Tomorrow I'm having my prostate removed by a robot. Okay, it's got help in the form of a surgeon, Dr. David Samadi at Mount Sinai Hospital here in New York City.
I have to be there at 10:00 a.m. Surgery is scheduled for noon. I expect to be discharged on Thursday. I'll be living with friends in Queens for about a week, until they remove the catheter. Then I can go home to New Jersey. I'll be out of the office for anywhere from 3 to 6 weeks.
I'll post when I can over the next week, but I doubt if it'll be regularly.
If anybody out there is the praying sort, I'd appreciate it if you'd shoot a prayer towards whatever Higher Power you believe in to smile favorably in my direction over the next couple of weeks.
Take care and hug somebody you love and tell them that you love them. Don't put it off. Do it right now.
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Return to Anesthesia
It's on.
Tomorrow I have a nuclear stress test at 7:00 a.m. (to satisfy my absolutely useless cardiologist, whom I've come to hate) and a go-see with my internist (whom I still like) at 3:45 p.m. It is my HOPE that both of them will immediately sign off on my upcoming surgery.
If, God willing, they do then a week from tomorrow I'll arrive at Mt. Sinai hospital here in Manhattan at 10:00 a.m. for a radical prostectomy performed by Dr. David Samadi, using the da Vinci surgical robot.
I can't think of anyone, among my male friends, better suited to this than me. Sex has become nothing but a bitter memory of how I routinely sold myself short over the years.
God has actually done me a big favor.
Tomorrow I have a nuclear stress test at 7:00 a.m. (to satisfy my absolutely useless cardiologist, whom I've come to hate) and a go-see with my internist (whom I still like) at 3:45 p.m. It is my HOPE that both of them will immediately sign off on my upcoming surgery.
If, God willing, they do then a week from tomorrow I'll arrive at Mt. Sinai hospital here in Manhattan at 10:00 a.m. for a radical prostectomy performed by Dr. David Samadi, using the da Vinci surgical robot.
I can't think of anyone, among my male friends, better suited to this than me. Sex has become nothing but a bitter memory of how I routinely sold myself short over the years.
God has actually done me a big favor.
Monday, September 14, 2009
I Have Made My Decision
The search for an oncological/urogenitary surgeon is over.
But first, the background. After my dreadful experience at New York/Presbyterian on the Friday before Labor Day, I snooped around on the interwebs over the long weekend and found a surgeon at New York's Mount Sinai Hospital. His name is David Samadi. Here is his picture:
My Higher Power was working overtime that day, believe me. My new friend emailed me the forms I'd need for the Friday visit. I showed up 15 minutes early on Friday, filled out one additional form, was introduced to Dr. Samadi and was escorted directly into his office. He looked at my test results and pronounced me a good candidate for the surgery. I asked him if he believed in God. Then I said that I did, and that it was my belief that things happen for reasons.
I absolutely believed, at that point, that it was intended for me to have my surgery done by this man.
We stepped across the hall and he did to me what I've only let several thousand other men do to me. Then he sent in his nurse to talk to me about pre and post-op stuff.
Scheduling set me up with a date of October 14th at noon. I should be discharged the following afternoon. I have friends who actually want me to come and recuperate with them, here in New York. I'll have a catheter in me for a couple of days. They'll remove it in the office early the following week. I can then go home. Family members have already said that they'd drive into the city to get me and bring me home. I'll be out of work for anywhere from a month to six weeks.
I have to do Kegel exercises until the surgery. This is to tone up my sphincter(s). I didn't have the heart to tell them that, as a gay man, I'm intimately familiar with contracting and relaxing my sphincters. TMI, I suppose.
Oh, and Dr. Samadi will be using the da Vinci robot.
When I got back to the office on Friday I called Memorial Sloan-Kettering and cancelled my appointment, scheduled for this coming Wednesday. I didn't need to look any further. Not only had I found the gold-standard surgeon and hospital for what I needed to have done, but I'd also found a doctor whom I could trust.
And at the end of the day, that's what really matters.
But first, the background. After my dreadful experience at New York/Presbyterian on the Friday before Labor Day, I snooped around on the interwebs over the long weekend and found a surgeon at New York's Mount Sinai Hospital. His name is David Samadi. Here is his picture:
I called his office on Tuesday morning to ask for an appointment, fully expecting to be told a) he's not taking new patients or b) we can squeeze you in next year. Instead I got an appointment for last Friday at 11:00 a.m.
Okay.
The next morning (Wednesday) I went to my usual 12-Step meeting at 7:30 a.m. in CitiGroup Center here in NY. The speaker was someone who had recently joined our group and she had a fascinating story to tell which ended with her changing careers and winding up working for a doctor at Mount Sinai. I think you know the rest of the story.
Here's Dr. Samadi's wiki:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_B._Samadi
My Higher Power was working overtime that day, believe me. My new friend emailed me the forms I'd need for the Friday visit. I showed up 15 minutes early on Friday, filled out one additional form, was introduced to Dr. Samadi and was escorted directly into his office. He looked at my test results and pronounced me a good candidate for the surgery. I asked him if he believed in God. Then I said that I did, and that it was my belief that things happen for reasons.
I absolutely believed, at that point, that it was intended for me to have my surgery done by this man.
We stepped across the hall and he did to me what I've only let several thousand other men do to me. Then he sent in his nurse to talk to me about pre and post-op stuff.
Scheduling set me up with a date of October 14th at noon. I should be discharged the following afternoon. I have friends who actually want me to come and recuperate with them, here in New York. I'll have a catheter in me for a couple of days. They'll remove it in the office early the following week. I can then go home. Family members have already said that they'd drive into the city to get me and bring me home. I'll be out of work for anywhere from a month to six weeks.
I have to do Kegel exercises until the surgery. This is to tone up my sphincter(s). I didn't have the heart to tell them that, as a gay man, I'm intimately familiar with contracting and relaxing my sphincters. TMI, I suppose.
Oh, and Dr. Samadi will be using the da Vinci robot.
When I got back to the office on Friday I called Memorial Sloan-Kettering and cancelled my appointment, scheduled for this coming Wednesday. I didn't need to look any further. Not only had I found the gold-standard surgeon and hospital for what I needed to have done, but I'd also found a doctor whom I could trust.
And at the end of the day, that's what really matters.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Oh, Ya Got To Have Friends!
She's the one who started it all. The Divine Ms. M, Bette Midler, in the fall of 1972. Her debut album. And the cut that still resonates in my head to this day is the first cut of the "B" side, "Friends."
And I do. Have friends. After my hideous experience at NY/Presbyterian hospital last Friday a friend of mine, who just happens to work there, took me out to keep me company until I crawled back in from the figurative ledge. This same friend had already told me that I would come and stay with him and his wife after my surgery until I was well enough to travel home from New York to central New Jersey.
And it didn't matter which New York hospital I used. I would still be welcome.
Then on Sunday, out of the blue, a friend of mine from Baltimore called and announced that he and his partner would "love to have me come and recuperate with them" if I chose to have the surgery done at Johns-Hopkins. How many people have friends who would invite them to come and be an invalid with them, for however long it took to get well?
I have friends like that.
I don't remember ever doing anything to earn friends like that, but I seem to have 'em.
Oh, and here's the kicker on all this. Yesterday morning I called a surgeon's office at Mount Sinai and made an appointment to see him this coming Friday morning. He's performed over 1,000 prostectomies using the "da Vinci" robot. This morning, at my daily 12-Step meeting, our "guest speaker" was someone who worked in medical administration --- for a doctor who specializes in cancers.
Take a guess.
Yup. We spoke after the meeting. She works for the guy I'm seeing on Friday. The paperwork (and insurance) is all being taken care of.
I am being taken care of.
I've got friends.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
2 Down, 2 to Go
This is a prostate cancer update.
I had my appointment with the surgeon at Weill-Cornell/New York - Presbyterian Hospital last Friday at 3:00 p.m.
I showed up on time, signed a paper, got my blood-pressure checked and was seated in a waiting room. In about 10 minutes I was taken to an examination room.
I sat in there, unattended, with no one dropping in to check on me, for 70, that's right, SEVENTY minutes, before I got sick and tired of waiting and walked out to see what was going on.
"Oh" some flunky exclaimed. "Didn't anyone come in?"
No.
I went back. It was another 10 minutes or so before I was finally escorted into Dr. God's inner-sanctum by one of his flunkies in a lab coat. She began the interview, only to quickly be joined by Dr. God, Himself.
I maintained a civil tongue but made my displeasure at being treated so badly abundantly clear.
I ran through my list of questions, which he promptly answered. I terminated the interview with, "I'll let you know."
I thought about it over the weekend and concluded that the actions of the staff were indicative of the mind-set of the teacher. That they treat people badly because he tolerates them treating people badly.
I would, under no circumstances, consider urological surgery at Weill-Cornell/New York - Presbyterian Hospital. In case anyone cares.
Next stop, Mount Sinai this coming Friday morning, followed by Memorial Sloan-Kettering a week from Wednesday.
I'm tired of doctors. I'm tired of surgeries. I'm tired.
I had my appointment with the surgeon at Weill-Cornell/New York - Presbyterian Hospital last Friday at 3:00 p.m.
I showed up on time, signed a paper, got my blood-pressure checked and was seated in a waiting room. In about 10 minutes I was taken to an examination room.
I sat in there, unattended, with no one dropping in to check on me, for 70, that's right, SEVENTY minutes, before I got sick and tired of waiting and walked out to see what was going on.
"Oh" some flunky exclaimed. "Didn't anyone come in?"
No.
I went back. It was another 10 minutes or so before I was finally escorted into Dr. God's inner-sanctum by one of his flunkies in a lab coat. She began the interview, only to quickly be joined by Dr. God, Himself.
I maintained a civil tongue but made my displeasure at being treated so badly abundantly clear.
I ran through my list of questions, which he promptly answered. I terminated the interview with, "I'll let you know."
I thought about it over the weekend and concluded that the actions of the staff were indicative of the mind-set of the teacher. That they treat people badly because he tolerates them treating people badly.
I would, under no circumstances, consider urological surgery at Weill-Cornell/New York - Presbyterian Hospital. In case anyone cares.
Next stop, Mount Sinai this coming Friday morning, followed by Memorial Sloan-Kettering a week from Wednesday.
I'm tired of doctors. I'm tired of surgeries. I'm tired.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Medical History
In 2004, as I sat on a gurney in a paper dress at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital in New Brunswick, New Jersey, the handsomest surgeon in the state of New Jersey explained to me that I was a "ticking time bomb" and, in rather short order (two weeks), he performed what's known in the business as a "CABG" (pronounced "cabbage"), which is to say I had quadruple coronary-artery bypass grafts. I have lovely scars all over my upper torso and left arm to prove it, including the infamous "zipper" running down my chest, over my rib-cage.
In 2005 I was (again) told that I was a "ticking time bomb" and I had what's known in the business as "bi-lateral endarterectomies", which is to say they sliced open the sides of my neck, pulled out portions of the arteries feeding the brain, sliced them open and squeezed out the congealed cholesterol in both of them. I have lovely, matching 2" long scars on either side of my neck as souvenirs of that one.
In early 2006 I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. Type II Diabetes, it turns out, is not a disease, it is a big-business. There is a cure for Type II Diabetes which Big Pharma does not want you to take. It's called "Gastric Bypass Surgery" and I had it in early August of 2008. I lost 65 pounds and the diabetes (and the co-pays for Glucophage and Test Strips and a lot of other hooey and hokum which is totally unnecessary and is probably killing more people than it helps). That particular surgery, laporascopically done, left a bunch of little scars all over my belly.
Then, a week or two or three ago, I was told I have prostate cancer.
God only knows what sort of scars I'll come out of this with . But I do know this:
Despite the "big-business" aspect of all my hospitalizations and assorted medical effluvia, I thank God that I had pretty good insurance which covered pretty much everything.
Today, I am the Six Million Dollar Man (for those of you old enough to remember the non-Stone Cold Steve Austin) -- in more ways than one.
In 2005 I was (again) told that I was a "ticking time bomb" and I had what's known in the business as "bi-lateral endarterectomies", which is to say they sliced open the sides of my neck, pulled out portions of the arteries feeding the brain, sliced them open and squeezed out the congealed cholesterol in both of them. I have lovely, matching 2" long scars on either side of my neck as souvenirs of that one.
In early 2006 I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. Type II Diabetes, it turns out, is not a disease, it is a big-business. There is a cure for Type II Diabetes which Big Pharma does not want you to take. It's called "Gastric Bypass Surgery" and I had it in early August of 2008. I lost 65 pounds and the diabetes (and the co-pays for Glucophage and Test Strips and a lot of other hooey and hokum which is totally unnecessary and is probably killing more people than it helps). That particular surgery, laporascopically done, left a bunch of little scars all over my belly.
Then, a week or two or three ago, I was told I have prostate cancer.
God only knows what sort of scars I'll come out of this with . But I do know this:
Despite the "big-business" aspect of all my hospitalizations and assorted medical effluvia, I thank God that I had pretty good insurance which covered pretty much everything.
Today, I am the Six Million Dollar Man (for those of you old enough to remember the non-Stone Cold Steve Austin) -- in more ways than one.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Prostate Update
I saw my urologist last p.m. He confirmed what I already suspected, that the cancer is localized to the prostate and it will have to come out.
Good news. Bad news. But news.
Now the ball is in my court. He was solicitous and concerned. He answered my questions truthfully. He assured me that he wouldn't feel "two-timed" if I snuck around and saw other doctors behind his back. In fact, he encouraged me to make appointments and to get other opinions.
I've been given names of doctors at New York Hospital-Presbyterian, Memorial Sloan-Kettering and Mount Sinai in New York and at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
Some of them use the robot, others do not, preferring instead to do it the old fashioned way, through a 3" incision.
My guy at home in NJ has done 600 removals in his career. He does them at a non-teaching hospital in New Brunswick, NJ (St. Peters). His rationale is that the operation is so delicate he doesn't want to have surrender any portion of it to resident surgeons, i.e. "rank amateurs." I liked that.
There's a good 10-15% chance that post-removal I'll still have to have some sort of follow-up therapy, probably radiation. Hey! That leaves a good 85-90% chance that I WON'T.
I'll be incontinent for awhile. A month, maybe two. As for "male potency" (don't you love the euphemisms we come up with for "hard ons"?), well, it'll be about as good as it is now within 6 months. I can wait 6 months. It's already been years.
Ordinarily I'd be on the phone this morning, rounding up appointments, arranging for time off, coordinating everything. But the weather is crappy, and I need a good scary movie... "Ultimate Destination" would do.
I'll deal with cancer next week. Promise.
p.s. But be assured that I know this ... I am loved. A lot. And that is going to make all the difference in the world.
Good news. Bad news. But news.
Now the ball is in my court. He was solicitous and concerned. He answered my questions truthfully. He assured me that he wouldn't feel "two-timed" if I snuck around and saw other doctors behind his back. In fact, he encouraged me to make appointments and to get other opinions.
I've been given names of doctors at New York Hospital-Presbyterian, Memorial Sloan-Kettering and Mount Sinai in New York and at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
Some of them use the robot, others do not, preferring instead to do it the old fashioned way, through a 3" incision.
My guy at home in NJ has done 600 removals in his career. He does them at a non-teaching hospital in New Brunswick, NJ (St. Peters). His rationale is that the operation is so delicate he doesn't want to have surrender any portion of it to resident surgeons, i.e. "rank amateurs." I liked that.
There's a good 10-15% chance that post-removal I'll still have to have some sort of follow-up therapy, probably radiation. Hey! That leaves a good 85-90% chance that I WON'T.
I'll be incontinent for awhile. A month, maybe two. As for "male potency" (don't you love the euphemisms we come up with for "hard ons"?), well, it'll be about as good as it is now within 6 months. I can wait 6 months. It's already been years.
Ordinarily I'd be on the phone this morning, rounding up appointments, arranging for time off, coordinating everything. But the weather is crappy, and I need a good scary movie... "Ultimate Destination" would do.
I'll deal with cancer next week. Promise.
p.s. But be assured that I know this ... I am loved. A lot. And that is going to make all the difference in the world.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Gastric Bypass - Part Trois
But first... a message about Broadway! This piece, produced by Tony-Chasing wunderkind Cubby Bernstein (http://www.cubbybernstein.com/), takes place in the dressing room of "Xanadu" star Cheyenne Jackson. It's a fierce, hot, tranny mess! Enjoy!
And be sure to watch this year's Tony broadcast on CBS, Sunday, June 15, 2008 starting at 8:00 p.m. (EDT)
Now, about yesterday. Another day off visiting doctors. 9:00 a.m. with the surgeon. Actually with his nurse. I'm good to go. I'm scheduled for surgery on Monday, August 11th. In the afternoon I saw the shrink who grilled me for 45 minutes about my addiction(s), recovery, past, present and hopes for the future.
Net-net, he's happy to sign off for the insurance company and attest to the fact that I'm doing this for all the right reasons.
This leaves me with another visit to the nutritionist, an office visit with a gastroenterologist followed a week later by an upper-sigmoidoscopy, lab work for the hospital, one final consult with the surgeon and then, finally, I'll be good to go.
Now I can almost enjoy my summer vacation.
Have a great weekend everyone! Love to Aunt Lou and Uncle Fred and all the cousins!
JoyZeeBoy
And be sure to watch this year's Tony broadcast on CBS, Sunday, June 15, 2008 starting at 8:00 p.m. (EDT)
Now, about yesterday. Another day off visiting doctors. 9:00 a.m. with the surgeon. Actually with his nurse. I'm good to go. I'm scheduled for surgery on Monday, August 11th. In the afternoon I saw the shrink who grilled me for 45 minutes about my addiction(s), recovery, past, present and hopes for the future.
Net-net, he's happy to sign off for the insurance company and attest to the fact that I'm doing this for all the right reasons.
This leaves me with another visit to the nutritionist, an office visit with a gastroenterologist followed a week later by an upper-sigmoidoscopy, lab work for the hospital, one final consult with the surgeon and then, finally, I'll be good to go.
Now I can almost enjoy my summer vacation.
Have a great weekend everyone! Love to Aunt Lou and Uncle Fred and all the cousins!
JoyZeeBoy
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Gastric Bypass - My Saga Begins
Okay, it's official. Barring any unforeseen circumstances (such as me turning into a big wimp between now and then), I'm going to have gastric bypass surgery, hopefully in August.
I've lined up all the initial consultations I need to have over the next few months.
Insurance companies, rightfully, want to make sure you're serious about the surgery before they waste 100's of thousands of their other client's premiums paying for something you're promptly going to sabotage because you have unresolved addiction issues.
I don't blame 'em.
So over the next month I'll be seeing my internist, a pulmonologist, a nutritionist, my cardiologist and a shrink. Meanwhile I'll have continuing consultations with the surgeon and attend monthly meetings of his bariatric support group (more like a cult - but if he can turn off my diabetes, gout, rheumatoid arthritis, joint pain and artheriosclerosis I'll happily join the other worshippers at his shrine).
Oh, and the reason for the shrink is to make sure I'm not doing this for vanity's sake.
Anybody who knows me will tell you... vanity has never been my long suit. Fear and self-loathing are more my forte.
I just want to stop taking medicines. That would be very, very nice.
Oh, and I don't want to wind up in my old age strapped into a wheelchair in a nursing home, blind and footless, like so many of my relatives on the Irish side of the family did.
That would be even nicer.
You'll be hearing lots more about this over the next couple of months. So brace yourselves.
I've lined up all the initial consultations I need to have over the next few months.
Insurance companies, rightfully, want to make sure you're serious about the surgery before they waste 100's of thousands of their other client's premiums paying for something you're promptly going to sabotage because you have unresolved addiction issues.
I don't blame 'em.
So over the next month I'll be seeing my internist, a pulmonologist, a nutritionist, my cardiologist and a shrink. Meanwhile I'll have continuing consultations with the surgeon and attend monthly meetings of his bariatric support group (more like a cult - but if he can turn off my diabetes, gout, rheumatoid arthritis, joint pain and artheriosclerosis I'll happily join the other worshippers at his shrine).
Oh, and the reason for the shrink is to make sure I'm not doing this for vanity's sake.
Anybody who knows me will tell you... vanity has never been my long suit. Fear and self-loathing are more my forte.
I just want to stop taking medicines. That would be very, very nice.
Oh, and I don't want to wind up in my old age strapped into a wheelchair in a nursing home, blind and footless, like so many of my relatives on the Irish side of the family did.
That would be even nicer.
You'll be hearing lots more about this over the next couple of months. So brace yourselves.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Paging Doctor Howard, Dr. Fine, Dr. Howard!
I met with the gastric-bypass surgeon yesterday. Here's a picture of him with his associates, the doctors Howard.
It's official. I qualify for a roux-en-y gastric bypass. I just have a little "legwork" to do in advance. Such as getting clearance letters from my Internist and Cardiologist. Seeing a shrink and a nutritionist. Have a sleep apnea study done.
But all things considered, it's probably a done deal. We're shooting for a surgery date sometime in August.
Today I am up to my eyeballs in all the hubbub associated with seeing doctors and getting things in writing -- all in a timely fashion.
This brings back lots of memories of my quadruple bypass in 2004, and my bilateral endarectomies (or, as I call them, "Mz. August and Mz. October") in 2005.
Because the bypass will, at the very least, cure my diabetes (I hope) and cause me to lose about 75 pounds (going from pleasingly plump to skinny-as-a-rail), I am really looking forward to it.
Other beneficial side-effects include curing my gout, alleviating my burgeoning rheumatoid arthritis and generally fixing up various aches and pains (especially joint pain as the pounds melt away).
But it's the diabetes I'm after. I'm long past the point of actually caring about the cosmetic effects of surgery. I was never particularly vain and I have no intention of starting now.
This is about having 30 or so years of high-quality dotage ... unlike what happened to any number of people on my mom's side of the family -- many of whom wound up sightless and/or limbless in nursing homes in their old age(s). I really don't want to wind up like that.
So, today I am doing what we refer to in 12-Step programs as "the next right thing", calling doctors, making appointments, taking care of business.
So, before I start thinking that I am God (which I sometimes do),
and to keep me "right-sized" this morning
I spoke at a 12-Step meeting here in Manhattan at 7:30 a.m.
Because, you see, I need to be reminded, and often, that even though the monkey is no longer on my back ...
the circus, most definitely, is still in town.
It's official. I qualify for a roux-en-y gastric bypass. I just have a little "legwork" to do in advance. Such as getting clearance letters from my Internist and Cardiologist. Seeing a shrink and a nutritionist. Have a sleep apnea study done.
But all things considered, it's probably a done deal. We're shooting for a surgery date sometime in August.
Today I am up to my eyeballs in all the hubbub associated with seeing doctors and getting things in writing -- all in a timely fashion.
This brings back lots of memories of my quadruple bypass in 2004, and my bilateral endarectomies (or, as I call them, "Mz. August and Mz. October") in 2005.
Because the bypass will, at the very least, cure my diabetes (I hope) and cause me to lose about 75 pounds (going from pleasingly plump to skinny-as-a-rail), I am really looking forward to it.
Other beneficial side-effects include curing my gout, alleviating my burgeoning rheumatoid arthritis and generally fixing up various aches and pains (especially joint pain as the pounds melt away).
But it's the diabetes I'm after. I'm long past the point of actually caring about the cosmetic effects of surgery. I was never particularly vain and I have no intention of starting now.
This is about having 30 or so years of high-quality dotage ... unlike what happened to any number of people on my mom's side of the family -- many of whom wound up sightless and/or limbless in nursing homes in their old age(s). I really don't want to wind up like that.
So, today I am doing what we refer to in 12-Step programs as "the next right thing", calling doctors, making appointments, taking care of business.
So, before I start thinking that I am God (which I sometimes do),
and to keep me "right-sized" this morning
I spoke at a 12-Step meeting here in Manhattan at 7:30 a.m.
Because, you see, I need to be reminded, and often, that even though the monkey is no longer on my back ...
the circus, most definitely, is still in town.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Blathering Thursday
Oh the heartbreak of being Star Jones.
Read about her upcoming de-nuptializing here:
http://defamer.com/383093/no-reason-yet-given-in-star-joness-divorce-from-gay-husband
Or, catch up with the antics of President Bush's favorite military lapdog, David H.Betrayus Petraeus as he gets rewarded (and kicked upstairs) for being a good boy making the dipshit in the White House look better than he deserves, in The Huffington Post here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/04/23/david-petraeus-central-co_n_98185.html
Jenna Bush hasn't made up her mind yet who she's voting for in November, Bud or Bud-Lite.
http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/
And now that you're thoroughly demoralized, perk yourselves up by singing the French portion of one of my favorite oldies from the Electric Light Orchestra, "Hold on Tight (to your dreams"):
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sents -- ton coeur se briser
Accroches-toi a ton reve
p.s. the insurance company has finally approved my procedure to get my droopy eyelid fixed. I'm having the surgery a week from tomorrow. Wish me bon chance!
Read about her upcoming de-nuptializing here:
http://defamer.com/383093/no-reason-yet-given-in-star-joness-divorce-from-gay-husband
Or, catch up with the antics of President Bush's favorite military lapdog, David H.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/04/23/david-petraeus-central-co_n_98185.html
Jenna Bush hasn't made up her mind yet who she's voting for in November, Bud or Bud-Lite.
http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/
And now that you're thoroughly demoralized, perk yourselves up by singing the French portion of one of my favorite oldies from the Electric Light Orchestra, "Hold on Tight (to your dreams"):
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sents -- ton coeur se briser
Accroches-toi a ton reve
p.s. the insurance company has finally approved my procedure to get my droopy eyelid fixed. I'm having the surgery a week from tomorrow. Wish me bon chance!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Usual & Customary
I have a headache like you wouldn't believe. I spent the better part of 2 hours today on the phone with my insurance company, trying to find out if I could get the foremost expert on gastric bypass surgery in New Jersey to perform mine.
Short answer? Only if I'm rich enough not to need insurance. The doctor in question doesn't take insurance (except Medicare). My insurance company, to go out of network, I would have to cough up a) $750.00 deductible PLUS 20% PLUS whatever the bill ran above the "Usual and Customary" fees for the area I live in.
The top surgeon charges $12,500.00 for a Rouen en Y bypass (that's the biggie, the lap-band is only $7,500.), so you can see that it would wind up costing me a personal bundle to get this done by the best guy around.
The nice lady at the insurance company tried to help me find someone else, but all she could come up with were a bunch of doctors in northern Jersey, across the river from New York City.
Eventually, though, I found a website that listed pretty much all of the surgeons in New Jersey who do this. There's even one who heads up a department for this at a major hospital near where I live. I could go with him, but to be honest he doesn't seem to have as much experience as the other guy.
Owell. Now I get to decide.
I think I'll think it over for awhile.
p.s. It snowed like hell this morning and our offices are closing at 3:30 today (45 minutes from now). It's time to look busy before I go catch a bus.
Short answer? Only if I'm rich enough not to need insurance. The doctor in question doesn't take insurance (except Medicare). My insurance company, to go out of network, I would have to cough up a) $750.00 deductible PLUS 20% PLUS whatever the bill ran above the "Usual and Customary" fees for the area I live in.
The top surgeon charges $12,500.00 for a Rouen en Y bypass (that's the biggie, the lap-band is only $7,500.), so you can see that it would wind up costing me a personal bundle to get this done by the best guy around.
The nice lady at the insurance company tried to help me find someone else, but all she could come up with were a bunch of doctors in northern Jersey, across the river from New York City.
Eventually, though, I found a website that listed pretty much all of the surgeons in New Jersey who do this. There's even one who heads up a department for this at a major hospital near where I live. I could go with him, but to be honest he doesn't seem to have as much experience as the other guy.
Owell. Now I get to decide.
I think I'll think it over for awhile.
p.s. It snowed like hell this morning and our offices are closing at 3:30 today (45 minutes from now). It's time to look busy before I go catch a bus.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Two Down, Two to Go.
Well, true to his nurse's word, my cardiologist called me this afternoon and we had a nice little telecon for about 10 minutes regarding my suitability as a surgical candidate for gastric bypass surgery. He was solicitous. He was concerned, lest I hadn't explored all of the available options (Rouen en Y vs. adjustable band, etc.). But at the end of the conversation, when I put it to him point blank, he agreed that I could tolerate ALL variations of the surgery with no foreseeable threat to my heart and that he would, indeed, sign off on it in writing.
So, having gotten my endocrinologist and cardiologist on-board, that leaves my internist and, finally, the nebulous surgeon who will actually perform this miracle surgery.
Actually, I know who it will probably be. Both doctors mentioned his name in the course of my conversations with them. He has a rather thriving surgical practice in the area, devoted entirely to gastric bypasses.
Moreover, he does these surgeries at Princeton Hospital and not at Robert Wood Johnson Hospital.
This is the same Princeton Hospital that's aka Princeton Plainsboro Hospital, where Dr. House malpractices medicine. It's also where the ambulance took me on January 4th with blood gushing from my forehead.
I have a feeling that if I can get my internist in line with my surgical expectations, the actual surgeon will have no problem whatsoever in taking my insurance company's ill-gotten premiums.
I haven't been this excited about something since 2005, when they sliced open my carotids and sucked the congealed cholesterol out of both of them.
I hope I'm not getting hooked on being mutilated.
Tattoos would be cheaper.
So, having gotten my endocrinologist and cardiologist on-board, that leaves my internist and, finally, the nebulous surgeon who will actually perform this miracle surgery.
Actually, I know who it will probably be. Both doctors mentioned his name in the course of my conversations with them. He has a rather thriving surgical practice in the area, devoted entirely to gastric bypasses.
Moreover, he does these surgeries at Princeton Hospital and not at Robert Wood Johnson Hospital.
This is the same Princeton Hospital that's aka Princeton Plainsboro Hospital, where Dr. House malpractices medicine. It's also where the ambulance took me on January 4th with blood gushing from my forehead.
I have a feeling that if I can get my internist in line with my surgical expectations, the actual surgeon will have no problem whatsoever in taking my insurance company's ill-gotten premiums.
I haven't been this excited about something since 2005, when they sliced open my carotids and sucked the congealed cholesterol out of both of them.
I hope I'm not getting hooked on being mutilated.
Tattoos would be cheaper.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
A Cure for Diabetes?
Much to my amazement the NYTimes ran an extensive page one article yesterday regarding a piece in the Journal of the American Medical Association about a study conducted by Australian researchers in which a number of Type II diabetics (like me) had been re-converted to a pre-diabetic state by using gastric bypass or banding surgery.
The figures cited were astonishing. People who are completely unable to shed a pound despite diet, exercise and drugs (like me -- I tried the Byetta injections for six months, to no avail, live on salads and hang out at the gym way too often for my tastes) were able to lose up to 20.7 percent of their total weight, often within weeks of the surgery (that is for the adjustable band method). People who had full blown gastric bypass surgeries had even more astonishing results in achieving complete remission of the disease, often in a matter of days, (according to the Times ) "apparently because the operation causes metabolic changes that lower blood glucose levels beyond what weight loss alone can accomplish."
For the Times to run such an article was amazing. What's even more amazing was the appearance of an editorial in today's edition, urging the medical community to get cracking on looking into and using the surgical "cure" for diabetes ASAP.
I might even learn to forgive the Times for hiring Bill Kristol (neocon asswipe) to replace Bill Safire.
The figures cited were astonishing. People who are completely unable to shed a pound despite diet, exercise and drugs (like me -- I tried the Byetta injections for six months, to no avail, live on salads and hang out at the gym way too often for my tastes) were able to lose up to 20.7 percent of their total weight, often within weeks of the surgery (that is for the adjustable band method). People who had full blown gastric bypass surgeries had even more astonishing results in achieving complete remission of the disease, often in a matter of days, (according to the Times ) "apparently because the operation causes metabolic changes that lower blood glucose levels beyond what weight loss alone can accomplish."
For the Times to run such an article was amazing. What's even more amazing was the appearance of an editorial in today's edition, urging the medical community to get cracking on looking into and using the surgical "cure" for diabetes ASAP.
I might even learn to forgive the Times for hiring Bill Kristol (neocon asswipe) to replace Bill Safire.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Look, I had a good excuse....
I had a nuclear (or "nukalar" as George W. Shitforbrains, who has an Ivy League education, might pretend to say) stress test yesterday.
This was a half-day affair. I had to be at the cardiologists office by 7:30 a.m. The technicians finally got their acts together by 8:15 and they inserted an IV line into the top of my left hand. Then they started pumping in the first dose of radioactive thallium.
After that I wolfed down 4 cups of water (to get the crap moving through my system) and then sat around for an hour until the dye had permeated my blood stream.
Next, I was strapped into a chair that went up and down and rotated from side to side. They bound me in place so that I couldn't budge during the 15 minute x-ray scan of my midsection. The chair makes these lateral micro-movements, about 1" every 30 seconds, until they have an entire cross-section of your chest on film. I had a nice nap.
Then it was back into the hallway to wait some more.
Next I was called into thetorture chamber, er, treadmill room where they shaved my pitifully unhairy chest and attached about a dozen electrodes to the same. The technicians placed me on the rack treadmill, Dr. Mengele checked my bloodpressure (110 over 80), and I was off to the races. Literally. 10 minutes later, with my heart pumping away at 145 beats per minute, the technician unloaded another dose of radioactive dye into my coursing veins and the doctor announced that I'd done real good. A minute or so later they stopped the treadmill, unhooked me from most of the electrodes, sat me down and waited until they were sure I wasn't going to die on the spot.
Then it was BACK to the waiting room for another 40 minutes of sitting around reading MDWeb because that was all they had, then back to the x-ray movie machine for another go-round, this time with my heart really pumping away.
Everyone assured me that I was doing real good.
I was glad.
The last time I had one of these tests done was December of 2003. Two months later I was getting a cardio-angiogram at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital and 2 weeks after that , in the same hospital, I was being cracked open like a Maine lobster in order to have quadruple-bypass surgery.
So, nearly four years later, I left the doctor's office under the impression that that won't happen this time.
And that's a very good thing, for which I am truly grateful.
It's a good time of the year to be grateful.
This was a half-day affair. I had to be at the cardiologists office by 7:30 a.m. The technicians finally got their acts together by 8:15 and they inserted an IV line into the top of my left hand. Then they started pumping in the first dose of radioactive thallium.
After that I wolfed down 4 cups of water (to get the crap moving through my system) and then sat around for an hour until the dye had permeated my blood stream.
Next, I was strapped into a chair that went up and down and rotated from side to side. They bound me in place so that I couldn't budge during the 15 minute x-ray scan of my midsection. The chair makes these lateral micro-movements, about 1" every 30 seconds, until they have an entire cross-section of your chest on film. I had a nice nap.
Then it was back into the hallway to wait some more.
Next I was called into the
Then it was BACK to the waiting room for another 40 minutes of sitting around reading MDWeb because that was all they had, then back to the x-ray movie machine for another go-round, this time with my heart really pumping away.
Everyone assured me that I was doing real good.
I was glad.
The last time I had one of these tests done was December of 2003. Two months later I was getting a cardio-angiogram at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital and 2 weeks after that , in the same hospital, I was being cracked open like a Maine lobster in order to have quadruple-bypass surgery.
So, nearly four years later, I left the doctor's office under the impression that that won't happen this time.
And that's a very good thing, for which I am truly grateful.
It's a good time of the year to be grateful.
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