Dave's Blog

Hold on a second. Maybe not.

Dave Yasko — Mon, 25 May 2009 02:01:00 GMT

OK, maybe I was a little quick on the throttle there. The cuerpo spent about 30 days going in the right direction before deciding to make a u turn and go back in the wrong direction. So here is another entry in this account of my health. As promised before, there are no opinions offered only experiences shared.

Sweat. Sweaty. Sweatier. That describes me. I thought it was just my body reacting to all the hormones and other things I was putting into it as a form of tumor control. To bring us all up to speed, 8 injections a week and 12 pills a day are my life. And the church I am blessed enough to work with. They are my life. The first I noticed that all wasn't just peachy was preaching for said church and putting on a powerful sweat. I mean the kind of sweat where people who sit near the front are bringing me water and handing me Halls drops. At the end of the lesson, which I did cut short, I went outside to dry off, which is saying something for Houston in May. A lady from the church told me that if I wasn't careful I would catch pneumonia. And I'll be danged if she wasn't right. I was getting ready to go see my son at a family reunion and went to the doctor because I couldn't seem to shake a cold. It was then that the doctor, the well known and respected ENT Dr Clement Chinkoff asked me to spit into a tissue he was holding. He meant stuff from the lungs, not garden variety spit. I obliged him and he looked at it, swore (either that or he was planning a vacation and already thinking of some exotic island, said "sunny beaches") tossed the tissue in the trash can, put on gloves and a mask and said, "let's look a little further." Dr. Chinkoff is an Oriental man who doesn't speak like most Oriental doctors. It's because he was raised in Bryan, Texas. Or as he says it "Brine, Texas." He did some sample taking, asked me if I had any fairly recent MRI's of my head (which I did, don't ask me why. No go ahead and ask me why. It's because I've been to too many doctors who asked me "do you have your latest test results with you?" that I always carry them with me, or at least in the truck.) I duly went out and fetched my MRI and he looked at it and said, "Here we go, look at this." I said, "and a handsome brain that is, and look, what an exquisite tumor!" He said, "no, I couldn't care less about the tumor, I'm looking at the sinuses. Look at those, they are jam packed! He said this with gusto. A gusto I used to associate with "we've got something" and now associate with "a follow up visit is in order sooner rather than later, pay the lady at the front." He looked at me with gravity and said, "You aren't going anywhere. You've got pneumonia and a mother of a sinus infection." You are going to go on 8 weeks worth of antibiotics, nasal spray that is so addictive that they are willing to give you the first month free just to get you hooked, and ear drops that you will have to put in several times a day and pack with cotton. You are going to puke from the steroids and antibiotics but you look like a few weeks of puke won't hurt you. And puke I did. I should be no stranger to puking. In fact, I've done it so much for so long that if there was a way to gain pleasure from puking, I would have figured it out. Nope. As I've chronicled before, if you're puking your own mother will go out the back door to keep from having to check on you. I had my own respiratory therapist come by the house two times a day to give me breathing treatments and what he called a sinus wash. I called it waterboarding. And for the record, I agree with the democrats on this one. It's torture. After the second wash I was telling secrets that I was making up, just to get him to stop.

So I am back. I didn't get to make the reunion and I am very disappointed. I haven't seen my son since November and was looking forward to seeing him. On the other hand, he and his lovely wife, Peach, were moving into a new place and had I been there, I would have been part of the moving brigade. The difference is puking because you are taking drugs that have the last name "sone" and puking because you've helped carry a couch up three flights of stairs.

There have been some other changes as well that I'll write about in this, the latest installment of General Hospital, which I have a far amount in common with.

Take care and it's good to be back with you.

Dave

The End

Dave Yasko — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 16:00:00 GMT

It's time.

All the body stuff is going in the right direction. My oncologist is happy (outside of a recent infection that shut me down for a week or so.) The medication is doing what it is supposed to do and it is time for me to move on and get along with my life. I've got a church to build and a lot of things I need to catch up on. I'm ready to end this chapter of my life. I'm ready to begin the next chapter. One that hopefully doesn't include words like chemotherapy and prednisone. One that doesn't need Lowball Leo for anything whatsoever at all.

I am contented, happy, and so thankful for all of you who hung in there with me while it was most definitely touch and go.

When I began this, I promised it wouldn't be a forum for opinions or thoughts that nobody cared about reading. If I were to continue this, that is exactly what it would become. There are enough of those out there already. Just type blog opinions into your trusty web browser and you'll find millions of them.

And in conclusion, it's been a long frustrating, scary, exciting, roller coaster but ultimately successful ride. As flawed as our medical care system is, in the end it came through. Yay!

And so this particular journey is over. If another one jumps up at me, I imagine I'll write about it.

Until then, it's time to live for a while with the throttle all the way open.

God Bless

David

The End

Simply Wonderful (and about time)

Dave Yasko — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 03:02:00 GMT

I will make this brief.

Hello. How are y'all doing? I had the most wonderful news today. The tumor. It's shrinking. The treatment (8 shots a week) is working! It's back down to the size it was in September 2008! I don't have to go back to the neurosurgeon until March 2010, I will report to my oncologist, the angelic Dr. Murthy next week and am really just about up on top of the world. Thank you for all your kind thoughts, prayers, comments and karma. This is really great and I really needed something great!

God Bless
Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

Lowball and Root Canals

Dave Yasko — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 02:26:00 GMT

Hidee Hi Friends and Neighbors,

Today was a Lowball Leo day. Yep, my cyst made a command performance after having been gone for three and a half months. Lowball was his ebullient self. He told me he was trying to get out of the lap band business. He could do nerve blocks all day long at 300 bucks a pop and he didn't have to go to the hospital. Quite simply, the man is a genius.

Today he tried something new, which is always a little worrisome in the medical arts. Since he's got a new business plan he needs to get the paying public in and out. So to drain said cyst, he used a 20 gauge needle. That's needlespeak for the horses leg sized jobbie. When he went into my tail bone with that thing, any doubts about my sexuality were eliminated. I am heterosexual and dad gum proud of it. Let your mind do the work.

Tomorrow I go and have my root canal tooth drilled out for the third time. This time it's for the permanent filling. After that I've been asked to help somebody I love to move and since I'll be numb from the gums out, why not. If something is too heavy to lift with my arms, I'll prop it up on my mouth. You say, "won't that hurt the next day?" I say, "that's why the good Lord permitted vicodin to be formulated. It indeed may hurt but I'll never know. Isn't America great! Amen.

Lowball Leo and root canals. Two of a kind is all I can say.

Peace

Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

The Holy Spirit's Gift of Complication

Dave Yasko — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 01:33:00 GMT

I write that in the title because I have that gift. No, I own that gift. I possess that gift. Me and that gift are at one with each other. Basically this blog has been a testimony to that fact. So let's carry it on out and I'll fill you in on the latest and greatest. First off, if I seem a little gruffy it's because I don't feel good. I've been horking up green all day, even though I've been on an antibiotic for a week and a half. I've also had to be back on prednisone which makes me puke like an Aggie in a rowboat. I got to come off of the vile stuff a couple of days ago but the damage was done. Evil medicine.

So, I got word from the health insurance folks last Wednesday (that would be February 18) at 4PM that they would cover the recombinant hgh therapy. Here's how they told me it played out. The folks from the pharmacy side and the folks from the medical insurance side had a meeting to determine if it was covered and if it was, who was supposed to cover it. During that conversation an early decision was made that gene therapy was excluded in the plan. So they faxed my endocrinologist and said, "denied. Gene therapy is not a covered item." Evidently about that time the D.Pharm for the pharmacy side wandered up to the table. One of the people there asked him what he knew about it. Come to find out, he knew plenty. Seems our Pharmacy doctor has him a pituitary adenoma that requires both testosterone injections and recombinant gene therapy using the same stuff my endocrinologist was prescribing. And he said it was most definitely medically necessary. That it was pretty medically impossible to live without it. And just like that, it was covered. The guy with the tumor stumbles in on the conversation and the result is this medication, which normally runs a couple grand a month is only going to cost me about $150 a month.

Now, here is where it gets good. I am given the assignment of going to the doctors office to pick up the prescription and take it to CVS. When I get to the doctors office the nurse Juanita, asked me how I was going to pay for the medicine. I told her I had just gotten a call from the insurance folks telling me they were going to cover it. She told me they had just gotten a fax from the insurance company saying they wouldn't cover it. I assured her I had spoken to them and they said we were good to go. She said, "well, let me give you the ding letter we got from them, as well as the letter we sent them saying the medication was necessary and the prescription." I said, "that will be just peachy." She dutifully handed me an envelope with my name on it. I waited until I got in the car to read through it. The letter from the doctors office to the insurance company was priceless. Not because of the content. But because of the spelling. It was atrocious. It was hilariously atrocious. I have three diagnoses. One that is the cause and two that are the effect. The cause is

1. Pituitary Adenoma.

The tumor on the pituitary then causes the second two diagnosis points which are:

2. Hypogonadism
3. Human Growth Hormone deficiency.

The length of the treatment was listed as "lifetime."

What was written to the insurance company was as follows:

1. Pituitay Ademona

followed by

2. Hydrogonadism
3. Human Growth Hormone deficiency.

The lenght of treatment: Lifetime.

No wonder it took two weeks. Every time the folks at headquarters took a look they'd laugh until tears ran down their legs. I mean, just think about it. It's hard to take a medical specialist serious whose office can spell neither pituitary nor adenoma correctly.

As for the hypo vs. hydro, I'm sure they wondered why I needed HGH, when I had water on the gonads. Had it been me who received this letter I would have written back and told them that their patient needed to get out of the hot tub to remedy that particular situation. The shame of it all.

But it gets better in a strange sort of way.

So I took the prescription to CVS and the pharmacist told me they didn't carry it but that it would be in Thursday. I also made them run it through the insurance and it came back as covered with a hundred dollar copay. Thursday I dutifully showed up at the pharmacy and they told me it was there and they all wanted to be there when I opened it so they could get a look at it. I was their first pharmacy client who had ever had this particular prescription. So with baited breath we opened the box.

And it wasn't the right medicine.

I'm not joking. It wasn't the right medicine. Then we took a look at the box and it wasn't the right medicine on the box as well. Ms. Zafar, the pharmacist who is as good as gold got very embarrassed. She took the medicine back to where she sits and opened a big book and started calling folks. A few minutes later she came back and said, "we'll have it for you by this time tomorrow. I am so sorry but we ordered the wrong thing. I hope you aren't too mad at us." I can assure you I wasn't. There have been a lot more hurdles than ordering the wrong medicine.

While we were having this conversation amongst ourselves that Dido song, the one about white flags and ships came on. I've only ever been one other place when that song came on. It was a supermarket called Central Market. Here's what I noticed then AND what I noticed yesterday at CVS. Every woman who has ever been done wrong by a man knows every word to that song. I just surmised that at Central Market. It was the way the estrogen descended on the granola section like a fog and all the woman tried to run me over with their carts. It was one sweaty heaving pack of humanity all joined arms singing about no surrender and no white flags and men who were bastards for merely breathing. So when the song came on at CVS and every other woman put down their shopping baskets and started swaying and singing that I did a little survey. I asked all the singers, "have you ever been done wrong by a man?" To a one they all said, "I have and if you don't get back down there with the kitty litter, I'll cut you deep Mister Dog, don't push me." Undaunted I continued my survey with the women who didn't sing. To a one they said, "I've never really been done wrong by a man, I have no idea what this song is about." Granted, the three who didn't sing and who told me that were all of the Indo/Pakistani variety and they don't date. Their parents decide who they will marry and they are fine with that.

Look, for the record I wouldn't have been interested in my parents choosing who I was going to marry. I saw a BBC Documentary called "All Good Marriages Begin In Tears" that was about arranged marriages. The idea is that it's a scary thought meeting the person your parents arranged you to marry and marrying them all within the same afternoon. On the other hand, there is no Pakistani equivalent of Dido. No ships, no flags, no fear being struck in the hearts of innocent shoppers just wanting to buy some granola for breakfast.

Take care of yourselves. I'll write back in a few days when I've had a chance to quit horking green and when the hgh makes anything grow.

I am hydrogonadically yours

WaterMan Yasko

www.bpdfamily.com

Well, that's about as much fun as a root canal

Dave Yasko — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 15:31:00 GMT

Hi there,

Just an infomercial on the latest and greatest in the world of Colonel Yasko. As what I mentioned earlier, I had this filling that came out. It wasn't too awfully painful at first but as time went on, more and more of it fell out until about a week ago I realized that if anything hot, cold, liquid or solid touched it, my toenails slid up and down like venetian blinds. I was going to go to Mexico and have it filled there but got frightened off by rumor and innuendo that in Mexico they use sakrete to fill a tooth and that they don't wash their utensils between patients, which is why it's so cheap.

I really just wanted them to fill it and go. If they couldn't fill it, just pull it. I ain't sentimental about teeth. I got to the dentist and sat down and he came in and said, "well, lets have a look." He had me open my mouth and took that tool that's got a little round mirror attached to it and with the handle end, whacked my tooth. He said, "did that hurt?" It hurt so bad that I mixed my metaphors when I answered. I asked, "does the pope go to the bathroom in the woods?" He said, "that's what I thought." Then he called to the front desk people and said, "reschedule my morning appointments, I've got a dental emergency." I thought, "dang, he's got an emergency and I'm taking up space in his chair, I can come back." Nope. I WAS the dental emergency. He told me that when he opened up the tooth and got into the root, there was enough pus for three teeth. Can I take a moment and say the two things that every home can't do without are pus and myrrh. I try to keep a steady supply of both because you never know when the moment will arise when you need to dip into the pus and myrrh deposits.

So on top of a tumor in my head, a tumor that keeps playing hide and seek in my thyroid and a tumor that just showed up unannounced on my pancreas. All benign but all tumors, none the less. On top of fighting with the insurance company and my endocrinologist about the paperwork for my recombinant hgh medicine and when I can start it and where I'm going to get it and who is going to pay for it. I can add a root canal.

And for the record, it was not any fun at all. However, I am remarkably upbeat. Why I am remarkably upbeat, I have no idea. I shouldn't be. I should be waiting for the next shoe to drop. But I'm not. I'm at, "what could possibly happen next?" and actually pretty excited as to just what it could be. It really can't get much worse and I'm still swinging for the bleachers and I imagine I'll be swinging for the bleachers when it's the ninth inning and there are two outs.

That's just the way I am. I should say, that's just the way I choose to look at it and the way it's gonna be.

Peace

David

www.bpdfamily.com

Rollercoaster of Love (woo woo who who who)

Dave Yasko — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 01:38:00 GMT

Hi there,

OK, so it isn't a roller coaster of love but it's a roller coaster nonetheless. Let me catch you up. Trust me, this is worth your while. A couple of weeks ago I was reclining at Chez Yasko when the telephone rang. I checked the caller i.d. because if it was Dell I didn't want to talk to them and besides, its a crappy computer. No, I'm just kidding. Dell and me are cool. It was Dr. Torres, my endocrinologist. My New Endocrinologist, who between you and me is shaping up to be a lot like my old endocrinologist only younger. He was telling me that my latest round of blood tests, the ones that had the high blood counts, also showed where my IGF 1 (that's insulin like growth factor) had zeroed out and I would need to go on daily injections of something called recombinant igf. I said I would get with my insurance company and see what it would take to begin daily injections of said hormone/gene. I did some research and found out that the recombinant means it contains bacteria, in this case, e. coli. It's also a thousand bucks a pop. Only in America does it cost a thousand bucks for a shot of e.coli which, if memory serves me correctly, you can get for 99 cents at your local Jack In The Box. You don't get the nifty antenna ornament at the endocrinologist, either.

Enter the insurance company. I've discovered the difference between low dollar Blue Cross/Blue Shield and High Dollar United Health Care is lubricant. Blue Cross doesn't lube you up before they screw you over. United Health Care does use the grease. However, the end result is pretty much the same. I called United Health Care and told them of my conversation with the endocrinologist. The customer service representative, a very nice young man named Derek from San Antonio, told me that it did look like the treatment was covered but that he would need to have the doctor give him the diagnosis code and the treatment code. He put me on hold and called the doctor and came back on the line a few minutes later to tell me that he had the right codes and he was sending the claim through and would get back with me as to its progress. I thanked him and waited to hear from him. He did give me his direct line and the green light to call him anytime I needed. I was thinking "why not give him a call about midnight just to see if he wants to bust a rap or do some sharing." But I didn't.

The next day in the afternoon I hadn't heard from him so I called him back. Hey, this ain't the rules of dating here so I don't have to wait a certain amount of days. It took me a while to get to him because he told me he didn't recognize the number coming up on his caller i.d. I said, "so you hate Dell too?" I didn't but I'm sure he does. Here is what he told me. "The medication is covered but only through a direct bill pharmacy. I said, "what is that?" He said, "a direct bill pharmacy is one that bills the medical side of your insurance as opposed to the pharmacy benefit side. Your medicine isn't covered under the pharmacy benefit side because it's an injectable. It is covered under the medical benefit side providing you use a direct bill pharmacy."

So I thanked him and called my local drug store. The one that sends me a Christmas card every year. The young man at the pharmacy, Tim, is an excellent person. In fact, the pharmacy at CVS on Cartwright Road in Missouri City Texas is staffed with exceptionally gifted and compassionate people. Tim, Aleah, Kathy, Sarah, Blessy and Janet are truly wonderful folks who go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to me. Tim told me that CVS doesn't direct bill the medical side and that he'd never heard of that. I asked him what the medicine would cost if I bought it and he looked it up and said, "just at a thousand." I said, "how about if I buy it and submit a claim to the medical insurance." He said, "I've heard they'll disallow it if you do that." So I made a note to give Derek a call to get some clarification.

The next day I found the note to call Derek and called him. He didn't pick up. Instead I spoke to a young lady named April who told me the same thing Derek had. That I had to use a direct bill pharmacy. So I asked her to give me a list of direct bill pharmacies they did business with. She said, "let me put you on hold and find it." Forty five minutes later she came back on and said, "we don't have a list of direct bill pharmacies we do business with. It's up to the customer to find a direct bill pharmacy." Then she said, "that doesn't make sense, does it?" (In hindsight, we will refer to that particular line as "the application of lubricant.") She said, "you would think if we were going to force you to use a direct bill pharmacy we would have one for you to use but we don't." So I said, "how about if I go to CVS, give them the prescription, have them fill it, pay for it and submit the receipt to the medical side of my health insurance. You guys could reimburse me." She said, "we can't do that. It's got to come from a direct bill pharmacy or we will disallow the claim." I should have said, "do you have any more lubricant?"

I do have a friend who runs a pharmacy in the Hill Country. So I called him and said, "Say friend, here is the medicine I need and here is what the insurance company is telling me. Can you give me any help as to where to find one of these direct bill drug stores?" He said, "I've only gotten involved in direct billing the medical side once or twice and it wasn't a very good experience for any of us so I don't do it and I don't know where you'd go and have it done." I said, "so do you want to roll the dice with me?" He said, "not really, but I do enjoy reading your blog."  This man and his entire family are the kindest, most compassionate folks I know. If he isn't interested in rolling the dice it's because there is no way on God's green earth those dice are going to come up anything but losers, plus I'm honored you read. Thank you.

So I called April back and she said, "let me get Derek on the line."  Derek popped up and I said, "so let me get this medicine stuff straight. The only way for me to get it is to use a direct bill pharmacy, which doesn't exist. I can't go and purchase it and get reimbursed because you would disallow it. So basically I'm covered for a medicine you guys have made it impossible to get." He said, "I feel your pain. Maybe we can get the doctor to order it and charge your insurance and he'll give it to you and you and him can get together on what the insurance pays and what it doesn't pay after it's gone through the process.

So it was off to see the endocrinologist. He told me I would need to talk to his office manager, who happens to be Mrs. Dr. Endocrinologist. A handsome yet severe looking woman who looks like she runs a tight ship. They told me to come at 2 and so I did. I ran into somebody from my church in the waiting room and we chatted for an hour or so. Finally at 5:30 she walked over and said, "you need to see me?" I said, "why yes I do." So off we went into her office. I told her all the insurance folks had said and that I was coming to see if they would order the medicine and bill my insurance. I told her I would pay them the retail price and whatever my insurance paid, they could reimburse me. So if they wanted a thousand dollars, I would give that to them. If my insurance company paid 500, then she could give me 500 back or keep it for the next time. English is not her first language. She said to me, "are you asking me to risk my husbands license so you can get this (she said it "thees") medicine? I said, "I'm not willing to risk your husband's license. I need your husband to help keep me alive. He's prescribed a medicine to me that my health insurance has made it impossible for me to get without your help. She said, "I am not willing (weeling) to make the insurance company mad at us." I said, "the insurance company told me to come up here and talk to you. I'm not weeling myself to make the insurance company mad at either one of us." She said, "I will call them and only do whatever they tell me I can do."

On the way home I stopped in at a couple of pharmacies who specialize in custom prescriptions. No direct bill. I also stopped in, during the day, at my Primary Care Physician because they offer bio identical hormone therapy through their newest service "The Bionique Institute."  I wondered if we could come to an arrangement. The lady who runs it is in her mid 50's and if she was a 1 wood I'd describe her as a persimmon shaft with dried out leather covers. She informed me that they didn't do real treatments. Only what she called "vanity appointments" that had all to do with botox and the odd bit of hormone cream to reduce liver spots and skin aging.

While I was at the endocrinologist I got a call from my father. He said, "I need you to get in the car and drive up here tonight so I can watch my new television. I need help setting it up and if I have to wait on you to get well then I'm never going to see my new TV."   Don't lean on me Bill. Not today. I ain't in the mood. Tell you what, I'm good and lubed so let me tell you where to put that TV.

Which leads us to Friday. I started by getting up early and heading up to my folks to help set up the television. I had no problem with going because I love my folks and I love going up to the woods where they live. I just wasn't in the mood to go the night before. While on the road I thought I'd call and speak to Derek or April and see where we stood. I couldn't find either one of them. The person I did speak to told me that after further review, the medication the doctor told me I needed was not covered by my medical insurance. I said, "oh my. Well, thank you for trying." Wait, no I didn't. I threw a hissy. After I had gone on for a while and used words like "disembowel" she said, "would you like to talk to the supervisor who made the decision?" I said, "why yes." OK, I didn't. I'm sure it came out "sansabelt fockeydoodle santa barbara blister somebody's butt raw." She connected me. It went straight to her voice mail. The message was terse. That's a good way to put it. Terse. Have me run through hoops telling me I'm covered but only from a pharmacy that doesn't exist and go spend an afternoon trying to talk compassion out of Eva Braun and after all that tell me I'm not covered. "Lady, we are going to talk."

Then I called the person who handles employee benefits and I told on the insurance company. She was very kind and said, "it's time to bring in the big guns." And that was the start of a beautiful few hours. All the folks who wouldn't talk to me from United Healthcare couldn't wait to talk to me now. There are still some complications. One being that the insurance folks are saying that the diagnosis and the treatment don't match up. But you know something? That's not my issue. That's the doctor and the insurance's issue. Plus they told me they had talked to him and were going to follow up more on Monday. As one who holds credentials with the State of Texas in the field of diagnostic psychology (that just means the court will accept my opinion as an expert opinion in the realm of diagnosing mental illness) there are times when you make a diagnosis and somebody is going to disagree with it and you've got to stick to your guns. If the new endocrinologist isn't going to stick to his guns on his diagnosis, then I don't know if I would want him to even touch me, never mind treat me. So tomorrow should be gut up or shut up time from the doctor. Either way, I'll know and I'll deal with it whichever it is.

And that is my story and I'm sticking to it.

Good Night and God Bless

Love
David

www.bpdfamily.com

A Tale of Two Blood Counts

Dave Yasko — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:30:00 GMT

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Give me but a few moments dear reader, to unfold the events of the past couple weeks. When I last left you, I was awaiting the results of a biopsy of matter in the pancreas. It came back benign, which is a good word when your body decides to go into the tumor manufacturing business. That's a total of four, the benign and one (the prostate) that rises and falls with testosterone and injections of said hormone. Armed with that, it was off to the endocrinologist for my pre mri screening, which includes blood work. I got the form and headed down to the lab and walked in and I was the only patient there. Now usually the place is full. One of the things I've noticed about facilities such as that is that just because the waiting room is full, it doesn't mean all of them are there to get their blood drawn. I took an unscientific survey and found that white folks usually come to the lab alone. African American folks usually have one person with them. Hispanics bring the whole apartment complex. What is a quiet personal thing to one is a great day out to another. And when you think about it, it makes sense. It's like a trip to the zoo only it doesn't cost anything to get in. There are leather chairs and magazines and elevators. There are wheelchairs and old folks. It just doesn't get any better.

When I got to the lab and was the only one there, I thought "sweet, this will be a breeze!" I turned my paperwork in and a moment later they asked me to come to the window. A very severe looking woman with "Supervisor" embroidered on her shirt said, "you have two tests from July that haven't been paid for. If you want us to draw this blood you've got to pay us a thousand dollars." I said, "I use this lab because it's a hundred percent covered with my insurance, how could it not be paid. Plus, I don't think you can deny drawing me for something my doctor has ordered." When it came to this argument I quickly found out I was arguing from a position of wrong. Blue Cross hadn't paid and Labcorp did have the right to deny my blood being drawn. The next day I got Blue Cross on the phone and we called Labcorp and come to find out Labcorp sent the bill to Blue Cross in North Carolina who promptly rejected it because they didn't have a David Yasko on their medical plan in North Carolina. So once Labcorp figured out they had sent it to the wrong people, they gave me the OK to go and have my blood drawn.

Except Monday was a holiday and they were closed. Tuesday I had a funeral to attend and found a Labcorp office close to where I was going to be. They were a delight and even managed to find my vein that I thought had shut down. My go to vein is back in business!

And then it got exciting.

This has to do with an off the chart white blood count and an off the chart red blood count. My doctor called me to tell me personally. Said we would need to consult with a hematologist. I asked him what the best and worse cases were and he said, "best case, an infection along with some dehydration. Worst case, leukemia." Now there is an answer that opens the door for about anything that comes down the canyon. He said, "have you had any sudden bruising?" I said, "why yes, I have. Huge bruises that come from nowhere. Bruises that you look at and think, "I'm sure I should have remembered that whack." He said, "have you had small blood blister looking things come up on your legs and chest?" I said, "I thought it was just what we used to call prickly heat." He said, "I'll talk to your PCP and we'll get a hematologist in the loop here." Then he said, "just to be safe, we are going to start you on some new medications." Even with my insurance this was a whopping $233.00. New hormones, new stuff to break down proteins.

For the record, I feel really good. Better than I've felt in months. I well and truly believe that there is no way in the world this is the second diagnosis. I don't even want to use the word because I don't want to acknowledge its possibility. I googled it all on the web and a the explanation that was most reasonable to me was that sometimes these get high with the use of anabolic steroids. Of which I take a healthy dose of depotestosterone every week, sometimes twice a week, depending on levels.

However, please keep me in your prayers.

I've decided against participating in the previous entry's money making scheme. I would like to point out that the origin wasn't Nigeria, which from what I understand is a hotbed of internet scams. It was Senegal. Had it been Nigeria, I would have been leery. (For those of you who have written and asked if I was ever seriously considering this, the answer is heavens no. I was just trying to see if I could out poor mouth her and I think I performed adequately in the poor mouthing category. I did email her back and ask if she would forward me the money to get my steel legs and I could pay her back out of the proceeds and have heard no reply. Compassion is dead as we know it.)

So, there you go.

Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

Opportunities around every corner

Dave Yasko — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 01:35:00 GMT

So, what am I doing with my spare time? I'm glad you asked. I am testing the entrepaneurial waters. I got this email from someone looking for someone to help them out and help me make some money in the while. I answered the email and got one back. So, it's up to you to determine what the next response to my soon to be business partner over in Africa. Replies as soon as possible please.

Love
David

On Sat, 1/17/09, Ms. Luzann Ray <ack@telefonica.net> wrote:

From: Ms. Luzann Ray <ack@telefonica.net>
Subject: Hi
To:
Date: Saturday, January 17, 2009, 12:16 PM

Hello Friend,

I bring to you greetings with peace and love...i feel quite safe dealing with
you in choose to reach you through this medium because it still remains the
fastest, surest and most secured medium of communication.I know that this mail
will come to you as a surprise as we have never met before, but still i will
want you to take me like a friend, and glance through my short letter .

Am Ms. Luzann Raymond, Twenty five years of age and i would like to apply
through this medium for your co-operation and to secure an opportunity to invest
and do joint business with you in your country. I have a substantial capital i
honorably intend to invest in your country into a very lucrative business
venture of which you are to advise and execute the said venture over there for
the mutual benefits of both of us.
 
Your able co-operation is to become my investment advisor in your country and
create ideas on how money will be invested, properly managed and the type of
investment after the money is transferred to your custody.
 
Meanwhile, on indication of your willingness to handle this transaction
sincerely by protecting our interests and upon your acceptance of this proposal,
I would furnish you with the full detailed information,procedure, amount
involve, and kind of investment,under your proper management and care.
 
I shall be glad to reserve this respect and opportunity for you, if you so
desire, but i do urge you to give the matter your immediate attention it
deserves. If this proposal is acceptable by you, please do not hesitate to get
back in your eraliest possible time.for more details. Best regards,and have a
great day.

Yours Faithfully,
Ms. Luzann Raymond

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 2009 18:49:55 -0800
From: daveyasko@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: Hi
To: luzannray@hotmail.fr

Hi Ms. Ray,

I can't believe my luck. Ever since the accident at the sawmill I have been looking for ways to afford new legs. The ones I have are made of wood and the place I live is very wet. I can't afford for them to break anymore as the last time they broke due to the damp in them, I knocked out one of my front teeth. Well, not exactly. The root is still there. I knocked out the tooth even with the gumline. It is very painful. As far as your transaction, as long as I don't have to drive I am most definitely in. With my wooden legs being broken where they are, I can't quite reach the pedals. When I tried to drive and get the mail, I ran my truck through the fence and into the ditch which had water in it and not only did my legs stick in the mud, I got water in my nose from not being able to get up. Add a lacerated ear to the tooth and the legs that were lopped off in the sawmill accident.

How much do you think we will make on your deal? Hopefully enough to get steel legs this time.

Also, could you be so kind as to write in a larger font. This eye infection is hell on reading and since my power was turned off, I have to both look at the computer and watch television in the dark. I'm sure you are wondering how? I have the tv and the computer rigged up to a generator that runs by me pedalling a bike, except now I have to move the pedals up real close to my bottom because I'm lacking in length of leg.

So get back to me as soon as you can and let's make some money.

Good Luck.

Dave Yas

Hi Again Dear Dave Yas,

Firstly thanks for your effort to respond to my mail, Well, i am Luzann Raymond single never married, age 25yrs now am living presently here in a charity home organization in Dakar Senegal . Though am origine of Seirra loene, I came here to Senegal as a result of the last civil war that happen in my country, i don't know why i was the only one remaining, but i thank God for everything, though life has not been easy. .

Well, as i have told you before, i am using this opportunity once again to solicit for your asistance in transfering this fund into your position the sum of $3.8m (Three Million Eight Hundred Thousand US
Dollars). for any investment puspose which you may advice on afterward, i will also like you to help me to get my traveling documents and air ticket to come over to meet with you. Let me also inform of the fact that, I can't withdraw the money my self due to my refugee-living status here in this country Dakar

Senegal where i am presently living in .More also, base on the policies guiding the fund and conditions left by my late father. Meanwhile, I have got in touch with the bank and made them to know about my plans to withdraw this money, already, they are aware of the death of my father and they have
acknowledged it with all their confirmations.

As a result of the above, i am entrusting o you to stand on my behalf and as my trustee in regards to this money since l am presently of refugee status over here and i wouldn't be permitted to handle this amount of money, they also let me know about the bond which they signed with my father that the money will be handled to me in bulk amount .

Please, i am telling you with all my heart and i wouldn't like you to take things for granted because nobody knows tomorow. and i would like you to take this issue to be very serious and see to how you can assist and stand to be my trustee on this fund. More also, i would like you to call me because it is good to hear our vioce at least for thenfirst time.

Dear,let me tell you, l am keeping this matter as a secrete most people don't know about this,i am keeping it for security reason, the only person that knows about it is the Reveren because he is so kind and like a father to me. Please, it is even through his number you can reach me and his phone number(phone no. 00221-76594-3315, Email: rev.psolo@biblegate.org,) His name is Rev.Pastor Peter Solo . just tell him that you want to speak with luzann Raymond . lastly, Please, try and call me so that we can at least hear our vioce for the first time.

Please, don't wast time to reply to me, so that i can inform you of what we need to do next.
And don't forget to tell me more about you....I have attched my photo for you to know who is
talking to you.
sincerely yours
Ms. Luzann

Bibopsies and things

Dave Yasko — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 02:55:00 GMT

If you ever saw that movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," there is a lady in it that talks about having a bibopsy instead of a biopsy. Thus forever changing the word, at least in my lexicon. Last Tuesday I had a biopsy of some things in my pancreas. As of Friday the results weren't in. The procedure in and of itself was pretty good, as procedures go. Let's face it, any time anything involves an anesthesiologist, it is going to be pretty cool. This was no exception. I checked into Methodist Hospital of Sugar Land and in a few minutes was called in to register. They called my health insurance provider who told them that I was deductibled up and they would cover it all. I was taken back to a room and given a gown and was told that I could leave my socks on. Maybe it's being 50 but I love having my socks on.

I actually have a pair of sleeping socks which aren't to be confused with daytime socks.

I only wear one brand of socks. They are called Smartwool and they are most definitely the best socks. If you buy them at REI, you can expect to pay 15 bucks a pair. Occasionally you can find them on Ebay for 6 bucks a pair. But I digress.

The anesthesiologist came in and asked me a bunch of questions, then they started an IV. I used to have this marvelous vein on my right arm but it got blown out of there a few months back. Any blood that's taken now has to come out of the back of my hand.

When they wheeled me in for the procedure they put on a blood pressure cuff that immediately malfunctioned and wouldn't quit tightening. To the point where my fingers were bright red and swollen up. I would have mentioned it but they had this thing in my mouth that was supposed to keep me from biting the endoscopy camera. Well, it does a good job of keeping you from talking as well. So I raised my arm and I grunted until they came over and said, "dang, that's one swoled up hand. Lets get you a new cuff." Good idea. A few minutes after that they told me they were going to start the anesthetic. My first thought was, "ouch, that stuff is burning my hand and arm. Ouch, that hurts, HEY THAT ......" And before I could get to HURTS, well who knows what happened. It didn't hurt anymore. The next thing I remember is when a nurse told me I needed to pass some gas before I could go home. Between us, that has never been a big deal for me and it wasn't this time, either. I was even able to do a little tooting on command, which impressed me but not the nurse, who was from Bosnia. No joke, Bosnia. I guess if the bridge has been blown up while you were standing on it, a little farting on command isn't particularly impressive.

So I wait for the results. I take my shots. I take my pills. I sleep. It is who I am. It is my life.

Peace to all,

Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

Lowball says "Hey"

Dave Yasko — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 22:18:00 GMT

Howdy,

I went to see Lowball Leo today. He said to tell everybody "hey." Also that he's offering a lap band special through January so youse guys should give him a call "if you know what's good for you." He did a variation of the normal cyst drain and nerve block. Normally he has me lean over the table. Today he had me lay on my side while he did his thing. He said he could feel the cyst better that way. Between you and me it was that big thing just below the top of the great divide. When I was having this needle stuck into me every few weeks, I got used to it. It never didn't hurt, I just got used to it. It had been a few months and holy Moses I had gotten unused to the pain of that needle. It was agony today and to Leo's credit, he did nail the cyst with both the draining needle and the nerve block needle. But holy Moses that hurt something fierce.

Tomorrow I am going in for an endoscopy. I've had one of those before and it wasn't that bad. They put you to sleep and somebody has to drive you home. Sort of like those old gospel meetings they used to have that ran for weeks on end, except this involves a camera and people in lab coats as opposed to song leaders and people in suit coats. A stretch but one I embrace.

So I'll talk to you then.

Please take care

Dave

Happy New Year

Dave Yasko — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 02:49:00 GMT

Well, Happy New Year to everyone.

After a month of puking and shots and medicine I was summonsed to the gastroenterologist for a consultation. It's a good news bad news situation. We are no longer with color/church/color/knight as a health care provider. We've moved away from an HMO to a PPO. So you don't have to have a referral. Now that's good because you don't have to fight for your right to live. There are these things called deductibles that make you wish you could have a good fight with a referral person. Not really. The GI doctor was brought onto the team to figure out why I had the pukes. He did some blood work and called me back in and said, "your pancreas is doing weird things, we need to have a talk." I told him my pancreas wasn't known for public speaking and he'd have to go through me to get to it. He said, "not me and your pancreas, me and you." So we talked about prostates and parathyroids and pituitary glands and he said, "we'll if this is what I think it is, you've got all the dots for MEN Syndrome." I wrote some things in an earlier entry about this malady. It's an inherited disorder that involves a mutant gene. No wonder I've always felt a connection with those guys in that barroom scene in Star Wars. I mean, every time I've seen that I thought, "those are my people I can just feel it." So it was back to the hospital to do some testing on this. I had the chance to talk to some folks who specialize in this sort of stuff. MEN stands for Multiple Endocrine Neoplasia. The kind folks at the hospital told me that the median age of those who die with this disorder is 47. I am 50. When I passed that on to them they said, "hey, you are past the average so you're doing something right." At least they could have given me a cookie.

The GI doctor told me I needed to have a HIDA Scan. I asked, "what's a HIDA Scan?" He told me "it's a scanner that folds up into a couch." Funny doc. You're a dang riot. I'm three years past the dying age and you're giving me bad jokes (ok, it was a pretty funny joke, I'll give him that.) That very afternoon I was called by the Memorial Hospital Sugar Land and scheduled to come in today (which is Friday January 2) for the HIDA scan. I said to them, "do you really mean I'm supposed to go to the hospital for this? I'm used to going to the Charles E. Cheese MRI and Pizza Parlour and playing Ski-Ball until they call me for my appointment." She said, "You must have had Blue Cross and Blue Shield, they are the only ones I know who use Chuckie Cheese for their MRI center." I said, "Baby, I'm yours." She said, "Friday, 10AM, no food or drink the day before, you know the drill. We are going to shoot you with radioactive stuff and take pictures of your pancreas and gall bladder."

And that's just what they did. It took about four hours total and I had to stay in the back after the scan was over until I wee'd out the radioactive stuff. Then I went home and took a nap.

This very afternoon the GI doctor called me with the results. OK, we need to stop this efficiency stuff right now. I'm used to having to wait a week or two to get a result. Monday I go for more lab work, I go visit Lowball Leo for a draining and a nerve block and then Tuesday I report back to the hospital for an upper GI series.

The GI doctor told me nothing jumped out at him on the scan so the next step was to take a look at my pancreas through a camera. If it had jumped out at him, I wonder what it would have said.

If it is MEN Syndrome (and the dots sort of connect in that direction) it can't be cured but it can be controlled. I would have to have surgery to take out my thyroid, the part of the pancreas that is messed up, and perhaps the pituitary, although I'm lobbying pretty hard to not have my head drilled on. If they have to they have to but I don't have to want it and I don't want it. Not unless I want to have more in common with the Star Wars folks in that scene than I really want to. I don't mind having a related gene just so I don't have to have a related head.

So it's needles on Monday, GI Series on Tuesday.

I want to thank the folks I am lucky enough to work with. The leaders of the Westbury Church of Christ have given me a two month sabbatical to focus on treatment and getting well. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. I've always said that ministers were commodities and if the bottom line wasn't healthy you should move them on. That was before I got sick. And I am so thankful that when my leaders had the chance to treat me like a commodity, they chose to treat me like a member of their family. I am so thankful that they didn't listen to me when I was fully healthy and thought I knew it all.

So, stay tuned to this space my friends. We are about to pick up the pace when it comes to blood and treatments and things so I'll have a lot more to report.

Peace and please have a happy, healthy and safe 2009.

Oh dear

Dave Yasko — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 22:59:00 GMT

And it was all going so well. Taking treatments, going almost a month without multiple doctor visits, life was good. I was excited when the doctors decided to back off on my chemotherapy from five days a week to two days a week. Then the bottom fell out. I went for routine lab work and my numbers sucked. PSA way up there, pituitary functions way down there, cyst on tail bone was full, I started putting on the weight, like 15 pounds in two weeks.

So my chemo went from two days a week to seven days a week. Chemo is a fancy word for a shot that features a cocktail of hormones, interferon and prednisone. I administer the shot myself so it isn't like I go someplace and get hooked up to a machine.

To say my body started doing weird things would be an understatement. The first thing was cramps. The mother of all cramps appeared in my left calf and just wouldn't let go. My hands cramped, my neck cramped, my shoulders cramped. I was cramping so much I started looking for Aunt Flo. I took potassium pills, drank enough kosher pickle juice to qualify for a pew in the synagogue, drank quinine water, ate bananas by the bunch. Then strep throat. Infection is not the friend of chemo boys and girls. I went on a ten day antibiotic course and after that, the infection came right back. So the doctors put me on a Z pack and took a lot of blood to see if the infection had spread to my blood stream. Then my joints started aching. Good Lord do my joints ache. It's like standing outside in the coldest wind you've ever felt.

On Wednesday my hair started falling out. By Friday it was fever, chills, sweating like a horse and my least favorite of all maladies, the pukes.

It was back to the doctor today for more blood tests and a chat with my oncologist. She is an angel. She really is. She calls you back when you leave a message. If she's in the office and I call, she takes the call. She told me that I was discovering the difference between her world and my world. In my world I want to take something and get better. In her world it's a cycle of feeling well followed by adjustments and then cycles in how my body responds to the adjustments in medication. She made a whole lot of sense.

One thing I've noticed as I've aged is that throwing up isn't the simple thing it once was. In the not so distant past my only worry when I threw up was to make sure that none of it got on me. Not so today. I guess as part of the aging process, one doesn't have the control one once did. Let me paint this word picture for you. Take a look at a map of Houston. Let's say I am that map. Let's say, for illustrative purposes, that I am facing east, towards Beaumont. So if I was the map of Houston and my stomach rejected lunch, there would be somewhat of a mess up near Humble, Texas which is on the northeast side, about where the mouth would be. Are you with me? Good. My newest issue is that not only do I have a bit of a mess up on the northeast side, near Humble, I also have a little problem down on the Southwest Freeway near Sugar Land. That bit about wearing clean underwear that your mother always used to tell you suddenly rings a little truer. I know I won't go out without a spare pair just to be on the safe side.

So my body is adjusting to the new medications and the stronger levels of the older medications. I feel absolutely lousy.

And this much lousy is no fun at all.

Keep me in your prayers please.

Remission Impossible

Dave Yasko — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 20:24:00 GMT

Hi there,

I've sort of had to get emotionally ready to write, which is pretty unusual for me. As a rule I don't run deep when it comes to thoughts.

I've been on a new treatment plan for a few weeks. My results cratered and I managed to find the strep throat germ and I got put on some heavy duty stuff. Only the results haven't come back up. I've got my second bout of strep throat going on. I'm on my third bout of antibiotics and last Tuesday my hair started letting go.

Why my hair waited until now to let go, who knows. The first couple of days it fell out in bales. It's slowed down falling out but it's still falling out. The doctor took blood cultures and if the infection has found its way into my blood stream I'm hospital bound to have some IV antibiotics. I'll be in the room where you have to put on a hat and a gown and mask and gloves. I guess I'm low on immune system stuff.

Which is a bummer and I'm more scared than I care to admit to being.

Later friends

Dave

A not so very good week, dang it.

Dave Yasko — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 00:57:00 GMT

Hi there. My name is Dave and this here is my blog. I haven't written anything in a long time because I thought the Hmong entry was pretty weak and I realized there wasn't anything to report. By popular demand (ok, just Sister Christine the Hill Country union representative for an order of nuns just outside Kerrville) I'll catch up.

Pretty much for the most part I've been feeling awesome. Really good. Getting back into the swing of things at the church and mostly trying to remember the past six months, which are somewhat of a blur.

I got a performance review from my bosses and they said that while I was asleep from April through to September, things didn't go so bad and that they were glad I was awake. They are really wonderful folks and I'm proud to be their preacher.

About two weeks ago, mid spring in step, my father told me my neck was swollen. Then at church the following Sunday several folks asked me if I knew my neck was swollen. So Monday I called the doctor. He got me right in. Same day, almost same hour. He looked in my ears and at my throat and said, "we need to do a strep screen, this looks like strep throat." As a rule if I'm having any medical tests Roni the nurse calls around to all the other doctors and asks if they need anything drawn, which is a nice touch. So off I went to the lab for the swab and the required tubes of blood. That afternoon the doctors office called and said, "yep, strep." They called me in a prescription and while I was going to pick it up, all the other doctors called in and scheduled appointments for after the antibiotic. One of them, my oncologist, called herself. So this past Tuesday I headed for a cornucopia of medical visits. First stop was the endocrinologist. Long story short my PSA is back up there, all my hormones have cratered and my blood sugar was right up there at the bag of coke syrup you get at Sams Club level. He looked at me with much panic. After consulting with the oncologist, the twice weekly chemo treatments are now once daily once again. That was a great few weeks of being twice weekly. Plus he added in a medicine to stall the symptoms of diabetes. He stressed that it was precautionary only and that I didn't have diabetes but that "once again, something in your brain has gone haywire." From there it was to the surgeon and he discovered that the cyst, which had been gloriously empty for a couple of months was just as gloriously full. So he drained that and put in another nerve block cocktail. It had been six weeks since I'd had the needles digging around in my tail bone and I must say, I didn't miss them.

On the way home I decided to use the Wal Mart pharmacy instead of the normal CVS. This had to do with the fact that I was tired from a long afternoon at the doctors offices and Wal Mart was on the way home while the CVS was not on the way. So I gave them my prescription and they said, "it will be a few minutes." An hour later I asked for a progress report and was told, "it will be about an hour, one of our pharmacy folks went home sick." I said, "give the dang (maybe I didn't say dang) thing to me I'm going to my normal pharmacy." They told me, "we'll have it in 15 minutes." They lied. I did run into our youth minister, Steve, and we walked around the store and I helped with his shopping. About an hour later they called me up and told me it was ready. What was supposed to be pretty quick doctors visits and just a quick drop off for a prescription at Wal Mart ended up being a six hour marathon complete with four needles (one for blood work, one for chemo, one for drainage and the last one for nerve block) and a very long wait at the Wal Mart. As I was paying I thought, "what else could go wrong with this day?" The answer was "plenty." In the parking lot of the Wal Mart on Bellfort and Gessner I was robbed. No joke. I guess whoever did it saw me pay for my prescription and put my money (it was in an bank envelope) in my front pocket. He ran up from behind me, grabbed my arm/hand, jerked the snot out of it, spun me around, grabbed the envelope that was in my pocket and took off. I called the cops and they took a report and now it's almost 9PM. I was hopping mad. But it also shook me up a bit. If he wanted to, he could have killed me and I would have been none the wiser. I had my mind in a million places and most definitely was not aware of my surroundings.

The next morning, which would be Wednesday, the police called me and they had my money. Seems that the guy had come back to Wal Mart to find somebody else to rob and the police nabbbed him. He still had the envelope with the money in it. He is in jail as we speak. The sore of being jerked down to the ground by your arm and hand isn't so tough to take when you have your money back. People have asked me, "what were you thinking about during all this?" It was all over in about six seconds so I wasn't thinking much. People have asked me, "do you wish you would have done anything differently?" Yes I do. I wish I would have gone straight to the pharmacy where they know my name and send me a Christmas card every year. I won't start carrying a gun. I won't ever go back to Wal Mart on Bellfort and Gessner. I most likely will never be unaware of my surroundings regardless of how tired and frustrated I am.

Then today I had two flat tires at the same time while i was taking my wife to work and had to conduct a very important meeting in my pajamas and unwashed. She has her own car but left it at work the night before (a long story). I told her I would take her and then come back home and get a shower. Instead I sat at NTB in my pajamas while they fixed my tires and had to go to the meeting in my pj's and with dirty hair. One of our members is moving into an apartment complex to do some liaison work with the police and the apartment owner and I was meeting with all the parties. One of the subjects of the meeting was grooming and appropriate attire. Bite me.

So the long and short of it is that it looks like I'm going to be on the merry go round of treatment again. If you stop by and enjoy these blogs, I'll be on a lot more so we'll get to do some catching up.

Does anybody out there have any decent remedy for muscle cramps? I've been getting them by the boat load lately. So far I've tried tonic water with quinine and kosher pickle juice. I hate the way the both taste and the cramps are still there. Maybe it has something to do with the prolactin levels.

Then again, maybe it was just a crappy week.

Cheers

David

Bacon Sandwich

Dave Yasko — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 22:06:00 GMT

Hello,

For those who wrote and asked the picture in yesterdays post is a bacon sandwich and it has to do with a friend who ordered one such sandwich and when the bacon wasn't cooked enough, they threw the sandwich on the floor of the eatery. They let me know there were a few places on the picture of the bacon sandwich where the bacon didn't look done enough. So there you have it.

I had an interesting time at the pharmacy the other day. I needed to pick up some syringes for my treatment and wasn't at my normal pharmacy. There is quite a bit of rag weed in the air and so while I was there, I thought I might pick up an antihistamine because me and rag weed have a tenuous relationship. So I go in and ask the pharmacist if I can buy a few syringes. He said, "are you diabetic?" I said, "nope." He said, "what do you need syringes for." Now why I didn't start off with the whole pituitary adenoma thing, I have no idea, but he was sizing me up and wondering whether or not to call the cops. I was in search of 3 ml syringes with a 1.5 inch needle. He clucked a bit and shook his head and asked me why I needed that particular needle. At that point I did tell about the tumor and the injections and that if he wanted to he could look up my prescription since the pharmacy was the same brand as the one who filled the prescription in the first place. He told me he wouldn't look up my prescription but that my request was unusual since mostly they sold diabetic supplies. So he headed back to rummage around looking for some syringes and I went in search of allergy medicine. I ended up choosing the pharmacy brand allergy medicine and took it back to him so he could ring me up. About the time I got up to the counter he came back with the news that he'd found a couple of syringes and needles that were what I was looking for. I handed him the allergy medicine and he looked at it and said, "where did you get this? This is a controlled medicine and we only keep it in the back." Evidently I had grabbed the allergy medicine that folks cook down and shoot in their veins. And guess what they use to shoot that in their veins? 3 ml syringes with 1.5 inch needles, that's what. He was an older man with a wobbly front tooth and by the time he processed all of this, that tooth was wobbling like a spinning top. Even I thought I was guilty at this point. I felt like I needed to go to a 12 step meeting. I almost insisted he look up my prescription and he was most definitely not going to. He was thinking about busting a junkie and I was thinking about getting out of there as quickly as I could.

In the end, I got both the syringes and allergy medicine. He got paid and we both got a story to tell. All the way home I was expecting the cops to surround me and for one of those cops to have a film crew from COPS riding along. Thankfully that didn't happen.

My life.

Dave

www.bpdfamily.coom

My friend

Dave Yasko — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 00:23:00 GMT

There you go.

Among the Hmong

Dave Yasko — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 02:09:00 GMT

Hi there,

It has been awhile, hasn't it? I wanted to get all the stuff out of the way before I wrote again. That and not a whole lot is going on. I get up, I get my shot, I either go home or go to work. If I go home I work from home. If I go to work I work. So not a whole lot exciting to report. Until Friday. Then it got all exciting and pretty dad gum good.

First off, can I say that our hospitals are overrun with people who call home other countries. My local place of dispensing has a wellspring of Laotians and Cambodians. One thing those folks all have in common, whether they are transportation aids, techs of some sort, or nurses is that they were all doctors back in the old country. At least that's what they tell me. I don't mean that's the scuttle. I mean, that's what they themselves tell me. Unabashedly. Unhesitatingly.  Proudly.  "You know, I was a doctor back in ... name your place." Yes.  I had a friend growing up who wasn't the smartest kid in the room who used to say, "what's good for the goose is good for the ..... other goose." He could never remember Gander. He used to say, "he who laughs first laughs last" which isn't as poignant as "the blamer's the flamer" but it's close.

Back to the mountain people.

When I was in the hospital, I had a battery of tests that indicated the presence of a 3 centimeter mass on my thyroid.  Tropical Storm Eduard canceled the first biopsy.  I had another scheduled for the Monday after Ike and it too was canceled.   Which leads us to last Friday because it was scheduled for 2:00 PM and nothing was cruising the Gulf of Mexico. I showed up, and was directed to the sign in lady. A Laotian who used to be a doctor in Laos but made the mistake of immigrating. She was dab with the sign in stuff and we made smart ass comments in Laotian. No we didn't.  She then turned me over to the person who gave me the gown. A man from Cambodia who used to be a brain surgeon. Now I don't know that for a fact but he had brain surgeon written all over him. No, he really did.  In black Sharpie. It said "brain surgeon" all over his face and arms. Then into the ultrasound room where it was explained that I would be having a guided biopsy. A Laotian lady, who used to be a doctor but became a Baptist instead (she told me the reason they preach against having sex standing up is that they are afraid a dance is going to break out). She stretched me out on the table and started applying a lot of gel to my neck and began running the magic wand. After a few minutes she excused herself and said she needed to get the doctor. In he came. He was American and there was no used to be about his doctoring skills. He was the one who had done the original ultrasound that showed the mass. He said he was about to make me very uncomfortable and as long as it didn't involve Southeast Asians, I was pretty ok with whatever he wanted to do. I was poor with the Southeast Asians. So he stretched out my neck and really bore down on the magic wand. After about 15 minutes of that he said, "OK, I'm the one who did the original ultrasound. There was a 3 centimeter mass bigger than Dallas. That was August. It's the end of September. It is gone. It's not there. There is nothing on your thyroid. We won't be doing a biopsy. Is that ok?" I said to him, "if you could remove all feelings of sexuality from this thought I would sure like to kiss you on the lips." He said, "if its all the same to you, no thanks." I said, "no, I insist."  He said, "no don't, I've got needles."  The baptist lady did give me a wink though.

So, nada on the thyroid. Laotians abound and my next deal is a mri of the pituitary in a few weeks.

A while back, when I was bummed at God, I mentioned that I would like just once to say God is Good and it not be trying to explain an unspeakable tragedy. Since then we've had a hurricane, been without power for a week, seen Galveston pretty much wiped off the map and got to witness first hand the generosity of the people of the city I live in. They've opened their lives, their homes, their hearts and their wallets. And I guess what I want to say is that when the best of human generosity is on display for great periods of time, God's goodness is more evident.  On a personal level, when there was once three centimeters of bad stuff and in two months because of great doctors (go MD Anderson!!!) and great prayers there is 0 centimeters of bad stuff it is a pleasure to say God is so good.

Good Night folks

Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

After Ike

Dave Yasko — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 02:19:00 GMT

Holy Hannah. Ike wasn't fooling around.

We weren't supposed to get power back until Tuesday at the earliest. We got it back today (Thursday September 18) at 6:30 PM. If for some reason Centerpoint Energy hit our power switch by mistake I'm sorry but not sorry enough to go find the electricity folks and tell them we aren't supposed to be juiced until next Tuesday. I'm sure there are lessons to be learned but I'll be danged if I can think of what they are. We were told to "shelter in place" which is what we did. We didn't suffer any structural damage to the house. There was an unseasonable cold front that blew in and made it doable as far as the weather. I was able to continue my treatments thanks to Dr. Murthy, my on the ball oncologist. The day before the storm she gave me my treatment in a syringe because she didn't know what would be left of her office. Her office made it fine and I administered my own treatment.

The church I work with didn't fare so well. We lost part of our roof and canceled things last Sunday. Wednesday night we had an impromptu gathering in the parking lot with about a hundred folks. It was good to see each other and talk about life. We will meet tomorrow night to determine what to do for Sunday. The neighborhood around the church looks like a war zone.  It may take months to restore the power to that area.

My folks retirement place up in the country.  It was destroyed by Rita three years ago and they had rebuilt it into a show piece. And it was destroyed all over again by Ike. I spoke with my mother yesterday and she told me she will never live outside a city again. They will patch up what they can and sell it as soon as possible.  Bless their hearts.  They busted their tails for ten years to have a place that is beautiful and peaceful. It's 120 miles inland and yet two times in three years it has been destroyed by hurricanes. You'd think you'd be safe from a hurricane 120 miles inland.

I guess after all is said and done, I'm still a bit numb. Numb that we were without water, gas, and power for almost a week. Numb in the sense that even though the lights are on now, I'm still not ready to count on them being there when I turn on the switch. Numb that this did so much damage to folks who are good honest folks.

My friend Spam wrote me and asked what it was like to have a birthday one day after 9/11. Strange is the best answer. Add Ike to the mix and I believe I'm going to have an official birthday and then a celebrated birthday that is in a less exciting month. I'm hereby officially moving my birthday from September 12 to March 1. I like that better. I get to stay 49 for a few more months and we'll be well out of terrorist and hurricane season by then.

For the first time since this thing hit I am seeing the pictures of places like Galveston. There are no words really. I was just there two weeks ago on Saturday and it had never looked prettier. We had dinner overlooking the Gulf and it was spectacular. Now there is nothing.

The sum total of my feelings at this moment are this sucks. And as the weatherman has reminded us two or three times since the power has been back on, we still have 40% of hurricane season to go. Ain't that special.

Take care
Dave

www.bpdfamily.com

Hunkering Down with Ike

Dave Yasko — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 22:03:00 GMT

Hi there,

Let me take a second and welcome a new crop of readers, these hailing from Southern Ohio. I appreciate you for taking the time to read up on this. I have been asked if I done any authoring and no I have not. I am contemplating a two year book deal with the Literary Guild, where I would get a free portable DVD player if I buy four books from them during that time span.

Hurricane Ike is upon us and I am going to, as they say in Texas, "hunker down." All medical stuff that was scheduled for today has been canceled until we see if there is any of Houston left. Galveston, one of the places that has some really special memories for me, is pretty much all under water.

Today I turn 50 and I've had a lot of emails and phone calls congratulating me for having a milestone birthday that arrived with a splash. Thank you.

Where my house is, the authorities have told us to "shelter in place." In fact, we were told not to get on the highway so the people who needed the highway to get away from a wall of water could outrun said wall of water. So sheltering in place is the order of the day. Yesterday at the church I work with, the staff had a birthday lunch in my honor. Steve Lehman made tortilla soup, which if he made it and sold it he would be a millionaire, it's that good. Dolores, my wonderful secretary made salad with corn (which has wonderful properties when you get to a certain age) and Ann, the church bookie, searched out and found my favorite flavor of Blue Bell Ice Cream, which is Homemade Vanilla and Peaches. She had to look really hard for it and spoke with the Blue Bell Creamery personally. All in all, it was a most wonderful lunch. It is scary when your favorite foods are things like soup, salad with corn and iced tea. I did sneak an order of French Fries the other day and my goodness they were delicious.

OK, I'll see you on the other side of Ike.

Later folks

David

www.bpdfamily.com