Updates come as updates go. As far as this update I can’t tell yet if it will be short and sweet or long and compelling. Perhaps we’ll both find what we’re searching for at the end as my fingers figure it out. While I write this, not but five minutes ago, I had just finished my self injection for the night. 80 milligrams of drug that thins blood and leaves tanned bruises on my love handles. The embarrassment of the injection is far greater than the sting of the needle. You may wonder, “But Brady, why are you embarrassed?”. Perhaps the embarrassment comes from old photographs or seeing old friends. A time before blood clots, radiation treatments, blood work and hushed waiting rooms. I remember a time when I used to party all night. I’d stay up to greet the sun with a wicked grin and an embossed stench of male camaraderie. I’d toast to youth or hug my bed like a teddy bear. But now my feet swell, my joints ache, my stomach is bruised from chemicals and if I really stop to think my face burns. It doesn't burn like it used to though. Instead of becoming ill tempered over silly girls leaving goodbye notes, an over-drafted bank account that cancelled 75 cent taco night or a prose fight with a close friend, it burns because I miss how tragically wonderful those moments were.
On November the 2nd I came home from northern California in an odd misery that I've never felt before. A pain in my chest knitted my lungs closed with needles. It spread from my lungs to my joints as if someone had ripped thousands of industrial stickers off my bones. That night I looked in the mirror and asked God for one night of rest. He granted me just that. I slept for about five hours. When I woke the pain returned and in a greater magnitude. I stumbled into the bathroom, closed my eyes and began to heave and spit. As I opened my eyes I saw blood on the toilet seat and bobbing in the water in minefield of mucus. My parents had just come home so I walked down stairs, and confessed that I wasn't feeling well. Ever feel guilty for being sick? Well I do and I have hard time shaking that attitude. I told my parents that I honestly thought about driving my self to the hospital the prior night because I didn't want to be burden. But I have to let people take care of me... one of the hardest lessons I'm learning.
Moments later we called my doctor.
“Describe to me what’s going on Mr. Effler?” he said with a bald tongue. I explained to him what I had just experienced. With each detail he’d clear his throat and make a noise to let me know he was nodding his head. “Sounds to me like you have blood clots in your lungs, but I’m not certain… Can you get to an Emergency Room right now?”
“Um… yeah.”
“Okay, well go to the Emergency Room right now.”
“Yes sir.”
I spent six days at Memorial Hospital. Every day I had to ring the bell for the nurse to take me to the bathroom. I couldn't even shower without help. Every day I received injections to keep my pain level from a “seven or eight out of ten” to a “two or three out of ten”. Every night I slept in a fox hole. And every few hours my eyes opened with my chest rattling. Blurred by tears my hand would grip the call button.
They’d always come.
The nurses, they’d always come... eventually.
On the third night it really sunk in that four hours of sleep was a major victory. After multiple tests it was confirmed, two major blood clots had traveled from my legs to my lungs. Each day I got better, stronger and was able to breath easier. But like all rehabilitation, I started crawling and now today I can stand on my own once again.
They’d always come.
The nurses, they’d always come... eventually.
On the third night it really sunk in that four hours of sleep was a major victory. After multiple tests it was confirmed, two major blood clots had traveled from my legs to my lungs. Each day I got better, stronger and was able to breath easier. But like all rehabilitation, I started crawling and now today I can stand on my own once again.
After I was released from Memorial I isolated myself to my room and made good friends with the wall. To those of you that tried to connect with me, I’m sorry about the the lack of communication but it wasn't personal. I just needed time. I don’t know if this or was my darkest moment, but I’m having a hard time finding the light switch every once in a while. Not only do I have multiple tumors from a rare cancer but now I’m at risk consistently for blood clots. These blood clots just teased me though. “We’re so glad they stopped at your lungs Mr. Effler… For if they found their way to your heart…” Doctors find ways of turning good news into moments of me counting my lucky stripes. If it is luck, I hope it doesn't run out anytime soon.
Today is a new day and tomorrow will happen no matter what, and I want all of tomorrow. I’m starting chemotherapy again. Four more cycles of blood, shots and pills. The doctors want my body, or more so my lungs, to be healed before the stem cell therapy. So for valentines day I might have a cute date with transplanted cells in Nashville. I’m not facing it alone, and honestly sometimes I need to be reminded of that. Sometimes I need someone else to find that light switch for me. And sometimes I need someone to sit with me in the dark. I have love for all of you that have supported me thus far. I may not seem like the most thankful turd at times, but I really am. I’m not gracious when it comes to receiving gifts or acts of kindness but none of it goes unnoticed. So thank you, all of you. So, updates come as updates go. Turns out it was longer than I expected or even intended to be, but I can’t help it. But, one day I shall toast to the rising sun again. With a wicked grin and glazed eyes I’ll pour a two drinks. One for me and one for the Myeloma. I’ll finish mine but the cancer, well… it won’t be around to drink its portion.
