and do all the things I wanted to do, "sort out my affairs", making sure I don't leave behind a logistical nightmare, my wife does not know how to turn on the AV system, and its heart breaking knowing my 2 years old daughter wont be able to watch Higgly Town Heros. This is the sliver lining, fore sight, its something those poor souls in the crash videos did not have.
First thing is to do is find a travel agent that can sort out a trip to all the seven wonders of the world via parachute.
When I went for my medical I selected every single heart test, even the receptionist raised an eyebrow, put it this way by lunch time most of the other patients had gone home I was still there when the sun was setting. My concern was while in the pool I might get a stroke while doing some strokes and my kid would have to try and swim back to the side of the pool under her own steam which is a bit of a challenge for a blob like me let alone a two and half year old.
The Doc. said there's good news and bad news, she confirmed that I have a good heart, no cholesterol, no build up in the arteries so I managed to get one up on the burgers. The bad news, there is a lesion in my brain, looks like the burgers found a covert team to hit back while I was not looking.
What is a lesion? apparently its anything that's not normal, a mosquito bite on your arm is a lesion, the lobster jumping out or Mr. Hurts chest is a lesion, so we can safely assume it is not good.
The head has very few moving parts so when they do pack in its normally fairly obvious what it is.
I Googled -Brain tumor- result, 1 to 5 years life expectancy, it was my first real" Kum by ya" moment, well there was another a few years ago, I was rushing to cross the one-way street looking left, when a bus coming from my right just clipped my foot and spun me around, it was a two-way road. I had cold sweat all night, but that was due to my own stupidity. Now fate has dealt a lemon hand at the black jack table of life. Though some argue its the result of early mobiles phones, remember those bricks ? they pumped out enough radiation to light up a small African township. Who would have guessed ordering my pizza twenty years ago would turn my head into one.
I always had a premonition that my demised would be due to a large dark body of water, I get goose bumps around large reservoirs or waterfalls. I am a glass half full kind of guy so not matter how grim the situation there is always some poor bugger in a worse situation, and if you look hard enough there will always be a silver lining to every cloud.
When you look at those sad videos clips of people in horrific accidents and you can see them gulping their last breath, cant help wonder what frantic thoughts are going through their heads.
I have now been given this fantastic, alright maybe the word fantastic is pushing the "kid yourself" boat out a bit too much. I have been given a crystal ball that has shown me when, and how Mr. G. Reaper will be popping for tea and biscuits.
I can now get off my butt and do all the things I wanted to do, "sort out my affairs", making sure I don't leave behind a logistical nightmare, my wife does not know how to turn on the AV system, and its heart breaking knowing my 2 years old daughter wont be able to watch Higgly Town Heros. This is the sliver lining, fore sight, its something those poor souls in the crash videos did not have.
First thing is to do is find a travel agent that can sort out a trip to all the seven wonders of the world via parachute.
Monday, November 10, 2008
MRI Scans
You are a sausage in huge white elongated donuts. It was obviously designed by someone who never heard of the word claustrophobia.
Despite ear plugs and headphones, you hear strange rhythmic pulsating tones, the sort of thing you would experience if you ever wake up after being blinded by a light, and found yourself locked in a green goo filled room just above the UFO main source of energy.
The give away that something was up, I was inching along the conveyor belt, when it came to my head it stopped, I was pulled back and the head scanned again. There was a long enough period of silence for me to start wondering if everyone has legged it because of a fire and left me in this giant bog roll?
I was told via the ear phones they would like to do additional tests and I needed to give consent to inject dyes in my blood stream, and this will cost an extra 800 bucks. One half of me was looking for a mirror to see if I have SUCKER tattooed across my forehead, what person in that situation would say nope, no need, get me out of this fire death trap I rather spend the dosh on a new set of titanium Callaway golf clubs. It was the other half that reluctantly agreed to the extra cost
The sudden lack of eye contact and the replies “we are just technicians and cant read scans” said it all.
The biggest giveaway on the second round of scans, they played lift music in my earphone.
Oh the irony, my first ever attempt at blogging I write "Like life who know where it will go" what was suppose to be just a general rant and ramble, all seem to be focusing on me standing at the crossroad of my anatomical journey.
Writing about too much soya sauce on the char shui pows at Mr.Wongs seems a bit irrelevant, but who knows latter this whole thing might be the catalyst to really appreciate simple things, like being half asleep and finding the cool patch on your pillow in the middle of a hot night.
Have to think of the new name for the blog, The green mile, Dead man walking, The short plank, or cheesy one for those happy clappers who believe in the bearded David Blaine of the middle east how about “ @ONE ” ?
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Nipple Whitening Cream
It didn't take long to lower the tone of this blog, with that title I will be flooded with hits from pervs on Google.
During my wonders through the more colorful areas of Singapore, found a shop selling special powders to stop your turds from smelling, er.. why? and a tube of nipple whitening cream, I mean why of all places to be white, your nipples?
Pop into any chemist here and you will be assaulted by "clinical technicians" stick a white coat on a monkey, pop a pen in the chest pocket and brown people will queue up to buy tubs of whitening creams, potions, and pills
If there was a product that actually work the whole world would know about it? it would be front page news "A pill to cure racism"
How much easier would it have been for Obama to become president if he popped a couple snow-white pills?
Are there any scientific proof they work? There are lots of pseudo journals written or paid for by cosmetics firms, but are there any tests carried out by well respected medical institutions, using placebo and a control environment to prove these work?
Why do Asians want to be white? most think its so they can be more "western" but this lilly white fascination goes way back in time before Mr. Ginger minge even set foot in China.
I believe its comes from the fact that manual workers/laborer are always out in the sun and therefore brown. If you are that "been in a morgue fridge" colour then it shows you have the time and luxury of staying in doors all the time. Same theory applies to extra long nails and bound feet.
If you thought it was the British public school system that started all fetishes the Chinese was way ahead with foot binding.
Its only a matter of time before the more educated Asians will see that whitening is as daft as Westerners risking skin cancer trying to get brown.
Same logic works on getting a Tan, if you are anemic and see through, it means you are stuck in some dungeon like office, (the first world version of manual workers), but if you have the luxury of time and money you can jet off to exotic locations and as a result be brown. Caucasians can sleep easy knowing that they will eventually return back to white, can you imagine if you get a tan you stay dark? All the white folks will be in full on radiation suits.
Lets not forget to mention the horrific side effects of rubbing into your skin or swallowing mercury, No really? see
http://www.boston.com/news/globe/health_science/articles/2003/12/16/whitening_skin_can_be_deadly/
During my wonders through the more colorful areas of Singapore, found a shop selling special powders to stop your turds from smelling, er.. why? and a tube of nipple whitening cream, I mean why of all places to be white, your nipples?
Pop into any chemist here and you will be assaulted by "clinical technicians" stick a white coat on a monkey, pop a pen in the chest pocket and brown people will queue up to buy tubs of whitening creams, potions, and pills
If there was a product that actually work the whole world would know about it? it would be front page news "A pill to cure racism"
How much easier would it have been for Obama to become president if he popped a couple snow-white pills?
Are there any scientific proof they work? There are lots of pseudo journals written or paid for by cosmetics firms, but are there any tests carried out by well respected medical institutions, using placebo and a control environment to prove these work?
Why do Asians want to be white? most think its so they can be more "western" but this lilly white fascination goes way back in time before Mr. Ginger minge even set foot in China.
I believe its comes from the fact that manual workers/laborer are always out in the sun and therefore brown. If you are that "been in a morgue fridge" colour then it shows you have the time and luxury of staying in doors all the time. Same theory applies to extra long nails and bound feet.
If you thought it was the British public school system that started all fetishes the Chinese was way ahead with foot binding.
Its only a matter of time before the more educated Asians will see that whitening is as daft as Westerners risking skin cancer trying to get brown.
Same logic works on getting a Tan, if you are anemic and see through, it means you are stuck in some dungeon like office, (the first world version of manual workers), but if you have the luxury of time and money you can jet off to exotic locations and as a result be brown. Caucasians can sleep easy knowing that they will eventually return back to white, can you imagine if you get a tan you stay dark? All the white folks will be in full on radiation suits.
Lets not forget to mention the horrific side effects of rubbing into your skin or swallowing mercury, No really? see
http://www.boston.com/news/globe/health_science/articles/2003/12/16/whitening_skin_can_be_deadly/
My First Post
I always thought blogs are for sad computer geeks with the social skills of Quasimodo, now that I have a blog I can safely say, its true.
Although English is my mother tongue, I believe I have been touched by the dyslexic brush. I did contact the UK dyslexic association when I discovered if you are certified you are entitled to additional time during professional examinations. They wanted 600 pounds to confirm if I was dim or not, I gave it a miss and still passed my exams, so I leave it up to any grammar anoraks out there to decide.
What will this blog be about? I don't know, its just going to be one of those suck it and see types, like life who know where it will go.
Although English is my mother tongue, I believe I have been touched by the dyslexic brush. I did contact the UK dyslexic association when I discovered if you are certified you are entitled to additional time during professional examinations. They wanted 600 pounds to confirm if I was dim or not, I gave it a miss and still passed my exams, so I leave it up to any grammar anoraks out there to decide.
What will this blog be about? I don't know, its just going to be one of those suck it and see types, like life who know where it will go.
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