Part Fifteen: The fifteenth part.

It seems as time goes I become less and less prolific when it comes to posting things here. It's not for lack of material though as I go further from the source memories tend to get hazy, especially when those memories are of times where I was heavily medicated. Part of this lack of motivation is because I don't know what works, what goes over well, what I should leave edited out, etc. From talking to friends I've gathered that when I write about things I don't remember saying or dreams I had it's entertaining and goes over well, whereas some of the more serious bits don't get much of a reaction. Does this mean I should stick with what apparently works and disregard the rest? Not so much. Being a jester's fine, but I'd rather be a bard.

Alright, my brain is getting scrambled from listening to Kanye's "Monster" on repeat ten times or so. I can't say I'm much of a Nicky Minaj fan but damn, girl tears it up on that track.

Since I've spent much of my year on a hospital bed and/or down for the count it's been important to me to get my strength back and be up and active. Mostly this involves jaunts Kelley and I make to the library, grocery store, laundry runs, etc. as well as walks around my neighborhood and downtown. Nothing too strenuous, I'd say a mile to two at a time. Last week was a bit more than usual: Wednesday Kelley and I took a day trip to Salem, MA to see the museums and some of the historic sites.Thursday was another Lahey appointment to see Dr.'s Pomposelli and Piessens which went fairly well; Piessens took me off of antibiotics and though he wanted to, Pomposelli left in my JP drain because despite barely draining 20ml's of fluid every few days, what is draining out is pretty nasty. Ugh. Would you like to know how it feels to have this drain in? Picture being stabbed with a long, thick needle, almost constantly and every time you move the needle jostles and digs in deeper. Yup, that's life with my latest and worst JP. After coming home from Burlington Kelley and I got ready for our weekend trip to Northampton, MA to visit her sister, Liza and her boyfriend Mike. Liza works for the library at Greenfield Community College and Mike is a teacher of the wee children at a local school. We first arrived at the college to see their new library building: a $33 million structure that may as well be gilded in 24 carat gold. As part of their green initiative (haha, Greenfield...green initiative...it works!) the building is both geothermal and solar powered, uses dynamic lighting systems to decrease power usage, etc. After a quick tour we played what was all of our (Kelley, her parents and myself) first game of Bananagrams. Apparently these library folk are pretty cutthroat but being quite the word geek myself it wasn't too intimidating.   After that we killed time at our hotel and met Liza and Mike at their apartment where we also met Liza's adorable kitty Walnut. I was told he was bigger than our boy Zombie but not quite. Zombie's a big ass cat.

                                                                              Zombie.

That night we had dinner at Mike's parents' restaurant, Paul and Elizabeth's, in downtown Northampton. It's one of the two oldest restaurants in town, serves mostly local, organic and vegetarian fare and serves without a doubt some of the best food I have ever had. From the antipasti to the entrees it was straight up delicious. Highly recommended. After that Kelley and I hung out with Liza and Mike for a bit more than retired to the hotel. Fell asleep watching Storage Wars. God bless hotels and terrible television. The next day we did a bit of walking and milling about at this sprawling park in town, specifically to watch some hot air balloonists and visit a tiny "zoo" set up within the park. There was supposedly a wee deer, which we didn't see, sheep, some falcons, lots of chickens, a turkey, peacocks, and a bald friggin eagle. I thought it was illegal to have them in captivity or something along those lines but the fine, Earth-loving folk of Northampton have one locked up in a ten by twenty cage. Do I sense allegory to the state of freedom in this country? Probably not. From there it was a visit to the community gardens where Mike and Liza have a plot where they grow veggies and some flowers, lunch with everyone plus Mike's father Paul where we had amazing potato, red pepper and garlic pizza. We took pics, hugged and kissed goodbye and off home we were.

All told I probably walked miles over those few days and thankfully didn't feel the least bit overexerted from it. Sure there were the usual aches and pains but it wasn't as if I ran a marathon or anything. Maybe I am getting my strength back after all this time. I haven't yet tried to seriously heft Kelley's 104.2 pounds since all this hospital business started but I'm getting there. Speaking of, as I may have touched on before, one of the side effects of all this sick stuff has been my rapid then steady now plateauing weight loss. 235 to 165 in a matter of months. Smallest I've been in my adult life. The reality of it hits me every so often, like today when Kelley and I went to Goodwill I picked up a small Gap button-down and it fit like a glove. Maybe things have changed over the years but I always remember Gap sizes running small. Damn, it's weird putting that thing on. Or sometimes I'll catch myself in a pane of glass or a mirror and just think "holy SHIT I got skinny." It's even more evident when I run into folks who haven't seen me for awhile and the immediate reaction is just "wow." Eerie.

I bring this up because Kelley has mentioned that we used to be a cute couple because I was so much bigger than her and now we could almost swap some clothes. I disagree and say we're still a cute couple.
(Just kidding a little bit there, she still thinks we're super cute...but she DID say those things.)

Ok well I'm trying to deal with some God-awful pain tonight and it's almost time to turn in and continue reading Harry Potter. I'm about 250 pages into The Half-Blood Prince now and Kelley's on me to finish. Until next time, take care of yo' bad selves.

Part Fourteen: A Little Help

My original idea for this post was to detail the history of my life as a musician and how that indirectly led to my pancreatitis. I've been laboring over that entry for over a week now and it just doesn't seem to be coming together in any kind of organic way so I've abandoned it. My idea was to tie together my old bands and friends with my life now using my benefit show as a kickoff point. See, back in March my old bandmates in The Minus Scale along with friends in bands we used to play with put on a benefit show for me and apparently it was a resounding success. It sold out, the crowd loved it and a good bit of money was raised. I am blessed with all of the goodness that people have thrown my way this year and throughout my life in general. Unfortunately my pancreatitis decided to step in and I missed the show because I was hospitalized yet again.

Now, a little history as to why this show and these people getting together to help me out touched me so deeply. Without going into the entire People's History of Padraig Murphy's Musical Career I spent three years playing with The Minus Scale and let's just say things didn't end beautifully. We eventually made amends and I still count them amongst my friends; Ryan and I are starting work on some music I've been writing within the coming weeks. That's one of the great things about shared experience, especially if those experiences involve sleeping on strange floors, logging scores of road miles and living in very close quarters for weeks at a time. I know any one of us could call up the others in thirty years and no matter where we are or what we're doing it'd be like no time had passed. Anyway, back to the subject at hand.

When I found out about the benefit show I was floored, especially when I discovered that it was AJ's idea. Or at least he was organizing it. Of everyone in the Scale when I was involved (AJ, Ryan, Pat, Derek, for a time Mark) AJ and I were the least close despite the fact that we lived together for a year and he and Ryan asked me to join in the first place. I could never put my finger on it but it wasn't like there was friction or anything. AJ's a particular sort of guy and maybe our energies never clicked. He's very methodical and super organized and I'm definitely not. You could almost say I always felt a sort of disconnect or coldness between us so the fact that this special show was in his hands really warmed my heart. Quick story: the first and only compliment I think I ever got from him regarding my music was his comment that the name I came up with for my solo project, Building A Better Robot, was a good name. Three years and that was it. (AJ, if you're reading this and I'm wrong, I apologize!) He had been in contact with my father asking if it was ok that they wanted to do this, where to send the donations, etc. and my father told me while I was still in the hospital. To sweeten the pot I was told the lineup for the show and was stunned to say the least. First, a reunited Minus Scale (though I wasn't going to be playing with them even if I was well and out of the hospital) but also a reunion of one of my favorite local bands, the Human Flight Committee. They had broken up in 2009 and aside from a one-off reunion in 2010 they hadn't played together since. Next there was Too Late The Hero, an amazing band from Maine and brothers-in-arms since my Our Last Summer days. They're very popular around here and I guess they jumped at the chance to help me out. Already three reasons for friends and fans to come out and rock. Originally a band who I'd never met nor heard, Man, The Reformer was supposed to play but had to back out. Replacing them was another band I didn't know, Arms Against A Sea but whom I thanked afterwards for donating their time and energy for my cause. Lastly but certainly not least of all was a dear friend, Cameron Gray. Back in my Our Last Summer days Cameron was the singer for our best friend band, Good Samaritan. He and I have known each other since 2003/2004 and in the years following the dissolution of his band he's made quite a name for himself as a solo artist. This was one of the most killer lineups I'd seen in years and couldn't wait to see it and thank all of these people for helping out. Sadly, my pancreas derailed me and I was forced to miss it. That seems to be a running theme for me this year, missing out on things due to my illness. All told, I've been in the hospital for Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Saint Patrick's Day, the Fourth of July, and very nearly my birthday. I think I was hospitalized for Kelley and my anniversary as well. If I were to sit and count the days I've either spent more time in the hospital than I have at home this year or at least an equal amount of time in both places. That's pretty crazy when you think about it.

Maybe someday I'll be able to repay not just my friends and former colleagues but everyone who has donated to my cause, helped out Kelley or my parents while I was away, family friends, well wishers, everyone. I'd like to think that events like what happened to me bring out the best in people or at least help turn up the empathy meter. People tend to treat you differently when you've stared death in the face and lived to see the other side. Hopefully the goodwill won't end once I get better for real. You've got to admit, it's one hell of a way to reconnect when you start your conversation with "So...I almost died a few times this year and we might not have had a chance to talk again...how's your year been?" Either way, I'm glad I've gotten the chance to rediscover and rekindle old friendships. There's still one guy from my Old Life that I really want to get back in touch with but he's pulling the ol' Artful Dodger on me I think.

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Every day I need to remind myself that I'm blessed and have made it out of a lot of hairy situations this year better than some people in the same position. First there was the pancreatitis and everything surrounding that but now I have the added bonus of a colon reassignment or whatever the doctors call it. During the installation of more JP drains during my last stay at Lahey (starting a little over a months ago) my colon was pierced and waste was spilling into my abdominal cavity. The doctors cleaned my insides out and had to remove a section of my colon so until they reattach everything I only work with a few feet of intestine as opposed to my whole GI tract. What does this mean? My intestine is brought up to my stomach and I've got a colostomy bag on my abdomen to deal with my waste. It's an odd thing to not be able to poop correctly. One of the side effects/bonus? bits to this is my body doesn't process things like fat, cholesterol, calories, etc. like normal people so until they reassign my colon I'm supposed to eat like a fat kid's fantasy. My nurse told me to add peanut butter to everything I can or if the food calls, cheese and bacon. The problem is because of this lack of processing I don't absorb things out of my food like normal people so I need to up my intake quite a bit. Normally I probably eat around 1200-1500 calories a day which is low anyway for a dude my size but now especially they want me eating closer to 4000 calories a day just to maintain weight. I've been dropping pounds like crazy and even though I'm not exactly a tiny guy it's a little disconcerting when I can't at least maintain weight. My diet has literally been cheeseburgers and pizza, peanut butter and shakes. I'm trying to eat healthy but I'm not supposed to eat any real raw fruits or vegetables, whole grains, beans or legumes, nuts, oats...basically things I enjoy eating. I'm trying to embrace this new experience but it's really hard. A good chunk of my year has been spent being NPO and my appetite isn't quite where it should be. I've never been able to stuff myself anyway because if I do, my stomach says "hell no" and things usually come back up. If anyone has any tips or ideas I'd love to hear them.

I think this blog entry got away with me and I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say with it. Maybe the theme is "I get by with a little help from my friends." That's fitting, right? Hopefully I'll get my clarity back soon and get back to writing good, clear and concise entries. Until then, thanks for reading.

Part Thirteen: I Will Be Home Then

I'm sitting here with a Cat 1 hurricane on course, set to hit the ol' 603 within hours. Kelley's pretty stressed about it but I welcome the storm. We haven't had a decent hurricane in New Hampshire for a few years so I say bring it Bill Gates and your evil weather machines! (It is fairly common knowledge that Mr. Microsoft controls the weather with satellites and such, right?)

I've been home for a few days now from my latest Lahey adventure, closing in on nearly four weeks. What started out as fairly routine and simple ended up being a big ol' bag of awful by the midpoint. I was initially down there to drain a fistula that developed starting from my left flank and going down to my groin. (A fistula is a long, snake-like collection of fluid rather than just a normal globular abscess.) Most people with pancreatitis have pockets of fluid that develop, get drained and that's all she wrote. In my case fluid just keeps coming and coming with no real endpoint in sight. At one point one of my doctors at Wentworth-Douglas said that I have one of the worst cases of the disease he's ever seen. I'm inclined to agree because as time goes on I don't seem to be making much headway. All told I've had nine or ten separate Jackson Pratt drains throughout my abdomen and left flank. Currently I'm only sporting one that is draining an abscess on my right side. It's awkward because the JP bulb is attached to my leg rather than its usual spot on my stomach. Why? Well that's the fun part...

A few days into my stay at Lahey I had a date with Interventional Radiology to put more JP drains in place to deal with the fistula. What they do is put me through a CT scan machine to get an accurate, real-time picture of where the fluid is so they know exactly where to cut me open and place the drain tubes. You may forget (or remember) that your organs are all more or less on top of each other in your body so you want and need to have doctors be as accurate as possible whenever they mess about in there. I trust my doctors, especially those at Lahey implicitly because I have yet to have a bad experience. Cue the chase music...

After I made it back up to my room sporting two brand spankin' new drains my stomach was really upset and I had a pretty hardcore bout of vomiting. Nothing special, right? Well, this time it was pretty special. At times when I vomit the physical process of vomiting makes my other organs and insides do crazy stuff like spit fluid out of my drain sites. This time was particularly interesting because after I got up to void (aka pee) I looked at my bed and it was covered in the nastiest fluid/junk that I've ever seen come out of me. It was pretty viscous, rusty brown color and unappetizing. The dressing around my left flank drain was soaked with this nasty fluid. I called in the nurse who immediately called in the doctors because that kind of thing shouldn't happen nor should the fluid look as it did. Dr. Babek from the transplant team immediately recognized it as fecal matter mixed in with my normal necrotic pancreas fluid. Uh oh, something is not right in Paddy's body. Another CT scan later and what do we find? Paddy's colon has been pierced/cut/sliced open and waste is leeching into my abdominal cavity. Verdict? Not good at all. One thing you never want is waste mingling where it doesn't belong because that can lead to sepsis and becoming very, very ill or even dying. I've been through enough this year that could have killed me so I'm not ready to let that happen. When we realized what happened they shipped me down a few floors back to my old home, SICU.

SICU is a world unto itself at Lahey Clinic. Visiting hours are different, you're hooked up to all sorts of monitors and machines 24/7 and the TV is free. (In the normal rooms they charge you $12.50 per 24 hours of television. I read a lot in hospitals.) I spent weeks there in January after my very messy surgery and as fate would have it they put me in the same room that I stayed in originally, with the same nurses. Needless to say there was a lot of "Hey, you look a lot better than last time" and "What are you doing back here?" Really, SICU isn't much different from the normal hospital save for the things I mentioned above though this time they gave me something new to contend with. Usually for pain meds I would get 1-2 mg of dilaudid every 2-4 hours so I wouldn't be too uncomfortable but this time they decided to switch it up by making my meds PCA or more or less under my control. They added a part to my IV setup where I would control the frequency of my pain meds which worried me at first. Would I use too much? Not enough? They assured me it's a better setup than what I was doing before and it turned out they were right. My setup was for .4 mg every ten minutes (if I chose to take it via a button press.) That dose is enough to ease the pain but not enough to make me feel loopy so I ended up agreeing that it was a better system.

To deal with this new issue I was introduced to the colo-rectal doctor team headed by Dr. Pete Marcello. It turns out he and Dr. Pomposelli are longtime friends and went to the same school, had residency at the same time, etc. He's a very straight shooter and like Dr. Pomposelli doesn't BS or gloss anything over. He laid out what happened (the IR team accidentally pierced my colon either with a needle or the drain itself when they put in my new drains, spilling waste into my abdomen) and our options to deal with it. Our first attempt at fixing the problem involved cleaning out the existing waste and seeing if my colon would heal itself. That didn't work so well. On to option B, colon reassignment surgery. Or was it realignment? I can't remember. Basically what they had to do was go in, cut out a section of my colon, clean out my cavity, and bring my colon up to the skin, meeting up with my new friend: the colostomy bag. I'm told this will be a three to six month process so for the foreseeable future I don't digest or process food normally and instead of things travelling through my colon like a normal person my waste travels into a colostomy bag. It sounds more gross than it actually is but still, for all intents and purposes I have a bag of poop hanging out of my stomach. Oddly enough I can still have bowel movements but 99% of the waste and gas ends up in the bag. Along with this new piece of equipment comes a new diet, low-res/low-fiber. It's like a fat kid's dream diet because I'm not really allowed to eat anything good like whole grains, most fresh raw vegetables and fruit, oats, nuts, beans/legumes, (all of the things that I love to eat) and instead they want me to eat garbage with little to no nutritional value. Dr. Marcello also told me that due to this current colon setup I don't process fats, cholesterol, calories, etc. like normal but in a "good" way. He wants me eating like a fat kid and even told me to eat a cheeseburger when I got out of the hospital. Again, fat kids' dream diet but not my cup of tea. I'd rather have delicious whole foods not processed garbage. Fortunately it's only for a few months.

Speaking of fat kid stuff I'm now 166.5 pounds. Craziness. That's the lightest I've been since I was 13 or so. That puts my weight loss from the start of this adventure to now at about 75 pounds, give or take a few pounds. I'm happy for the svelte physique but it was an extreme way to get it. When I start working out again I'm hoping I can get down to a trim 155 or so while 175 is my new "fattest you'll be" plateau. Shouldn't be too difficult though because my appetite is a fraction of what it once was, I no longer get the thousands of empty calories I used to get from alcohol and I eat pretty sensibly, even with the new diet. Add that to a decent workout regimen and I should be ok.

There is a lot more to write about regarding this and all of my hospital stays but I'll leave that for future posts. I'm getting things ready for the hurricane and taking some much-needed rest. Lateron.

Quick pic update!

Here are some glamour shots of my new abdominal incision. Almost identical to the first one which is probably why the pain is so exhausting and extensive.

Plus who doesn't dig staples in their stomachs?

Real posts when I get home, kiddos. Loads of stories about my latest Lahey adventure.

Part Twelve: With Friends Like These...

As I get older I tend to reflect on things a bit more every year. This year being the great big cluster-eff it's been is cause for much of that, hence this blog in the first place, and especially since my birthday is tomorrow I'm taking stock of things a bit more. I will be 28 tomorrow. Damn. I kind of still feel like I'm in that weird post-18 pre-25 mindset. Maybe it's because Kelley is four years my junior and that keeps me feeling younger but when I was a younger lad (late teens, early 20's) I thought "Damn, 28? Almost 30? That's old." Now look at me. There's been a lot of life lived here my friends, a lot of things that maybe would have been better not happening but hey, I've always subscribed to the notion that if you're happy with where you are right now then nothing was really bad because it all forms and informs who you are. Very much a cliché, I know.

Let's see, potentially life-threatening disease? Check. Surviving it. What else you got, universe?

The systematic dismantling of my friend network over the years either deliberately or otherwise? Double check. This is a big one that really bothers me and that will probably never change. Five years ago I had a great many folks I could count on and look to and my extended family was very extended indeed. It kind of started when I got out of the music game, I think. I just checked out from everyone and landed at the bottom of a bottle for awhile. There are only so many unreturned phone calls and messages that people can take before checking you off the list I suppose. Another point for my causing my own distress. Slowly I've begun to rebuild some of those relationships and it's occurred to me that if I reconnect with people, awesome. The ones that stay on the other side of that burned bridge will just have to hang out there for awhile longer, as much as I'd like to change that. I'm a dude that doesn't like to make waves with people, contrary to what my actions in a past life may have said.

Sometimes, even when I try I get burned. Example: when I went to jail I met this dude named Kurt and we became fast friends. Both musicians, both cooks, similar sense of humor, and enrolled in the same "don't drink and drive" anymore program. When we got back to the real world we met again unexpectedly on the streets of Dover and I soon went to work for him (he was chef at a local restaurant.) Now, I was a fairly prodigious alcoholic but THIS guy had an epic drinking problem. He'd make daily trips to the liquor store, passing my apartment on the way, to get "breakfast" at 9 or 10am and would basically be wasted all day. I'd have to wake him up to get to work some days (he lived adjacent to the restaurant) and cover for him when he took pulls off the bottles of cooking wine and such in the kitchen. Not a fun set of circumstances. Anyway, finally it got to be pretty bad and I took him to the hospital with a friend of his. This friend bailed on us and I was with him all day in the ER getting sobered up and stabilized. The dude drank two nips of vodka in the triage bathroom, that's how bad off he was. Eventually one of the nurses/social work people came in and he agreed to check into a rehab facility that day. He's been in now for about a year and I'm happy to say he's been sober since December 3rd and getting things back on track. Kelley and I ran into him at Barnes and Noble not too long ago and we chatted. He said "Oh shit, you got skinny! Working out or hospital?" We can smell our own. I told him about my pancreatitis and he just said "Yup, that'll do it."
I've been asked if I feel slighted or something because here's a guy who drank much, much more than me in a shorter amount of time and is healthier than I am. Nope. I drew the short straw and it's my lot to bear. I'm happy that my friend got himself clean and didn't have to have something terrible happen to him to get that way. I'm not one to question the "fairness" of the things that happen to us. Things just happen and we either go with it or we don't and I'm happy to say I'm not done fighting just yet. Too much to live for.

Yesterday into last night and moving to today has been kind of a trial. Not sure why but my flank drain has been giving me A LOT of pain. It took me hours to fall asleep last night because any way I laid hurt. A lot. I'm used to not sleeping at this point but not sleeping due to unyielding pain isn't something I deal with every day, at least not as often as I used to. The worst part of this pain business is that it tends to keep me inside and not out actually doing things. For awhile I couldn't really go out because I was going to the hospital so often. It really was a daily battle to see if I would have to hit the ER or not so you can imagine what that does to one's social life. Hopefully I won't have any more problems today or tomorrow. Who wants to be laid up on their birthday? I'm not even planning on doing anything but it would be nice to be able to do something if I so chose. Yup.


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Might take the day off from writing tomorrow due to the specified above birthday. Or I'll finally get around to writing about my surgery. We'll see.

Part Eleven: Blessed Burden

According to various news sources Amy Winehouse was found dead in London today. A twenty-seven year old life cut short. The police say the death is currently unexplained but given her history of addictions I don't think anyone really questions what killed her. Tragic? Yes. Unexpected? Hardly. This is the gamble you play when you have self-destructive tendencies. No one forced that woman to make the choices she did regarding her addictions and call me unsympathetic but there are more tragic losses of life to mourn and empathize with the survivors. One of my friends exemplified this in a Facebook posting today regarding the overwhelming outpouring of posts about Amy Winehouse and a severe lack of posting about the atrocities committed in Oslo, Norway yesterday. He said that it was appalling and unsettling that so many ostensibly care about the death of a young lady who (pending cause of death reports) more than likely knowingly brought this on herself and are either ignorant of or uncaring about 92+ dead innocents, many of them children, in Norway at the hands of a terrorist. (Remember kids, terrorists aren't just from a sandy part of the world.) I'm not one to pass judgement on people's priorities or level of empathy about world events but I kind of agree with him. What does this have to do with pancreatitis? Absolutely nothing. It was just the first thing I thought about when I say down at the keyboard this evening.

Know what else I'm thinking about? Purple Gatorade. It's refreshing and tasty. Also, tattoos.

I'm getting a tattoo of a pancreas at some point, hopefully sooner than later. I've never been more sure of a tattoo in my life. Since I first got tattooed (never, EVER refer to it as being "inked." I will smack you.) when I was 19 to my last tattoo this past fall I've felt strongly about everything on my body but this one takes the cake. Or the real estate on my skin required to make it happen. Immediately following my surgery, or at least when I regained consciousness and could string thoughts together coherently I thought it would be the best idea ever to get a pancreas tattoo. Not over the area where my pancreas is/was mind you, but a tattoo of a pancreas. I understand it may not be the easiest thing to picture because really, the pancreas kind of looks like a log of poo. Fleshy poo.

Kelley was the first one to say "Uh...I can't picture that looking good. It's pretty gross." But I could not be swayed. What better way to commemorate my trials by getting a symbol to remind me of what I went through and what I now deal with on a daily basis? Granted, I'm not just going to get a pancreas, it will be a bit more artfully done than that, but it will be an unmistakable testament to the organ that turned on me. I've already discussed the project with my friend and tattooist extraordinaire, Christina Sardinha-Wulfe. She's a doll. She's done most of my tattoos, currently doing a great piece on Kelley and my number one choice for body art. At this point in our relationship I would trust her implicitly to tattoo anything on me without telling me what it was first. This almost happened, actually, when we started on the project of my leg tattoo. I've got six monarch butterflies on my right leg and get comments about them constantly. Pretty manly, eh? A dude with a bunch of butterflies. How did this come to pass? Whilst hanging out at her then place of business years ago she told me that she had a dream about doing a sleeve of monarch butterflies on someone and upon waking up thought of me. Not sure if that part is true or not but when she told me this I said "Ok, I'm game" or something along those lines. Later we started work on the piece sight unseen and it's probably my favorite tattoo thus far and we're still not done with it. (On the subject of manly tattoos, I am the MANLIEST. Plenty of dudes have butterflies, hearts on their sleeve, and a little boy and little girl holding hands in a field with fireflies. Maybe I need a sweet tribal armband to right my tattoo badassery wheel. Or not.)

Getting back on track, our idea for a pancreas tattoo is getting pretty cool. She thought of doing the organ itself half dead/half vibrant for the dichotomy of what's going on inside my body and to go with my ideas of rebirth and vitality and such she gave the idea of adding Japanese maple leaves and cherry blossoms. The cherry blossoms are a symbol of impermanence and taking the most out of the moments while the Japanese maple is symbolic of going with the flow and bending rather than breaking against stress. The placement we're working with is pretty fortuitous because I have adjoining tattoos in the area already, one a pair of koi fish (a symbol of courage in Buddhism) and script that reads "We are blessed, we endure." My sleeve as a whole will be a testament to going forward. I'm stoked.

Not that I need a tattoo to commemorate the experience or remind myself of it, I'm reminded of it every day and not just with pain or discomfort. I've got scars on my abdomen and other places that will forever remind me of what I went through. I can't wait to scare kids who see me shirtless by saying my scar is from where the alien poppped out or something along those lines. I hope my scars never fade or go away. They're an important reminder and testament to the biggest change in my life and not just from a medical standpoint. Pancreatitis has made me a better person in the long run and saved me from myself. Huh. The thing that nearly killed me saved my life. Speaking of my little friend illness, he's been acting up a bit today. First with a bit of nausea and sufficient drain issues. I'm getting really tired of being in pain, let me tell you.

I know I've been a little lax with the storytelling portion of the blog these past few days but rest assured more entertaining anecdotes about hospital life are coming up soon. Chronologically I'm now onto the surgery itself and what happened afterwards which is pretty heady stuff and kind of important so I'm saving it for a rainy day. Maybe it will start pouring soon.

Part Ten: The Red White and Blues

To quote Mr. Ice Cube at his most ghetto superstar, today was a good day. I didn't even have to use my AK. False. I do not own an AK nor any other firearms though I think if there were a day where I were to use such a thing it would be more on the thrilling side, or at least noteworthy. To tell the truth, I'm fairly tired right now but I'm not sure if it's due to the very short sleep I had last night or the heat and humidity. Sure, it's gross here but I'd say I'm weathering it better than most people (pun fully intended.) Why complain if you can't do anything about it? Like most things in life someone else has things much worse off than you do so suck it up and soldier on.

Ok, sorry, ran a bit off track there. That and I'm full immersing myself in my latest audio acquisition, the fantastic EP Lost Ground from my favorite friend-driven hardcore band Defeater. If you care anything about majestically heavy and heartfelt music please buy their records or shirts or catch a show. Not only are they bloody brilliant but my old buddy Derek handles vocal duties and what can I say, the boy makes me proud. I'm glad one of us made it out alive.

Back to the story: despite the stifling heat, today went pretty well. Had a delicious scone for breakfast, watched some Dexter with Kelley, ventured out to have lunch with her parents in honor of my upcoming birthday, saw the new Harry Potter movie and picked up some very cheap t-shirts. This boy needs more clothes that fit now that I'm a bit smaller than I was six months ago. My pain level, on a scale of 1 to 10 was a solid 5 today. At times there were spikes but it was just your general consistent pain today. These drains are not very fun to live with, let me tell you. The fluid has a nice stank, my skin gets raw and torn up from having to constantly apply and remove tegaderm patches or tape, and they hurt, pinch, sting, whathaveyou. Especially the one in my back. Oy vey. This guy keeps me from sleeping properly and is a consistent pain in the back (literally! Ha!) Add to that the bonus points of kind of pulling out on its own so my JP doesn't drain properly and the fluid inside me is going nowhere. Great. Can't wait to visit the hospital again for that one. As used to being hospitalized as I am it doesn't make it any more fun. It's always the same: go to Wentworth-Douglas ER for intense pain, nausea, vomiting, infections, get treated and stabilized, get CT scanned and/or X-rayed, find out there's funny stuff going on inside, take an ambulance down to Lahey clinic to get stabilized some more and have Dr. Pomposelli ask why they transferred me or have new drains put in. As I've mentioned in an earlier entry I'm not terribly thrilled about CT scans (I'm going to have another scheduled for next week or so. Number 22 baby!) but that's what Jimmy wants me to do.

The pain is much more bearable these days than it has been and I'll tell you, I don't know how people get addicted to pain killers. Or rather, I know I would never get addicted to pain killers. At least PO/by mouth pain meds. IV meds, sure. There is definitely a certain loopy/rush/oooh feeling when you get IV pain meds, especially when they're something strong like dilaudid. In fact, one of the nurses this last time at Lahey told me about this whole series of YouTube videos about patients going to ERs or treatment facilities and requesting very specific doses of dilaudid and/or phenergan. For those who don't know, dilaudid is basically high test morphine and phenergan is a very potent nausea medication that has the added bonus of causing severe drowsiness. I have a script for it right now, actually. When you combine these two meds you have a very hearty cocktail that I'm often prescribed when I hit the ER when things get really bad. Sometimes they throw in a little ativan too. THAT will put me out. One time they gave me three rounds of that in the ER and sent me on my way. Let me tell you, I was fucked up. No other way to put it. Stumbled out of triage and everything. Mind you, I don't enjoy that feeling and try to avoid it as much as my pain will allow me to. Being in control of your faculties is a big plus in my book.

Back to my earlier point, I have the fortune of not really being affected by pain meds at home. I've had scripts for dilaudid, oxycodine, oxycodone, percocet, darvocet, etc. and not one has made me feel loopy or high. Thank GOD. That's all a recovering alcoholic needs, more ways to get messed up in the comfort of home. Maybe I just got lucky in the genetic lottery and I don't get hit by that stuff like other people do. I know folks that would step over their own mother for some oxycontin and I'm very happy I am not one of those people. Most of the time I try to deal with pain either naturally or with Tylenol or some other OTC pain reliever. Try to stay away from acetaminophen though, that stuff does a number on your liver.

Being as treated as I've been can be a big help sometimes, especially when I'm working with people who haven't seen me before or read my chart. Let me tell you, my chart is pretty hefty. I think the docs and nurses appreciate it that I'm pretty knowledgeable about what's going on in my body. It makes their job easier when a patient is an active participant in their treatment. It's true. If you're in the hospital or anything like that ask questions and listen. You'll be surprised how much help you can be because I'm sorry to burst some bubbles but most doctors aren't geniuses and they sometimes only work in best guess scenarios. Even basic simple stuff helps like knowing the all-too-common question "What would you rate your pain today on a scale of 0 to 10, 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you've ever felt?" Louis C.K. has a bit about this saying why would anyone say anything but 10? Doc, I'm in pain. Give me meds. There is some truth in that but being able to pinpoint more accurately is better in the long run. Example, today I'm rocking about a 5. It's in the middle of the road in terms of my experiences with pain. Sometimes I'll tell them I'm at an 11 because I love Spinal Tap and those are times where it hurts so badly that I really think I could die. It happens less often now but for awhile that was the standard. I'd have to get 1-2 milligram doses of dilaudid every two hours just to stay functioning. Not cool, brah. There was one time at Wentworth-Douglas that was extraordinarily bad and I had pain meds every hour, PO percocet then IV dilaudid an hour later in two hour cycles. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Man, I don't want to relive that experience.

It's getting close to time for me to check out for the night so I think I'll do that. Kelley has the New Hampshire Tattoo Convention tomorrow with her friend Cammy and because I opted out of going I've got a whole lot of nothing to do tomorrow. Maybe laundry? Who knows. Hopefully my drains don't act up any more tomorrow. It's bad enough they're leaking and causing me much distress, I don't need any more lip from them. Thanks for your time, dear readers. Tomorrow!

Attempting to be clever with my plushy pancreas. Get it?!