New digs, for now . . .

Sorry, sorry, sorry I haven't written in a while; these past few weeks have kicked my butt and I just think it's all finally caught up on me—started this blog a few days ago, but just haven't been able to finish it . . . has been a full-time job, getting Bob all the help he needs right now, and continues to be work, to make sure he's getting the appropriate help lined up down the road, as we journey on toward his surgery. . .have been so tired when I get home, and overwhelmed at where to start writing, that I just give up. Rest assured, loved ones, that Bob is doing so well where he is right now. He's getting stronger, gaining weight, getting that ol' "Bob Spirit" we all know and love back in full force. Yea!

We got Bob all settled at the Fairview Transitional Care Unit over the weekend, which is on the west bank campus (as opposed to the U of MN hospital where Bob has been for most of this, on the east bank). Lotta mixed feelings about this step, from both sides, his and mine. We both agree that there needed to be a stepping stone, a bridge, between the hospital and being discharged back home after the last hospital stay, but whether or not this was the answer remains to be seen. Then again, most of my apprehension stemmed from the fact that Bob was admitted on the weekend, when staffing and "happenings" are lighter—no real focus or direction to what the plan is. . . the weekdays prove to be a totally different story altogether. . .so much action going on that there should be a flippin' revolving door in Bob's room—so many therapists, social workers, nurses, doctors, anyone and everyone who might have reason to meet with Bob while he's staying at the TCU coming and going. It's like the Oval Office in room 424 . . .

Bob has a double room, but no roommate, which is great (don't need to expound on why, right, peeps?! But, in case you've forgotten, does the word testicles ring a bell??), and I don't think

they'll put anyone in his room for the duration. The unit has somewhat of a nursing home/psych ward feel to it—most of the patients appear to be in far worse shape than Bob. Bob had a few OT and PT sessions over the weekend, and each therapist has been very surprised at how strong and able-bodied Bob is, even in his weakened state. They said he appears very independent, doesn't really need any assistance or adaptive measures for daily living, but all agree that this stay is essential to help build his strength and endurance back up, in light of the pending surgery, as well as dietary/nutritional guidance. Blood pressure has also been an issue, as have the anxiety attacks and overall general anxious feelings Bob's been struggling with in the past few weeks since the heart attack. And to start to address some of the mental stuff going on, the endless cycle of anxiety, and possible depression setting in . . .(pic to the right is Bob tucked in for the night. Just for the record, so he doesn't get beat up on the playground, he doesn't really sleep with Taz—I added it for effect . . . kinda cute, huh?)

My feelings are that the whole mental piece for Bob has largely been ignored throughout this ordeal. Six months and counting . . . well, maybe not ignored, but certainly pushed to the side, since some pretty serious physical issues have taken precedence. Then again, up until the heart attack, I've been amazed and in awe of how "together" Bob has been through all of this. But, in my book the mental goes along with the physical—they're inextricable, each is dependent on the other—with physical challenges comes mental ones, and vice-versa. Can't have one without the other, in a true, holistic approach.

Bob has been through so much, more than any of us will probably ever see in our collective lifetimes. I see it all starting to affect him greatly, and see that it's all a great big swirling, tangled mess of physical, emotional, mental anguish. . . As such, every, and I'm not kidding when I say "every," medical personnel who has come in to see Bob gets the third degree from, the question of, "We know what needs to be done physically to get Bob back on track, but hat can you do to address the mental/emotional impact of what he's gone through in the past month or so . . ." Some offer assistance and give us contacts or directions to head, others kinda give us blank stares, with no answer. . .

Bob is a very in-control person, a take-charge kind of guy. He's a planner. (Yet another example of our differences: I fly by the seat of my pants, I "wing it," if you will; Bob likes to "plan to be spontaneous,"as he calls it.) However, there has been nothing—at all—predictable, reliable, certain, in this cancer journey . . . despite, in spite, of trying to reign it in, he's yanked and jerked in every direction, sometimes all at the same time . . . anything and everything that could possible go wrong has, and then some . . . right now, in so many ways, Bob's life is horrifically out of his control and we can't help but think, "What else? What else can he possibly be hit with? Just when we think he's been through the worst of it . . ." What I witness is Bob desperately trying to regain some of the neat, orderly ways of his old life. Even in his weakened, often-medicated state, if it means that he needs to track his medications, his blood pressure, his heart rate on a notebook at his bedside, questioning the nurses who enter his room . . . Even in this state, I told Bob that he could run a multi-million dollar corporation. Even cancer, even a heart attack hasn't rob him of that spirit.

I'd bet my last dollars that there is no one else on this floor who tracks their days like Bob does, who questions nurses and other medical personnel about what they're doing, why they're doing it, didn't they do that 45 minutes ago already, or why didn't they come in when he buzzed them 1/2 hour ago? But that need for control has become almost a fault, to where it's becoming an obsession and is interfering with his treatments, his going forward, his healing. He needs someone to sit with him and reassure him that right now, he's okay, that he's getting stronger, that things are not in a critical state, that he needs to let go and trust what's happening right now, is okay, is part of the course . . .someone who understands the experiences of a cancer survivor.

Bob occasionally talks about biofeedback experiences he had back when he was a kid, going through chemo and radiation the first time around. He got so sick from the chemo—during the 130 mile drive back to St. James from the Mayo, he'd alternate between the two ice cream buckets they kept in the car, to puke in—endless vomiting, weakness, dehydration, etc. lots of issues he's currently dealing with . . at some point, someone at the Mayo suggested this "new" technique of biofeedback (this was back in the 70's, when any alternative medicine was, at best, likely scoffed at, but the Mayo was and is cutting edge . . . ). Miraculously, Bob took to it effortlessly. It involved hooking him up to machines that recorded his vitals: heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature, etc., and with those scientific tools and data, Bob was then shown mental techniques that he could employ to help calm himself, ease the nausea, the heart rate, the body temperature. As he puts it, he was the King of Biofeedback, back then.

The first night Bob was in the Transitional Care Unit (Friday night), he had an anxiety attack. I'd been trying to call him and he wasn't answering, neither on his cell phone nor on his room phone. So, I called the front desk. Who gave him my message and then called me back a minute or so later to tell me Bob doesn't want to talk to me because he's worried that I'm freaked out and that'll make him more worried . . . endless cycle . . . but this nurse also asked if Bob has ever tried a treatment called biofeedback, that maybe that would benefit him while he was at TCU. . .

So after that conversation, every medical professional who's come in to see Bob over the weekend got the low-down from me. That he's riddled with anxiety, and rightly so, but we need some help here, an endless cycle that needs to be addressed . . some knew what I was talking about; others didn't but told us they would investigate further and get back to us. Kinda felt like a broken record, like a goofball, asking over and over, but in my heart, I felt this was a huge piece in the puzzle to help Bob . . . but over the course of the past few days, Bob's been given some direction, some names of people who can help him in this area of treatment. We feel, finally, we're getting more pieces together.

Over the weekend, a good friend of ours, Wanda, was in MN and wanted to see Bob while she was in town. She and her husband are originally from MN but have lived in Alaska for over 15 years. Wanda flew into MN to help take care of a family issue, and was spending the night in the Twin Cities before flying back to Anchorage. I picked her up at her hotel, we arrived at Bob's room early afternoon, and stayed with him for several hours. Bob slept most of the time while Wanda and I caught up. I wish I had taken a pic of them together . . . dang it! Wanda is a very recent breast cancer survivor, and her husband, Dan, the caretaker extraordinaire. Dan was also in MN, but not long enough to be able to swing up to see Bob. We told him that we'd see him next on our Greyhound excursion to Memphis, as Dan and Wanda now own property near Nashville and are planning to move back to the mainland this summer.

The visit did Bob's spirits good, even though he couldn't stay awake for the entire time. Eventually, I took Wanda back to her hotel after having dinner at Khan's (we closed the place down, wild women that we are . . .Wanda got a cool fortune in her cookie, it read: You tend to rais the spirits of those around you. True, so very true! Mine said, Promote literacy. Buy a box of fortune cookies today. WTF?!? TOTAL rip-off!!! "Umm, scuse me, waitress? Could I get a re-do on the fortune cookie here? This ain't a fortune, it's an advertisment!" She brought another one, and was redeemed: Believe in yourself and so will others. . . spent a good few hours a the restaurant with Wanda, talking, catching up, saying our good-byes way too soon . . .

They've been keeping Bob very busy this week in the ol' TCU, and it's only Wednesday—lots of PT, OT, dietitians, . . . the kitchen keeps sending extra food to him between meals—sandwiches, ice cream, etc.—to the point where Bob had to ask them to stop, as he just couldn't keep up, and the stuff was starting to stockpile in the overflow fridges on the unit. There's a kitchenette on the floor, and he can go help himself to snacks whenever he wants; I saw on his notes that he's been more than generous with the ice cream cups. They started him on IV fluids on Monday, as he's been dehydrated and the doc said many of the symptoms he's experiencing can be the result of that. After being on the fluids for a few days, his anxiety is lessening, he feels more rested, less exhausted . . .His weight is up seven pounds, and last night, he sounded so strong, was moving about his room almost effortlessly. So, we're gaining ground, people!

(pic to the left is Bob learning the fine art of accessorizing . . . acutally, a safety belt used by PT and OT, to grab onto, just in case Bob falls during therapy)

Anyhow, I know a lot of this is disjointed, and repetitive as all hell, but just wanted to give an update but don't have time to edit, to let you know our SuperHero is making huge strides in rehab! Just what the doctor ordered (or didn't . . .) Also, incidentally, got a call from the Mayo clinic, from one of the docs who has been part of the long-term followup study Bob was a part of. I had contacted them several weeks ago, after Bob's heart attack, not really sure what I was looking for, if for no other reason than to let them know that a former patient of theirs was going through some awful crap as a result of his treatments, and maybe they'd want to know . . . and maybe shed some light from their point of view as to why this was happening, could it have been prevented, what do they recommend their patients do?She was amazing to talk to, and in another blog, I'll have to expound, but i really gotta get going to work, so good luck reading all this . . .

Peace, Love and Rehab to all!