Lots of good news to report today.
First of all, just watched the best Dog the Bounty Hunter of all time. Oh, you know the one. Don't pretend. It's the episode where Dog and the boys mistakenly go up the elevator when the tweaked-out drug addict is coming down, and Baby Lyssa, left on her own to stand guard at the front door, is forced to try to wrestle the junkie to the ground. He gets away at first, but she eventually catches him down the street and her brothers converge.
The moral of this story? Even Dog's daughter is a toughie.
Meanwhile, Carol-Ann and I got moved into a massive room here at VGH earlier this week. The bathroom is bigger than the last room we were in.
And the sausages they had at the cafeteria this morning where top shelf.
Oh, and, by the way, the doctors here at VGH say that they're happy with my progress again. Dr. Robert Lee, my esteemed surgeon (he gets a ballyhooed adjective today because he brought good news), said this morning that the markers in my blood tests are suggesting that my jacked-up antibiotic cocktail is winning against my infection. (Whatever they count had been scoring in the 100s late last week, but now it's in the 20s.)
Also, my back wound is closing up neatly, according to Lee and others. I'm still saddled with a vac-dressing (a vacuum is connected to the dressing to pump out the bad stuff) but I'm used to it by now, even though it looks freaky.
We are no where near talking about when I'm going to GF Strong to continue my physical rehab, or when I'll talk again with B.C. Cancer about my Solitary Plasmacytoma, the tumour in my T-2 that started this whole gong show back in October. (The cancer was connected to the disintegration of the T-2, which was connected to the surgery that implanted two titanium rods and 15 screws to stabilize my back, which was connected to the infection.) But, for the first time in awhile, I feel like I can see the proverbially light at the end of the proverbially tunnel.
I also know that I won't ever mess with Baby Lyssa, in the event I come across her.
BEST PUT DOWN
OK, it wasn't actually a pot shot at me, but I needed somewhere to to slide this in. Slopitch pals Derran and Carrie Watts (she'll always be Carrie Watson to me, but you get the idea) came by last night. When D-Watts heard about the titanium rods, he wondered aloud: "Do they have those in stock, or do they say in the morning: 'Hey, we need some stuff for this Ewen surgery -- can somebody go down to Home Depot?'"
I'm afraid to ask, considering that Dr. Lee told us that he used a screw driver to put the screws in.
I would think you'd be happy that your doctor is smart enough to use a screwdriver for screws, and not, say, a hammer.
ReplyDeleteGlad things are looking up, Ewen. Keep up the good work.
Dude: When they installed my titanium hip back in the day, it was pure carpentry -- saws, drills, hammers, screwdrivers, the works. Like I said earlier, now that you're the bionic man, trips through airport are going to be a bit livelier than before. But, whatever. It beats where you just were all to hell. Keep the recovery coming and, like my boy Bomber says: "Get out there!"
ReplyDeleteBrendan
At first I was worried when I skimmed the blog and saw the heading "Best Put Down", like you were some kind of ailing dog. Glad to read more carefully and see that's not the case and that things are finally looking up.
ReplyDeleteOren
That was the best Dog ever. Close second is the guy hiding in the ceiling in Colorado who goes crazy, screaming at everyone all the way to jail.
ReplyDeleteBaby Lyssa and that walkie talkie did some damage.