Eye doctors rock!

Yesterday, I went to the eye doctor to find out what was going on with my eyes. The doctor was really nice, and she meant nothing but the best for me. I think my situation was a bit beyond her expertise though. Essentially, I think I really just freaked her out. She ended up telling my dad and I that I needed to be in the hospital somewhere—and right away. She said that my optical nerves were dangerously swollen; that's why I'm having the blurred vision. I think she actually said that I could end up with some seriously permanent vision problems or worse—that means death—I’m pretty sure.

“Hmmm, that's pretty cool,” I thought to myself, “maybe we should get me to somewhere where I won’t be facing such an imminent disaster.”

The funny thing about the whole situation was that after we were informed about the severity of it all, we ended up waiting like another hour or so for the doctor to talk to all of these other doctors in neighboring states and beyond (which was a beautiful gesture but ended up amounting to jack). Just after being told how dire my straights were, we were waiting around in the doctor’s office lobby—for the better part of an hour. I found the whole situation to be mildly comical to say the least (although our doctor was a sweetheart). She meant nothing but the best for me, and I honestly do appreciate everything that she attempted for me.


Sigh…now that that’s over. Here we are in North Carolina driving up to Johns-Hopkins and staying in hotels, motels and whatnots. If all goes well, I’ll be in the hospital come tomorrow. Maybe that’ll bring some kind of release to me and provide with some sense of Karmic retribution in these strange times—but probably not. I never would’ve thought that I’d be here right now, but I also never would’ve imagined all of the other things that have happened. It’s a pretty strange world—er life—I guess.

Ooh... this is what I get to eat right now!

So take a look at what I get to eat right now. Just one word sums it all up: sprouts. These little unassuming babes of the plant kingdom are evidently the gems of my little nutritional world at the moment. There's only one saddening side note in this little tale: I haven't had bread in about two months (This includes biscuits, and I'm not too happy about that--not one bit). Who ever would have thought that a deliciously rich buttermilk biscuit would be so disastrously poisonous for such a well-intentioned chap as myself? Not I.

Anyway, I’m drifting away from my madly engaging dietary diatribe. Ok so I also have to drink two “juices” in the morning. Now the word juice brings to mind sweet little concoctions that may or may not contain blends of delicious ripened bananas, oranges, mangos, and lemons. I think you get the picture. Not here though. These juices are composed of two items and two items alone: wheatgrass and blue-green algae.

Wheatgrass, like any grass, is a healthy choice for bovine animals and cute cuddly critters that eat it when they feel sick—oh and me, too. Unfortunately, I have to drink 2 oz. of this stuff twice a day. It wasn’t so bad at first, but now, yuck! I’ve had it explained to me that wheatgrass juice is the highest juice in chlorophyll—a compound similar to hemoglobin in the blood. That’s pretty cool, I guess, but does that help me with this lumbering giant growing in my head? Eh, the jury’s still out on that one.




Blue-green algae, the delicious beverage in the would-be coffee mug above, on the other hand is somehow remarkably similar to human DNA. I don't quite know how, but it's so close in fact that it’s rumored to actually affect our makeup. This means that people with comparatively weak constitutions can strengthen them by consuming just a few ounces of blue-green algae every day. Does this mean it’ll work for everyone? Probably not, but I think that it’ll work for some of us. Again, this isn’t really something that is going to keep the giant out of my head, but it’s something to remember for the future.

Goliath and I: the 3rd

This is what I feel like at the moment. These massive glaring eyes, overcome by fatigue and riddled with fear--not the best place to be, I guess. Hmmm... this doesn't really look at all like me, but I also really don't care. Here's me sticking my tongue out at you, myaaaaaaaaahhh.

I think I may have noticed my vision returning to normal--just by a little bit--today. I noticed that the clarity of the branches outside was like it used to be. Now I don't want to be all crazy about it, but I really need something to actually be improving here rather than slowly degrading. The vision problems have been really nasty over the last few weeks anyway. I'd love it if those decided to skee-daddle.

I do all of my best thinking at night. Last night I decided that I can't afford to be unhappy--in the slightest bit--anymore. I think the line I came up with was. "If you're not loving life, then what the hell is the point of living it at all?" The importance of this quote cannot be left to the dire straits of the blogosphere, oh loyal reader. We need to love our lives, not just live our lives. The last four years, I've simply been living my life. Some days were good, many days were not so good. Unfortunately, every day should be great or at least the attempt at it's greatness should be made. If I can't make an absolutely solid attempt at making my life really fantastic every day, then I need to change something about my lifestyle.

Goliath & I: 2.0

Beach, Florida, friends: these are all good times. Unfortunately, this is not like today's or most of my recent past experiences, though. Today was rough at the start to say the least: not only have I been having really bad vision problems due to either the Dexamethasone or the lumbering Goliath itself, but I've also been having some less-than-desirable cold symptoms as well. Oh please, can I have both a giant tumor in my head and a cold at the same time. I don't think that's nearly enough punishment. Anything else you wanna give me? How 'bout some more cancer or maybe, hmmm let's see, I haven't had any terminally fatal blood disorders yet. Maybe I'll get one of those. As you can see, my morning was less than stellar to begin.

I'm going up to Baltimore to John's-Hopkins Bayview on Sunday with my family to meet with one Dr. Quinones who will be the executive-managing-super authoratitve Doctor during my surgery. This means that his hands would actually be making physical contact with my brain--neato. Not that it matters, but I don't know that I want his filthy hands touching my brain. It is mine after all, and I don't want anyone's damn hands touching it.

Needless to say, this experience is scary. Just meeting with a Doctor for a consultation scares the s--- out of me. I don't get the impression that any of the doctors really care. What happens if I have serious language problems afterward? What if I don't recover completely? What if my vision never returns to normal? What if Goliath gets pissed off that somebody's trying to remove him, and, like the incredible hulk, he swells up with violent rage?

Goliath and I: An Introduction

This is my first post on this new blog. What do I hope to accomplish through it you ask? I hope to let everything loose that I haven't had an opportunity to purge from myself in the last four years. They (and don't ask who they are because I'm not quite sure) say that cancer, yes cancer is what I have, can at least partially derive from a stockpiling of emotions that are never really dealt with. Well OK then: Goliath is my big-little emotional build up that I just never really dealt with over the course of the four years that I've been living in Philly.

I better deal with it now-or else.