It all began with contracting Covid in December. I thought I would dodge that bullet because I had so far. Daughter and I were diagnosed the same day and quarantined at her house. I have no furnace yet and this is the second winter I've "vacationed" with her - a blessing, especially considering Covid. Missed a lot of work (no pay) which ate into my funds for a furnace. But we survived! Dodged a bullet after all.
Our quarantine period ended New Year's and the next day, respectively. I had a small relapse a few days before which slowed me down a little. On Jan3, I developed serious shortness of breath, went to an urgent care facility which sent me to the local ER. Waited four hours to be seen (Covid hit our town in waves, particularly among the No-mask group who got together in large groups to celebrate the holidays.) I think that, since I had already had the virus, the staff (understaffed) triaged me to the bottom of the list. Doctor finally came in and diagnosed pleurisy: my lungs were clear, heart was real good, nothing to worry about. Prescribed an NSAID for discomfort and inflammation, sent me back to daughter's apartment.
Next morning, I awoke gasping for air, in unbearable pain. Returned to urgent care, where I collapsed against daughter. (Thought I was dying!) Taken to a different hospital, scanned, found lungs and right leg were full of clots. One in left lung was "of significant size" with two smaller ones partially blocking the descending pulmonary vessels. I returned to my room, was placed on a heparin drip, three liters oxygen and advised to lie still for awhile. Okay, no argument from me! I was prescribed a blood thinner which I might have had to take for the rest of my life (but don't!). That meant I would have a life after the hospital!
Another bullet dodged!
The day before I was released, my PCP came in with more information from the CT. There were large nodules in my thyroid and an unclear shadow in my left breast. The doctor in CCU advised I make appointments as soon as possible, especially a mammogram. Fortunately, my primary at the VA had already scheduled an annual mammo for the first week in February. She added a thyroid ultrasound for the same week. All good, dog!
Thyroid ultrasound and mammogram led to biopsies early May. Thyroid came back benign, to be followed up with an endocrinologist. Another bullet fell to earth.
Breast biopsy returned cancer diagnosis. Uh-oh. Didn't dodge that one!
I go in for bilateral mastectomy tomorrow morning The next bullet (that I know I'm facing) is metastasis, which we will know about after surgery.
Never mind all of that, though. The absolute worst thing so far this year is the loss of our brother, Thomas Leonard McLemore, the second of our mother's kids. Mac was kind-hearted, a much-loved and well respected man in his community. His death has left many family and friends still reeling. To say he will be missed is an understatement.
He was a decorated Navy veteran (and the reason I enlisted) whose service in Viet-Nam exposed him to the brutalities of war and poisons like Agent Orange. He was being eaten alive by skin cancer from AO exposure. He lived with massive clots in his legs which eventually prevented him from standing on his own. The last four or five years saw him home-bound in a wheelchair or seated on his recliner. He couldn't stand or walk far without assistance. His leg injuries from several conflicts in Viet-Nam were the source of the clots, but Mac refused the recommended amputations. When an aneurysm in the lower aorta was discovered, an endovascular aneurysm repair (EVAR) was installed. A second stent and a third followed.
Mac was 72 years old when he died on January 16 from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, the only bullet he couldn't miss.
Like I said, what a year. So far.
