10.20.2008 | 10:55 pm
I love stories. I love listening to people tell stories, and I love to cram my own experiences into stories, changing, creating, and ignoring events as necessary to fit the pace I like. Eventually, I expect that today (i.e., Monday) — which started for me at 12:15 this morning — will resolve into a story.
Right now, though, it’s an extraordinary jumble of events that I have a difficult time believing fit into a single day.
I have a suspicion I won’t get to sleep until I type all this down — not sure why that’s true, but it is — and since hundreds of you took the time to express support to my quick message earlier today, I figure a lot of you would appreciate knowing what’s going on (as far as I know).
Monday, Just After Midnight
Susan woke me with these words: “I think I’m dying.”
I can’t remember what the order of my responses were, since they all gushed out of me in pretty much random order. I asked her what was wrong. I asked if I should call 911 or the oncologist. I told her she wasn’t dying. I asked her what I should do.
But Susan wanted to tell me she loved me and that she would miss me and the kids. And she was apologizing for having to die. And she couldn’t breathe.
I told her she couldn’t die and that I wouldn’t allow it. She looked at me, perplexed. My permission didn’t have anything to do with it.
But I could at least make phone calls.
I called the on-call oncologist first. He said I needed to call 911 and get my wife to the emergency room.
I called our neighbors second, told them I needed someone to come stay with the kids.
And I called 911 third. Weirdly, I took pride in the fact that even in the state I was in, I was answering questions calmly. I knew our phone number, for example, and my wife’s age and birthday and what meds she’s on. What a cool head I am.
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t necessary for the dispatcher to send the police and fire department along with the ambulance. At one point, there were nine people in our bedroom.
By the time they loaded her into the ambulance, Susan was only semi-conscious.
Then we went to the hospital.
At the Hospital
Susan started feeling some better as soon as she got some oxygen, at which point she started feeling like it had been a silly idea for her to come to the hospital at all. She also got it into her head that everyone thought she was either ridiculous or faking it.
I couldn’t convince her otherwise. And she still can’t shake these new feelings of intense anxiety and embarrassment.
This isn’t like Susan and it scares me more than when she couldn’t breathe.
The thing is, Susan’s vital signs weren’t bad at all. Which is nothing at all like saying, “she’s fine.” It just means that whatever’s wrong isn’t something an emergency room doctor can fix with a pill or an IV.
They wanted to run tests, but I knew — yes, “knew:” it’s strange how much practical medical knowledge a normal person can quickly gain when it’s relevant — that the tests wouldn’t lead to a conclusion that would be immediately helpful to us, and I furthermore knew that this hospital doesn’t play well with my insurance company.
So I told them I wanted to consult with Susan’s regular oncologist to get the tests he wanted.
That’s fine, the doctor said. And then, the Twilight Zone moment of the night. The ER doctor said, “Hey, do you happen to know Rick Sunderlage?”
“That’s not his real name,” I replied. The doctor didn’t get it, so I amended, “Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine.”
“Huh. We ride together,” said the doctor.
Small world. Or at least, small town.
So that brings us to about 4:00 am.
This Morning…And Afternoon
I got Susan home, and was so glad we have the ramp my friends built a couple months ago. Susan was really weak, totally unable to use the walker, and not very lucid.
Thanks to the ramp (built by the core team), the wheelchair (donated by a Fat Cyclist reader), and the stairlift (paid for by jersey sales to the Friends of Fatty), I had no difficulty getting Susan into our second story bedroom.
Which is to say, I owe a very large thanks to my friends — the ones I know and the ones I don’t — who have helped me set things up to take care of Susan.
We got to bed and slept in. Luckily, the kids had the day off school.
Once we were up, I set up an appointment at the oncologist’s. Unfortunately, he’s on vacation, so we had to make do with the nurse practitioner. We’ve met with her before though, and she’s helpful.
I told the nurse my two theories on what could be wrong. We’ve been tapering Susan’s Decadron dosage (again), and things went bad the day after we dropped to 4mg / day. We’ve had bad results before when trying to get off the steroids, so maybe that was it.
My other theory — the one I hate but can’t shake — is that the brain tumors are back.
The nurse agreed either of them could account for what’s going on. So we’ve upped Susan’s Decadron dosage back to 6mg / day. The nurse also scheduled an MRI for Susan’s brain on Wednesday. Shortly (an hour or so) after that, we’ll have a meeting with the oncologist.
And then we went home. To wait. Susan says she doesn’t even want to know. And a big chunk of me doesn’t want to know, either.
On the way home, we stopped by the grocery store, so I could pick up a prescription and a couple gallons of milk. Inside, it occurred to me that I hated being in a grocery store right then. So many people giving “polite stranger” smiles, and probably wondering why I didn’t return their smiles. I didn’t mean to be rude; I just wasn’t able to smile right then.
Now
Two different neighbors took it upon themselves to bring dinner tonight. Both of the dinners were big enough to feed us for two nights. So we’re set for dinner for most of the rest of the week. I have great neighbors.
I’ve got the kids in bed, I’ve got the house straightened, I’ve got the dishwasher running, I’ve got one load of laundry in the washing machine, another in the dryer. I’ve got Susan asleep, medicated with her new higher dosage of Decadron. If we’re lucky, that will have been the problem and she’ll wake up feeling better and stronger.
I can’t remember ever being so simultaneously hopeful and scared for what the morning will bring.
PS: Morning Update: Susan’s able to get around with the walker today, much as she has been for a while. Very encouraging.
Comments (179)
10.20.2008 | 10:47 am
Susan couldn’t breathe last night, so she got her first ride in an ambulance. We spent most of last night in the emergency room, but Susan’s case isn’t the kind of emergency they’re used to dealing with.
I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t have time to write. I’ll explain when I understand and have a moment.
We appreciate your thoughts and prayers.
- Elden
Comments (341)
10.15.2008 | 8:00 am
I don’t think I’ve ever loved a road or trail the first time I’ve ridden it. No, the first ride is always a little anxious: will this road expose my weaknesses (technical downhilling) or play to my strengths (umm…)? Will I get lost (yes, I constantly worry about getting lost)?
And the biggy: Will I run out of steam before I run out of ride?
The truth is, I don’t really start liking a road route / trail until I’ve ridden it three or five times.
And I expect it’s not at all insignificant that all of my very favorite rides are ones I’ve been on for years and years.
Likewise, while I’m always excited to get a new bike, I am usually at a loss for an answer when — during the inaugural outing — someone asks how I like it. Because usually I just don’t know yet. There’s too much new about it. The geometry is new, the parts are new, maybe even the kind of bike is new.
How does the new bike feel? It feels new. I’l get back to you on how I like it after I’ve been riding it for a month.
Epiphany
So something occurred to me yesterday: Practically everything I like about biking has to do with familiarity and tradition.
I like riding the trails and roads I’ve been riding for years — in fact, when we moved back to Utah, my one stipulation to Susan was that I wanted to be close to American Fork Canyon.
I like riding with the friends I’ve ridden with for years. I’ve known the guys in the Core Team for a minimum of 8 years. Most I’ve known since before Susan and I had kids.
And I like events that I’ve done for years. Like the way I’ve done the Leadville 100 an even dozen times now. I don’t keep doing that race because I’ve got something to prove (though I’d definitely like to prove something). I keep doing it because I love the tradition of the event.
In other words, I like cycling because — in addition to the exercise and adventure — it is one of the best constants in my life. I like it for its familiarity and tradition.
Fall Moab
So, with that said, you should be able to guess why I’m excited for November 7-9. It’s when a bunch of us — the core team and a number of core team interns — get together for a long weekend of riding. It’s a perfect storm of mountain biking tradition: it’s the guys I like riding with, riding trails I love to ride, in an annual event that becomes increasingly storied.
And as of last night, the first part of the Fall Moab tradition happened: Kenny sent out his annual Fall Moab poster (usually based on a recent film).
Kenny is a genius.
Hard Question
I have to ask myself: is this gravitation toward the familiar a sign (ie, yet another sign) that I’m getting old? That I’m set in my ways and uninterested in trying something new?
Or am I normal (at least in that regard)? Do all cyclists gravitate to the familiar?
Here’s a way to test how important tradition in cycling is to you: Which would you rather give up: your favorite ride, or one of your fingers?
Some of you will respond, quite sensibly, "There are always new rides out there; I’ve only got the fingers I’ve got."
As for myself, I saw the question as an interesting challenge to figure out which finger I use least.
Comments (60)
10.13.2008 | 10:02 am
A Note from Fatty: Everyone makes choices as to what’s important enough to spend a lot of time with, and I’ve (clearly) made a decision that this blog is one of those things.
The thing is, without my noticing it (until very recently), my life has gotten out of balance. There are people and things I have neglected, and I need to make some adjustments.
I know I’m being vague here. That’s on purpose. I’ve got my reasons.
What I’m saying is, expect kinda light posting for a bit, starting with this grab bag of non-related-but-still-interesting tidbits.
CycleDog Flies the Fat Cyclist Flag on TV
CycleDog was on the Tulsa, OK news recently, talking about why he bike commutes…and he’s wearing a pink Fat Cyclist jersey while doing so.
Nice work, CycleDog!
About the Raffle Second Place Winner
A lot of you were wondering — as was I — why the second place winner for the raffle last week didn’t bother emailing me.
Well, it turns out she had a pretty good reason: she was in Hawaii, kicking butt at the Kona Ironman. Congratulations, Charisa Wernick, on a great race, and on winning second prize in the Ciclismo Classico raffle!
I’ll let Charisa tell a little about herself:
My blog is, http://charisawernick.blogspot.com/. I am a triathlete, in Hawaii right now. This was my 2nd time competing in the Kona IronMan.
I sell microscopes for a living – it’s a small business that my Dad and I run. (www.microscopeworld.com). My husband recently started cycling (I’ll be giving the jerseys I won to him, so THANK YOU!).
I absolutely love cycling – it’s so awesome how many places your bike can take you!
You know something I’m noticing? Every time I learn something about any of the Fat Cyclist readers, I’m fascinated by who they are, why they ride, and what they do. I seriously have no idea why I have such an interesting set of readers / friends, but I like it.
Be sure, by the way, to read Charisa’s account of her race. It’s almost enough to make me want to try triathlons. Except for the swimming part, which I continue to never want to do.
And her description doesn’t help.
About That Ride for Awareness
Last Saturday, I showed up at SLC Bicycle for Trek’s Annual WSD Breast Cancer Awareness Ride.
Rain, wind, and snow showed up, too.
My intentions were good, but my threshold for pain was low. Which is to say, while I originally intended to do the 25-mile version, I made a game-time decision to do the ten mile version, and even that seemed a little long.
I am a pansy.
The good news, though, is others across the country showed up for the ride, raising money and awareness for one of the most common forms of cancer there is.
And a couple people sent me photos. Here’s Ro and Laurie, after their ride in Ventura (Ro drove 1.5 hours to get to the ride — way to go, Ro!):
And here’s Clay’s twin girls before their ride in Stillwater:
I think Clay will agree with me: there’s nothing better than to be a dad of twin girls (at least at this age — I reserve the right to reassess once they’re teenagers).Big props to Trek for supporting the fight against cancer (and for making that the focus of their current home page).
Comments (35)
10.10.2008 | 6:32 am
A Note from Fatty: You need to go on a ride tomorrow, right? Well, why don’t you go on Trek’s Breast Cancer Awareness Ride? I’ll be at the ride starting at the SLC Bicycle Co, wearing my awesome new 2009 Fat Cyclist jersey. I plan to bring a few more of these jerseys to give away. If you’re inthe SLC area, why don’t you register and come ride with me? And if you’re not in the SLC area, why don’t you register and go ride starting from the Trek dealership near you?
As many of you have commented, the 2009 Fat Cyclist jerseys have arrived from manufacturing. Those of you who pre-ordered are starting to get them. Once all the exchanges are taken care of, so that everyone who pre-ordered has a jersey that fits, we’ll put the rest up for sale. Probably in late November.
My opinion is these are the best-made, most-comfortable Fat Cyclist jerseys yet. And now they’re manufactured in the U.S., even.
My twins think they make fantastic PJs.
Of course, I was only able to get them to smile for the above picture if I promised to let them pose how they wanted for another.
I have no idea where they get their goofy sense of humor.
PPS: the hidden-behind-the-center-pocket message is awesome. And so true!
Comments (47)
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