Back With A Vengeance

To my son Tommy,

Your mom had a colonoscopy yesterday.  They wanted a different view to see why your mom is having all the complications.  So, in essence, the doctors took their head out of their own butts, and gave a look see up your mom's.  What they found surprised all of us.

They got to the anastomosis (that is a medical term for where they cut out and restitched together the tubes in her bowel)  and everything looked okay.  But a quarter of an inch farther was blocked.  The inflamation had swollen the small intestine so much that the camera couldn't go any farther.  The doctor was forced to do some blind cuts and pull them out for biopsy, results pending.  The surgeon took out more than we expected during the surgery so we definitely figured he had gotten it all.  So the only explanation is that is came back that quickly and with that much force.

This bowel resection surgery is supposed to give relief from crohn's disease for 5 to 7 to 10 years.  You cut it out and the slow the regrowth with pharmaceuticals and diet.  But this, this is like shaving your beard at 6am and having a ZZ Top type beard again by noon.  I will include a picture of ZZ Top to this letter in case I didn't raise you right and when you finally read this you don't understand the old pop culture reference.  The point being is the fast return is just not supposed to happen that way.

To complicate things further, your mother with her open wound from the surgery is in a pickle.  She is unable to take the normal medicines that you would use to fight crohn's because they would stop her wound from healing.  Even the prednisone that she is going back on will slow the wound healing.  So no Humira (even though that had stopped working and we weren't going back to it) and no Remicade and no real solutions exist until her wound gets sorted out.  So there your mom sits, in that purgatory that exists when no one is sure of how to proceed and it seems there are no answers.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

New Manners

To my son Tommy,

As we move forward in technology, there has to be an evolution of new manners.  In this case I am ranting about emails.

When the phone call was the primary form of communication, people had rules for when and when not to call.  Sure these rules varied from person to person and relationship to relationship and situation to situation but there were protocols and courtesies.

I would never call someone at 1 AM unless it was an emergency, or unless the guy I was calling was most likely out and about as most of my friends were in their 20s.  But for the most part any call after 8 pm was questionable.  Likewise the early morning call usually waited for at least 8 AM on a workday (again unless you are talking about your dad in his drinking days and then that number was pushed to 1 PM at all times) or 10 AM on a weekend.

Now we have emails, texts, and so many other little digital dings.  People work around the clock.  Can't sleep?  Get up and finish that project and beat the rush and send off a good twenty emails because you need answers and people aren't up.  When people still were disconnected from their email, when someone would have to go sit down at his computer and connect on purpose to get his emails, this was still okay.  The email would be there when they got to it and just by them getting to it meant they were available.  Email in essence worked more like an answering machine for a missed phone call in those days.

But in today's age, we are ever connected.  We have our smart phones and tablets by our bedside and we have the constant ding of that incoming notification to tempt us from whatever activity.  All those geeky tech guys like your father schedule the menial task of mass email during low load times on the server which means 12 AM or 2 AM or whenever.  There is no second thought about sending off an email at the wee hours of the morning because we think it will not interrupt anyone and maintain that misconception that they will get to it when they are ready.

Many will point to the receiver of the email rather than the sender and say they should adjust.  They will claim that it isn't their fault the guy brings his ipad to his bed stand.  They will claim they are not demanding instantaneous answers, just getting things off their plate.  They will frame like it is a GTD (Get Things Done) initiative rather than some shortcoming of common decency.  They will say they have no control over their automated systems that send the email out then.  Some will even show you tools and work-arounds like the "Do Not Disturb" settings and such so you can fix it and they don't have to adjust.  I guess at first glance these are all logical arguments and in my younger tech days I have probably said all these things and more.  But the truth is it is just another example of how selfish our world has become.

When you move something off your plate, you move it onto another.  When you send twenty emails at night, the other guy went to bed with a clean plate and woke up to a full to do list.  When you send out mailers or automated systems and don't consider the base working hours, you scream that you are more important than the effort to change an automated task.  When you claim it is the "victims" responsibility to shield themselves from the barrage of emails at unacceptable hours, well you sound like the person saying "They obviously wanted it" because they didn't set up a filter or whatever.

As you go forward in life, realize that information is information and just because it is delivered in a new form doesn't mean all courtesies and respects and considerations fly out the door.  It is an evolving process as we get more and more connected in this world.  Think to yourself, as you hesitate over that send button for your text or email, would I call this person right now and bother them with this?  Or can it wait?  If you answer that it could wait, throw that response in a draft folder and send it later.  Don't make the other guy have to jump through hoops to protect his private time.  If I hear from parents of your friends or girlfriends that you somehow have lost respect for acceptable hours... well in our family lessons that are meant to reverse a bad behavior can be quite the production.

Of course my son this advice comes with a caveat.  You (and your mother and such) can always, no matter the time of day, call me, text me, email me, video conference me, mind meld with me, or whatever new form of communication jumps out. But as for the other avenues in my life, be it the promotional sign up for some store or casino, or be it that guy from work who just likes working at midnight, be forewarned that I will find and do business with those who take my time and timezone and acceptable communication hours seriously.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Cure For Social Media

To my son Tommy,

I think I found the perfect solution if I ever decided to give up on social media and TV media at the same time.  Simply have the State Of The Union aired every night.

As the #SOTU (as they called on Twitter) started, the Internet erupted on every platform I belong to.  Most of the tweets and status updates weren't worth spittle.  They remind me of a digital form of the lyrics from Buffalo Springfield when they say a thousand people are "Singing songs and carrying signs, mostly saying 'Hooray for our side'" except on a much grander scale than one thousand people.  It was a bunch of people talking all at once and people only hearing what they wanted to hear no matter what words were spoken.

I am not taking sides on any political debate here.  I am definitely not suggesting people shouldn't speak their minds.  I am just saying that people should think more before they engage and last night I didn't see that happening from all sides of all aisles.  Millions of people silently screaming through status updates all at the same time creates a noise level that for me just wasn't worth the effort to engage at that high of a level.  Social media can be a powerful tool but often it ends up like the blood thirsty crowds of the Colosseum.  Turning off and tuning out was actually empowering though probably not the best course of action to maintain my self as an engaged and informed citizen.  Don't do it often my son, but from time to time for reasons of mental health you have to sit back, disengage, and say "Enough is enough. Stop the noise!"  The State Of The Union address cured any addiction I have to social media, or at least for the time being.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Prayer List

To my son Tommy,

I won't be able to give you exact quotes even though I will be close enough to use quotation marks, and there is no way I can list all the people you added, but your prayers tonight were precious.  

After crossing ourselves, you started, "Dear God, thank you for the wonderful day and thank you for letting me eat dinner and thank you for stopping me from crying..."  You looked up, unsure of yourself, and asked me to continue instead.

"No.  You are doing great!  Please continue!" as I listened intently to what you have learned from our nightly prayers.

You repeated the first part this time adding, "and we pray for Nansy and pray for Mommy and pray for me and pray for Daddy and pray for Aunt LuAnn and pray for Bwama and pray for Pop-Pop and pray for Na and pray for Ryan and pray for Aunt Karen and pray for Uncles Chris and pray for Aunt Debbie and pray for Gabe and pray for Nana Jeanne and pray for Uncle Rob and pray for Emma and pray for...."  the list went on and on.  It included just about any name that came to your mind including what I assume is a good majority of your classmates and probably all of your family, even great aunts and uncles.  You always surprise me who is on your mind as you pull out some more obscure names that we haven't seen lately.  Some times it would seem as you were forgetting someone, but you always returned to family groups that were interrupted.  I suppose your mind was going faster than your lips and sometimes you would just have to throw in someone that came to mind right there and then.  I lost count at about fifty people but I sat there listening intently as you were on quite the roll.  Realizing you were starting to repeat a few, you looked at me and said, "I think that is enough for tonight."

I added "We ask this in the name of Christ our Lord.  Amen." and continued on with the Our Father.  We cut short the other three prayers we normally add as I figured your heartfelt inclusion of so many was more than enough.

I wonder if prayers are weighted?  I guess a prayer from any source, as long as it comes from the heart, holds equal importance, but hearing a prayer from a young innocent mouth sure makes me question that logic.  You make me so proud.

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo

Lost Gauze

To my son Tommy,

I don't want you to get the impression from these letters that the recent health issues with your mother are all solved.  It is funny that I sometimes ignore the most obvious and pressing issues in our life as I write to you.  I guess it is a form of escapism.

Your mom is home and has been since Thursday, though the night she came home we had a trip to an urgent care facility and almost ended up back in the hospital.  It seems, despite your mom's objections, that one of the nurses at the hospital used a two by two gauze while packing her wound.  When she went to unpack it at home, she had trouble finding the silver alginate they used and that opened her wound further, thus totally losing the gauze.  My first thought was to take her back to St Josephs so they could fix their mistake.  Your mother, not wanting to be admitted yet again, decided to try alternate methods.

We ended up going to Patient First and asked them to x-ray the wound to make sure the gauze was indeed in there and give us a direction to try and get it out.  At the time your mom was running a low grade fever as well and we were aware of this and just dealing with it.  Because of the fever, they wanted to do blood work and all types of extra things that I assume are very chargeable to the insurance company.  There was nothing that their labs would tell us that the blood work taken at the hospital earlier that day didn't already tell us.  It was kind of like coming in for a hang nail and them wanting to remove a kidney.  After some lengthy discussion they finally agreed to just x-ray your mom's belly.  After three hours of this whole ordeal, the doctor says they couldn't see anything and then informs us that regular gauze wouldn't even show up on an x-ray.

We went home and tried a couple things.  We used her wound vac to try to suck it out.  We even considered me grabbing her by the ankles and shaking her upside down.  In the end, it was your mother's determination and willingness to deal with pain that finally found and removed the gauze through plain old trial and error and digging with tweezers.

The next day, Patient First calls and says a radiologist reviewed the x-ray and we have to come in immediately for a cat-scan.  They saw a mass or something unexplainable and proceeded to describe the exact location of the gauze.  Your mom said, "Don't worry, I dug it out."  The nurse was astonished thinking that your mom had somehow dug out a tumor or something.  She explained it was the gauze that we were looking for and that they are more than a day late and we were now more than a dollar short.  They suggested she come back immediately for another x-ray to make sure she got everything.  She politely declined and said they got all the money they would get from us on this (and most likely any other) occasion.

Your mother, later telling the story on the phone to another, stopped and asked me if there was a patron Saint of lost gauzes.  I responded St Jude.  "I said gauzes not causes!" she added and I matter of factly responded, "Oh, well then St Anthony for lost items."  I credit my mom and her mom with my extensive Saintly knowledge, but I was definitely winging it this time with the lost gauze.  It was good to hear your mom laughing and she was again armed with the Patron Saint of Lost Gauze story for her next phone calls.

No matter if it is from St Jude or St Anthony or any of the Saints, your mom can still use their prayers.  She isn't feeling up to snuff yet.  She is still having a rough go of just about everything, from fevers to lack of appetite to pain and just general miserableness, but she is home and determined to stay out of the hospital.  She is still looking for explanations for and relief from various symptoms.  It is easy to feel abandoned in tough times, but we must persevere.  So fill the heavens with prayers for your mom and we will all try our hardest in the face of what seems like a never ending ordeal to have faith that things will get better.

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo

Tough Day

To my son Tommy,

You were passing notes with the girl two pews behind you, even enlisting the poor gentleman between you two to help and interrupting his churching.  You kept bowing to anyone who came up and down the main aisle.  You kept performing at the end of the pew for anyone who would pay attention.  You decided it was your job to raise your hand like the cantor to let the entire church know it was their turn to sing.  At communion you once again decided it is your job to sit in the confessional alcove and greet people as they come by, despite your father's request not to. You went up and down the pew three or four times throughout the Mass.  You refused to listen to just about anything your old man told you.  You cried and whined when he tried to correct you, sending your father's eyes to the heavens asking for patience and assistance and just a break.  It was a tough day at church but I am still glad I brought you.  No matter how trying it becomes, it is still very important and very worthwhile.  Sooner or later, as we keep going, you will figure it out.  Until then, I hope the people around us have a sense of humor and I am granted and gifted more patience from above.

Sincerely with love from your dad,

Leo

Duck Soup

To my son Tommy,

Last night you were being watched by your Grandpa Leo.  Everyone else was at the St Agnes Mens' Club Basket and Bag Bingo.  Your dad was working the charity event and all the women in your life were attending, so Grandpa Leo was the only option to watch you.  Trust me, he appreciated this opportunity because otherwise he would have to have been playing bingo next to your Grandma Roro.  Bingo isn't his thing.

It is always a crap shoot as to what you learn when I leave you alone with any of the Downey men.  Let's just say that the lessons you may receive are unique and possibly eccentric.  Last night was no different.

Evidently you taught Grandpa Leo about the talking duck.  The talking duck is another recurring character in your nightmares.  This completes the trifecta for talking about nightmares this week.  The talking duck often escapes your sleep time dreams and invades your waking imagination.  He will keep you from going up to your room to get toys.  Sometimes you say he is a friend, other times an enemy.

When we got home from our event, your grandfather gave us a run down of the night and mentioned that you and he discussed making duck soup.  I laughed because I knew the talking duck must have come up in conversation.  Your Grandpa Leo told you to tell me what you have in store for this duck menace.  Out of the blanket that you were wearing like a cape, you pull this plastic pirate dagger.  You explain that if the duck gets too close that we are having duck soup for dinner.  I am sure your granddad spent a good thirty minutes looking for a gun like toy before settling on the blade.

Even though he was having a bit of fun with you, because I know it wasn't coincidence that he kept referring to Duck Soup, your grandfather loves you immensely.  In the process, he empowered you to defeat this fear.  He used the tools of imagination, with the help of some cheap plastic props, to defeat one of your arch enemies of your imagination.  It is a good thing this talking duck most likely has AFLAC.  As for your grandfather, if you view him in comparison to Groucho Marx, you will understand more and more of his wisdom.

"Clear? Huh! Why a four-year-old child could understand this report! Run out and find me a four-year-old child, I can't make head or tail of it." Rufus T. Firefly (aka Groucho Marx in Duck Soup)

Sincerely with love from your dad,
Leo