Daily Archives: August 17, 2009

Frank

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What follows Robert Frank’s The Americans?

In part it has to be the act of looking at Robert Frank.  When looking at any two pictures of his, you’re looking at three.  The first, the subsequent, and the third that consists only of the connection between the sense of the two other pictures.  The third, the richest of all, exists entirely in your head.  It does little good (certainly lesser good) to look at a Frank picture on its own – they were not meant to stand alone, though many are quite capable of doing so.  I doubt that there’s a single Frank image that doesn’t reference all those that precede it, or even the ones that are to come.

So you really can’t take a picture of a Frank picture.  Unless of course you do it obliquely.  Or take a picture of people looking at Frank pictures.  Or snap one of the throwaways.  All of the dang throwaways.

That guy took a header straight into the maw of life.

Temperature Stats

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After my simulation my friend Danny and I sat for a while in the lobby of Mt. Zion discussing the course of treatment.

The stats:

Without radiation:  40-90% of recurrence.  100% chance of losing the facial nerve with further surgery.  In addition 2-5% chance of malignancy.  Using ballpark math, that equates to a 1- 4.5% chance of having a malignant tumor or and/or a 40-90% chance of eventually losing the facial nerve.

With radiation:  5% chance of recurrence.  And a .001% chance of a secondary malignant tumor unrelated to the parotid.  Plus the side effects.  That leaves me with:  .025% chance of a malignant parotid tumor, a 2 – 4.5% of losing the facial nerve from a recurrent benign parotid tumor, a .001% chance of a secondary malignant tumor, and a 100% chance of reduced blood flow to my jaw and teeth, as well as heightened sensitivity to the sun.

Of course, the stats are generated by people.  And in general I don’t trust people.

Can I have a moment to think about it?

While pondering this with Danny, a crew of firemen charged into the building and anxiously began examining some piece of equipment behind us.

You never know what or when its going to blow.

© Andrew Lewis

© Andrew Lewis

Friends

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These pictures were taken during my simulation in which they made my mask and made some tomographic images to develop my treatment plan.

© Andrew Lewis

© Andrew Lewis

I’m becoming pretty intimate with this machine.  The green laser beam is used to line up my body so the right areas get zapped.  The lining up part still seems a little fishy to me.

© Andrew Lewis

© Andrew Lewis

The radiation oncology resident taped a wire onto my neck so they could better identify the surgery field that had been dissected.  I like this picture because it feels particularly corpse like.  It’s always a nice reminder.  Apologies to those who don’t want to be reminded.

© Andrew Lewis

© Andrew Lewis

This is my friend.  They created the mask during my simulation in a process that was similar to water boarding except without the torture.  They soaked the compound-impregnated mesh cloth in warm water, draped it over my face and bolted it to the table.  My hands were bound with strips of cloth, pulled down and tied to my feet (the idea being to keep my shoulders taut).  I lay there for 20 minutes, waiting for the thing to harden.  I like the anguished  Munsch-like rictus – if ever there were an outer expression of my inner state of being.

Note the masking tape with the guidelines penned in with a felt-tipped marker.  The mouth prosthesis intended to keep my tongue in place was fashioned from a popsicle stick, half a piece of cork, some masking tape, and a pack of sculpy.  We’re talking Apollo 13, here.

I love these guys.

Fog Horn

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I awoke this morning for the first time in San Francisco feeling a little scared.  I lay for a long time in the darkness listening to the wind chimes and the dirge of the fog horns.

I dreamt last night that I was being chased by a man on a motorcycle.  It was dusk.  I was in a moving truck and I pulled off the road into a snowy field.  I climbed out and dove head long into the snow and I buried myself many feet below except that I closed myself in entirely and then I could no longer move.  I could no longer breathe.

I read last night about competing methods of rt and was reminded again that this is no child’s play.  This shit is something that under normal circumstances one tries to avoid.  How could I so willfully and with relatively little forethought have subjected myself to it?  I’ve probably spent more time deliberating over whether to purchase a particular car.

Last night I also cruised through message board posts from people with questions who were undergoing similar treatment.  Call it bad popcorn.  There is so much body wreckage minor and major in this mine field – I don’t want to tread it.  Except that I am.  I awaken right in the middle of it.