3/10/18
Finally a new post folks….
Finally a new post folks…
So, when you’re a designer/art director etc, we often use what’s called “lorem ipsum” which is basically filler text for “greeking” in an ad/brochure/website whatever, when you don’t have the actual text written yet. Makes your layouts look realistic, and you basically copy and paste it into your design(s), and it’s jumbled Latin of some sorts. And sorry if you all already knew this, and never mind. For example, I’m not going belabor some of the crap we’ve gone through the last month since I posted, so:
Lorem ipsum CRAP dolor sit amet, SH*T ea has falli CRAP saperet repudiandae. Dolor DAMN feugait vel ne, his veniam AGAIN? posidonium ad. Nam dicta WTF?? ocurreret definitiones ex. Propriae SH*T prodesset mel no, ut adhuc delectus vim, ARE YOU KIDDING ME vis decore saperet ex WTF? Eum F*CK F*CK F*CK! verear tacimates AHOLE iudicabit, possim I HATE YOU INSURANCE CO conclusionemque et sea, has ei NO SYMPATHY nisl vero debitis. Sed CLUELESS autem soluta ad, mei et sale PIECE OF SH*T INSURANCE CO corrumpit instructior. Erroribus ROADBLOCK ROADBLOCK euripidis in vix, ad usu legimus DENIED DENIED noluisse insolens, nam SPINELESS AHOLES altera tamquam ei. WHY WHY? Ex erant graeci mei, WON”T PAY eos ut facer NO HEART expetenda, at suavitate quaerendum DISCONNECTED AGAIN conclusionemque duo. RAGE RAGE Autem causae YOU SUCK mediocrem nec cu, NO HELP vix consetetur SH*T F*UCK MOTHER F’ER referrentur ne. 2 HOURS ON THE PHONE No sumo ceteros quo. DAMN. I could go on and on whether in real english, lorem ipsum, pig latin and it would say the same thing: Insurance companies suck, are run by bureaucrats who’s hearts have long ago stopped beating, and who try and make it as difficult as possible to get medications, treatments and services figuring that a certain percentage of people will give up, throw in the towel and there you go, they win; they make money. Now that my Rage Against the Machine is over, here’s what’s been happening in our neck of the woods (thank you Today Show/Al Roker): I’ll start from where we are today, Saturday, March 10, because if started from the beginning of the week it would be damn depressing and disheartening. Abby’s officially off of Keytruda, the clinical trial “miracle drug” that was not so miraculous for Abby Trotter Grant (nor my brother Scott Grant, who it has not worked for either). She will be going on a new regimen of two drugs, which are administered through her “power port” that lives under her skin and is accessed by, yes, poking through the skin to get to it- it essentially is “easier” than always sticking you in the arm with an IV. At least that’s THE CONCEPT as depending upon the nurse it either hurts a little, or HURTS A LOT when accessed. Anywho, it’s a two day infusion and they will send her home with a portable pump the first day, and then we’ll go back the second day after it’s finished and get it removed. This will go on every two weeks for as long as it (hopefully) works. We met with the doctor who is running the study this past Wed. He’s really great, and despite Abby leaving the study, he’s still our Oncologist, and our quarterback (his apt description, actually). He reported to us the results of the "gene mapping” they did on Abby, which is used to identify mutations at the root of a patient's tumor - considered key to personalizing cancer treatment. Not my scientific words- borrowed them, and it’s an extremely complex and (I’m guessing), expensive process but was done under the trial, so no cost to us. They identified the culprit gene as the “EGFR” gene- we all have plenty of them, but for reasons they don’t totally understand, sometimes they get flipped “on” and become cancerous. And Abby’s hosting them, except we never invited them to the party. So, like unwanted guests, they will be escorted out, and hopefully never seen again. Hopefully they will die- the cells people, the cells. How YOU treat your unwanted guests is between you and the police. And the oncologist is also changing her diagnosis, with our permission, from Esophageal Cancer to “Head and Neck Cancer”- otherwise he can’t get the drug approved. So ridiculous, but we could care less if he had to call it “Cancer of the Cuticles” in order to get the drug, and get it paid for. Semantics- put ‘em to work for you in one easy lesson. The oncologist seems very hopeful about this treatment, and Abby will also start radiation this Monday- 10 regimens that hopefully will help with the tumor in her lung, and now peeps this is the news from earlier this week, the tumor that is in her bone/rib. Essentially, the lung tumor has been pressing against her rib, not only keeping her in agony, but also attacking her rib bone, basically eating into it. It’s been a horrible few weeks honestly, with the pain from moderate to severe, doubled over in pain, and no amount of drugs has really helped. The radiation, they feel, will shrink the tumor, easy the pain, and hopefully kill/stop the growth. Cryotherapy is also a possibility, i.e. freezing the tumor, son we’ll see. As horrible as this all sounds, it’s actually hopeful for us, and gives us a door ajar, and a bit of light coming back into our lives. The beginning of this week, Monday night, I got a call from her primary care doc who we love. Abby had had an XRAY last Saturday because of the pain she’d been having, to hopefully see what was causing it. The radiologist had finally give her PC the results, and they were devastating- cancer in the bone, the lung tumor was bigger, the Keytruda wasn’t working, and… well there was not much more they could do for her. The word “hospice” was used. Tears were shed- the doctor actually broke down on the phone before I did. I got off the call numb, sick to my stomach, wondering how to tell my wife that there was a good chance she was going to die. And tell our kids, Ben Grant and Aliza Grant, who were home for spring break, that mom was probably not going to make it. I won’t go into the gory details, but rivers of tears were shed; and shitty, hard-to-make phone calls were made over the course of the next day. Even as I write this now, the pit in my stomach is growing and trying to make a comeback. It was a horrific 48 hours. And then it all changed this past Wednesday. And now you know why I gave you the hopeful, positive news first, ‘cause the bad news was very very bad. A very very bad Hombre as our illustrious Prez so skillfully said many moons ago. So kind friends, now go back and reread the positive parts of this post, and I’ll leave you a couple of absurd tidbits. • Spent 2 hours sitting in my car outside of the Swampy CVS back and forth on hold with the Doctor’s office, insurance company (mostly) and the pharmacist trying to get a med approved. Designed a logo for a client with the scrap pad I had while waiting. • Got a new scrip for Abby. Couldn’t find it anywhere. Didn’t tell her- figured it would turn up. Was up at 5am due to cats puking in my room and scattering dogs who were trying to eat it. Decided to go to Starbucks and there was the scrip, on the driveway, in a puddle, gleefully floating, doing the backstroke. I slowly peeled the envelope opened, said a couple of prayers to the G*d who keeps ink from running, and unfurled the scrip. It was intact, had been typed not hand-written, so it didn’t bleed or smear. Cradled it gently, took it into the house, applied my hair drying skills, and voila- the scrip, and my ass, were saved. • Insurance Co. wouldn’t approve a liquid nausea medicine that was cheap cheap. Made us try the more expensive capsule form, that had tiny little time-release beads that wouldn’t crush nor dissolve and skittered all over the place when I tried to smoosh ‘em. Then they clogged her G-tube. Tried to use Coke (per nurse) to try and dissolve it, and I figured it would work since I use to use it to help take rust off the bumper of my old ’68 Mustang convertable. Didn’t work. Kept at it; finally has (mostly) cleared. Lorem ipsum F*CK YOU INSURANCE CO. • Ambulance bills from last Jul/Aug- still not paid. Lorem ipsum F*CK YOU PREVIOUS INSURANCE CO. • Abby got “tattooed” w/3 little spots for her upcoming radiation treatments. They’re permanent. After all these years of asking her to get a little one, guess I got my wish- she got three. And in simpatico, I got one on my hand first to prove it didn’t hurt. Looks like a flea. I might need to add a couple of more “dots” and make it a smiley face one day. On that note, a smiley face in mind, I wish you all the best, and again, thank you flower faerie, rock faerie, tissue and paper towel faerie, general good cheer and hope and praying faeries. You really keep us going; keep our spirits up, and continually amaze us with your love and kindness. Peace out. Love, Abby, Craig, Ben and Aliza
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