The last month and a half we have been hanging around our house in San Diego. I already miss not being on the road. When I left the hospital back in early January, I was extremely weak, maybe from the battle with sepsis and cancer. It is fortunate that I am married to Peggy and she is a good sport because without her help through this misery I think I would have given up. Going to the john had become a miserable odyssey because my intestines were gunnybag. I was having difficulty accepting what appears to be news of a drastically shortened life compared to what I expected. The one good part about these two was that I spent an inordinate amount of time in the john, giving me time to cry and whimper without my family seeing my weakness and emotional loss of control.
The doctors informed me that cutting out my cancer is not an option. Chemotherapy does not work on Renal Cell Carcinoma so that’s out. Radiation won’t work either so we are left with something called immunotherapy which is supposed to fire up my immune system to attack the cancer. I started my visits to the hospital in January to get the unpronounceable and expensive drugs infused into me through an intravenous stream into my arm. It takes about half a day each time I go into the hospital for the therapy but so far there have been no nasty side effects other than feeling exhausted all the time. We’ll see if this magic stuff works in a month or two when they will run me into the CAT scanner again to see if my nasty little friend has remained the same, gotten smaller or disregarded the treatment altogether. I hope it works because I’m running low on options.
Today I was checked out of the
hospital. Although the care was superb, the prognosis is grim.
The sepsis raged for four days and the hospital staff, trying to fight the nasty infections from my dysfunctional intestine, fed me massive amounts of antibiotics which sent my heart into atrial fibrillation and wild pulse swings from about 68 to 135. Staff fought around the clock trying to keep the fibrillation from giving me a stroke and to keep the infection in line and they eventually won the day. I gave up blood samples seemingly every couple hours. Kaiser should have enough of my blood to paint an Amish barn. It was miserable.
The really nasty part was getting the other info the staff had gleaned from the CAT scans I had on December 28 and 29. There is a solid mass on my right kidney that is actually bigger than the kidney. It has metastasized into my lungs. A biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. Their name for it is Renal Cell Carcinoma. My name for it is frightening sumbitch. It cannot be excised by surgery.
I am glad to be out of the hospital but I feel like I have been beat up by thugs. Thank God for Kaiser’s Part C Medigap coverage and my family who stayed with me all the way through my time in Wing 4 South.
We have been lounging in the San Diego area for a couple months and, as it turns out, that was fortunate. This evening I checked into the local, newly-built Kaiser hospital because I thought I had appendicitis. If we had been anywhere other than our hometown, my appendicitis could have been more difficult to manage.
Once through the emergency room, the
staff sent me off to a CAT scanner where they were able to ascertain
that I did indeed have appendicitis that was also blocking my
intestine. That had cut way down on my toilet paper costs for the
last few days.
Unfortunately, the appendix had burst
or the blockage has become unblocked which gave me sepsis, a nasty
customer. I don’t think the next few days are going to be fun.
Today’s tasks were to drive across
town to Homeowner Hell, buy a security door and replacement hardware
and to haul it to our kids’ house. After that, we were to demolish
the old, funky door and its faulty hardware before replacing it with
the new stuff. It seemed pretty straightforward and simple. It
Reality quickly set in with and extended foray through the Balboa Avenue Home Depot aisles of things we didn’t need before finding Aisle 33, Bay 3, where the security doors were found. After not much confusion, we pulled out the door we wanted and loaded it onto a six-wheel cart with only two of the wheels having flat rolling surfaces. It made an irritating clunking noise as we wandered through the shopping maze. Our next stop was at Aisle 7 where we eventually found the door hardware we needed, despite there being no service personnel to assist us. Then we were off to checkout and soon back out into the daylight. One-quarter of our workday was gone by the time we jumped into the truck for the ride to the house.
It is quite evident why security
screen doors got their name because getting the old door off the face
of the house required considerable grinding, some dedicated elbow
grease and we only started two fires with hot metal sparks. We then
Vise-Gripped the long screws that held the old door out of the
framing. Some previous house paint colors could be seen under the old
frame, a testament to the length of time the old door has been bolted
to the front of the house.
Then there was a concentrated effort
by Peggy, Sam and his spouse, Kate, and me to install the new
security screen door before I remembered that the front door opening
of our house is not square so a bit of cosmetic frame work might be
necessary. We installed all the jambs plumb and the header level but
that means nothing with our front door. Our boy, Sam, came home from
college towards the end of the fun and was gracious enough to offer
me a nice shot of Jack Daniel’s Honey. Not long thereafter, Peggy and
Kate shot over to Ranch 99 Market, an oriental grocery near the
house. Disappointingly for American restaurants, Ranch 99 makes the
best fried chicken in the neighborhood. KFC should take note that
ferners produce better fried chicken than the Colonel and his
substandard wage minions.
I have been lazy about getting to this
blog/diary/mostly contemporaneous record keeping for the last ten
days. However, we did get some terrible, time-consuming chores done.
The task that required the most repetitive shopping nightmares was fixing our recently broken black tank washer in our trailer. I think the tank washer broke and started inundating our water heater and furnace back in early October and we have been obliged to resort to hoses and nozzles crammed down the terlet to ascertain the vile stuff in the tank has been delivered to the parks’ sewer system. Our odyssey began with a trip to the kids’ house followed by some time on the internet to find that replacement parts that look like the defective parts on the trailer do not exist. Many other options were found but all required some adaptive plumbing, a trade at which I am talent-free. I ordered parts that looked like we would have to drill the least amount of new holes and requiring the fewest re-plumbing adventures. When the parts arrived, it was plain there would be more headaches than planned so two days of driving to the hardware store in nearby Jamul and to an RV supplies store further away in El Cajon began. Much later, all the parts were assembled so Peggy and I began the job of removing a plywood bulkhead in our trailer’s pass-through storage bay. We found all the carpet-covered screws and got them to back out of the fuzzy plywood without breaking off but found the bulkhead, which was installed apparently using a hydraulic press, was reluctant to budge. After considerable grunting and profanity, coupled with some sturdy pry-bar manipulation, we managed to force the bulkhead open such that we had some access to the tank washer plumbing. Unfortunately, because the plumbing is behind a bulkhead squashed into a storage locker, it took a certain amount of contortionism to affect repairs. It was nearly dark by the time we got all the new stuff to work without catastrophic leaks.
The other major chore we have been pursuing is removal of the faded, potato chip appearing decals on our fifth wheel. In the factory, a decal adhesive is applied that must be made of constituents that are illegal in most progressive states. Parts might fall off trailers but to prevent re-occurrence, this adhesive should be used because it absolutely, positively will not come off. We have used heat guns, acetone, Goo Gone, a couple of rubber decal-stripping wheels spun by a drill, Scotch-Brites and considerable elbow grease to get the intransigent and tenacious decal adhesive off the trailer. It was uglier but we now have one side, the back and the front of the trailer free of the horrible but durable scum. There is little work on the remaining side. We will probably win the battle right before we sell the trailer.
Today we went to Harbor Freight to get
some cheap consumable grinding wheels and tools to use at our real
residence in San Diego to remove and replace our front door security
screen. Much grinding to remove the old door is anticipated, along
with cursing and skinned knuckles. A steel security door sounds like
a good idea until you need to replace it. By nature, they resist
destruction. We will start the fun tomorrow.
It seems my labor estimates are wildly
inaccurate. I figured the decals would come off much easier – five
hours instead of five years. I figured the tank washer repair should
be done by a competent individual in two hours but two days when
performed by me. The security screen remove and replace should not
take more than a couple hours, if somebody else does it.
The new WiFi provider at the park is making rapid progress with the new system and our access to the ‘net gets better every day. The current bonus is that until they get the system up to 100%, access is free. We enjoyed this wonderful condition and hung around the trailer all day, checking out our now-accessible e-mail, blogs, reports and absolute hooey. We also spent quite some time watching the birds and portly squirrels raid our bird feeders and chum piles. Considering fuel costs in CA, it is nice not to drive anywhere once in a while.
Our son doesn’t have formal school on
Sundays so we dropped in at our real house, where our kids live.
Unfortunately, Sam has enrolled in courses that are quite challenging
and he was still obliged to study for part of the time we were there.
That was a perfectly acceptable condition because Kate, our favorite
daughter-in-law, and Dana, our daughter and, of course, Lily the dog,
were there and lively hobnobbing, ball fetching, clandestine dog
treating and chit-chat ensued. Dana surfing crony, Neil, showed up
for a bit and got in on the blathering before both of them went out
to be disappointed by the flat surf.
We came back in the dark, partly on
account of the recent geezer-confusing daylight time shift and poor
scheduling. We try to avoid night driving when we can. Just a couple
nights ago, an insane lunatic passed us on a short, narrow two-lane
curved bridge while another car was about 30 feet away in the
oncoming lame. Panic stops by both the normal drivers saved the
idiot’s life although I’ll bet some poo came out.
We did a few travel chores today. Home Depot, El Cajon RV Supply, DXL for massive shorts, like that. It was horrible since I hate shopping.
We moseyed over to the Pio Pico
entrance station to attempt another crossover into the South Pio Pico
campground, across the highway from the not-as-spiffy North Side. The
spaces are larger, there is more shade and there are sewer
connections on the South Side so we were sitting in the shade outside
the park entrance shortly before Jan and Lily, the two gatehouse
ladies, announced that the daily distribution of available RV spaces
was about to begin. Amazingly, we were #2 on the list, lucked out and
received assignment to our preferred location. It was a miracle.
We drove into the South Side, posted
the crossover chit on the space 44 electrical box and quickly shot
back over to the now-icky North Side. There, we squeezed in the
slide-outs, disconnected the water, picked up the stabilizers,
disconnected and stowed the electrical umbilical, hitched up to the
trailer, hooked up the trailer wiring and zipped over the anti-bad
guy tiger teeth exiting the North, all in about ten minutes. That may
be a record.
About 400 feet later, we pulled into
the South Side and backed into our new location. It has full hookups,
some rudimentary WiFi, excellent satellite TV reception and nobody
but critters out the rear window. It is very quiet except when
Homeland Security buzzes the campground with decidedly unstealthy
helicopters or the guys come to dump the nearby dumpsters. The
dumpster guys only come a couple times a week but there seems to be
no end to the talent and fuel for the HSA choppers that are so noisy
that they sound like they actually chop.
There is a park-wide change-over in
progress between the old and hated StreamWiFi to Jabba, a provider we
have had success with in the past. I hope the service isn’t too good
or we’ll never get another space on the South Side without murderous
looks from the unsuccessful.
Today is Dia de Los Muertos which,
translated into English, is the Day After Halloween. Not really.
Today we went to the Pio Pico entrance
station to prep for the crossover of our trailer from the not-so-good
side of the park and into the better side. Unfortunately, it appeared
that nobody was vacating a spot on the south side and the
always-shaky Thousand Trails computer system was even less functional
than normal. Since we didn’t have to move today, we were cut loose
from any chores so we went to the kids’ house (actually, our house)
to celebrate Halloween with the kids and to check out the tiny ones
doing the Trick or Treat thing this evening. As a bonus, Sam’s
spouse, Kate, is a wonderful chef so we also got to tubby up over
there. We went home once the candy ran low.