"My Daddy says"

(Friday, August 13, 2010) “My Daddy says"
Yogi Berra, the great philosopher and baseball player once famously said with respect to baseball, “90% of the game is half mental.” While trying to make sense of that gives me a headache, Yogi may be right. “90% of dealing with this “nasty little disease” is half mental.”

Yogi may make more sense than the rest of my blog. It is late Thursday night (waaay past my bed time) and Patra and I just got home from Moffitt. We didn't leave the Infusion Center until 9:00 p.m. Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors. Also, if anything doesn't make sense, make up your own ending!

One reason you have to make this journey a day at a time is that each day is so different. This week started off much better than last. When I arrived for my injection Monday, the nurse told me the doctor had ordered fluids and protein to hopefully prevent dehydration. Not only did I feel much stronger but it seemed that the side effects were much improved. I felt really good most of the day Tuesday.

I made a brief appearance Tuesday night at the leaders’ meeting for Community Bible Study. What a blessing! These are men that I have the highest respect for. To have them pray for me means a great deal. I pray that God will bless their study in a special way.

Wednesday morning two of my former law partners and their legal assistants came to the house for a visit. These are special people. I have wonderful memories of practicing law with them and it was good to see them and catch up on their families as well. I was still feeling pretty good.

Wednesday night I didn't feel quite as good. I actually ran a low grade fever. Thursday morning the fever was gone but I told Patra that I was glad I was going to get more fluids.

By the time we got to Moffitt, Patra thought I should use a wheelchair but I confess, I was being stubborn and wanted to walk by myself. When the nurse took my vital signs, she wasn't as diplomatic as Patra. She wanted me in a wheelchair because she didn't want to be picking me off the floor. I thought about trying to negotiate with her, but when I saw how firm she appeared, I was afraid that if I objected, she might curse me, grab some beer from the refrigerator, deploy the chute and quit her job. (Sorry, I guess that only applies to flight attendants. I told you - it is late and I am tired.) In any event, I was from that point on, in a wheelchair.

When I was called back for my chemo-therapy, we turned the corner and one of the supervisory nurses saw me and asked my nurse for my chart. "He doesn't look good." (If I had felt better I might have been offended.) "His lips don't have any color." "Is he always that dark shade of gray?" She immediately contacted my doctor to order additional blood work. Turns out her intuition based on years of experience was accurate. The blood work showed that since Monday, my hemoglobin had dropped significantly. I needed a transfusion.

So, it ended up being another long day in the Infusion Center. Ultimately they placed 2 different I.V. lines. My pole with the bags got very crowded looking. As best I remember, in addition to the anti-nausea medication, my I.V.s included steroids, fluids, Velcade, albumin (protein), 2 units of blood, and a diuretic. (I think they add the diuretic just for fun to watch me try and manage the I.V. pole and lines while walking to the bathroom every 10 minutes.)

There is no way to get discouraged or feel sorry for yourself when you see and meet the heroes at Moffitt. In the chair next to me this afternoon, there was an older man who has been walking through the tall weeds for more than 20 years. As he told me his story, I felt like the young recruit in boot camp learning how to salute, march and shoot the weapons. He was the Master Sergent who had been to battle. He told me "war stories" from the real shooting war that he had been engaged in. He shared insights on how I am to fight this war.

Tomorrow will be another day. Because 90% of this fight is half-mental, I'm banking on tomorrow being a good day!

Regardless of what the day may bring, Patra and I are blessed every day by the grandchildren. They mentally give us strength for the day. We can’t believe how quickly they are growing. Andrew (5) starts kindergarten next week; Austin (4) is using words I’m not sure I can spell; Megan (9 months) started walking this week; Avery (9 months) is definitely going to be the world’s prettiest golf-playing (her Dad), ice skating (her Mom), princess.

(Here's a quick video (35 seconds) of the grandkids "on the move")

Andrew and Austin love their Daddies. It is exciting to see and hear them talk about their Dads. Whenever we go to a new place, if James is not with us, Austin says “I want to bring my Daddy here.” “My Daddy would really like this store.” He already understands that if something breaks, Grandpa is not going to be of much help. He believes his Daddy (and maybe Grandma) can fix anything.

I almost got myself in trouble with Andrew this week. He and David have been watching a lot of baseball this summer (Go Rays!) and he has become a Rays' fan. If he is swimming and there is a game on, he regularly comes to the door and asks me what the score is.

The other day he and I were watching a game together and a Rays' player hit a grand slam home run.

“Grandpa, the Rays are ahead 4-0.”

“Buddy, the score is 4-1.”

“My Daddy said if there were 3 men on base and the Rays' hitter smacks it out of the park, the score is 4-0.”

“Buddy, the other team already had a run.”

“Grandpa, my Daddy said if there are 3 men on base and the Rays' hitter smacks it out of the park, the Rays get 4 runs.”

“That’s right.”

“And Grandpa, my Daddy says if the Rays smack it out of the park, the other team doesn’t get any runs.”

“That’s correct.”

“Grandpa, what’s the score?”

“4-0. Your Daddy has taught you well.”

“I know.”

Do I see another lawyer in the family? More importantly, when Andrew says, "My Daddy says," he is showing a respect, a love, an admiration, an appreciation for his earthly father. David is laying a foundation so that someday Andrew will say with respect, love, admiration and appreciation, "My Heavenly Father says..." To all the fathers of young children, never forget how important your role is in your child's life!

Until next Friday. God willing.
Bob