Author: Jgknjlapk

Spring is such a wonderful time of year. The weather changes from the cold long winter to the warming of our local climate in the Philadelphia/Delaware Valley area. April showers and the greenery of the landscape brighten our days. A beautiful thing it is. Spring also meant that Joey would be returning home from his hockey home. This year Bradford, Ontario. He usually can’t wait for his journey back from the Canadian great white North. It’s crazy cold up there. For Nick, his seasons in sunny California haven’t changed a bit. “Paradise”, he says. The end of March or beginning of April for me means, for my treatment current protocol, that I will head to Hanahmen Hospital for my annual bloodwork. Only once a year for the past seven years. No Dr. Dave anymore though. This visit will be a little sad without his contagious chutzpah. Dr. Mike Styler had taken over for Dave and apparently was overwhelmed. The staff at I Brodsky and Associates knew that the end was near. The administration was cutting back on everything, including Doctors, Nurses and support staff. My appointment dragged on as I waited to be seen after the obligatory bloodwork. Dr. Mike apologized for the delay and we chatted while waiting for the preliminary results to come through.

One of the nurses popped her head into the exam room and handed the CBC report to Dr. Mike. I wasn’t too worried about the results. It had been eight years since my last relapse and that was artificially created by my decision to go off of my drug Gleevec. That was a trial initiated by Dr. Druker, the creator of Gleevec to see if I could sustain a permanent remission. I explained this scenario in a past blog. It didn’t work. Back on the drugs. Fast forward, Dr. Mike looked a little pale. He stared at the paperwork with no reply. I stared at him. I knew that this was not good. A been there, done that moment. My WBC, White cell blood count was 18,000. I was not sick. I hadn’t been sick. Why was my count rising? WTF!! DR. Styler was baffled. I was led back out to the lab to draw more blood, repeat the WBC. I would wait for the results only to be disappointed again. The PCR genetic test would take about ten days to complete and tell us more information and confirmation about the possible return of my CML. No doubt though. My Leukemia was back. Dr Mike told me to hang in there until the results were back from the PCR test. He would then contact me immediately.

The Rock was back. That damn rock! Hanging over my head. Ready to drop again. What’s next Leukemia? I fuc#@ng hate you! What do I say to my family? How do I tell them…Again! It’s baacckk! For now, I tell no one. No need to cause a ruckus. I’ll wait to get the final test result confirming my new relapse. Then, I’ll tell Lor. Just Lor. And we’ll be heartbroken…all over again.

Next Up: Course of Action

On a terribly sad note, yesterday, 8/22/22, another lovely soul passed due to the disastrous effects of cancer. Specifically, Pancreatic Cancer. Fran Baker fought valiantly as she withered away over a relatively short period of time. A pretty, petite and quiet person, Fran was married to a great customer and friend of ours, Paul Baker. Paul adored Fran. He lavished her with beautiful gifts of Antique and estate style jewelry. The older, the better. He would always call the store to see if we had received any new relics for him to look at for Fran. And always, we jousted over the price. It was always enjoyable. Paul was devastated by Frans diagnosis. He was with her side by side throughout every treatment, every, appointment, every moment, with every ounce of hope he had in him. Until the moment the cancer took her life, he stood by her, hoping for a miracle. The miracle was their story though. Meeting in their midlife, marrying, loving and enjoying each other every day. Never an argument, never a doubt. Theirs was a fairytale moment in time. Rest in peace Fran. It was a pleasure to know you.

The new year came and went as 2018 would hopefully usher in a better year than last. I was struggling mightily with the consequences of my brain hemorrhage. This was no joke. Doctor Gooch was right. I needed a good three months of work and stress free existence. We all know that that didn’t happen and I’m paying for it now. No time to complain though, life goes on. A great celebration was coming up. Sixteen years prior, I was setting goals. Way back in my blog, I wrote that I would be blessed to be able to see Nick graduate from kindergarten. That was a major milestone in my battle with CML that I would reach after so much fight and resilience. It was an incredibly emotional time for me and accomplished right before my first major relapse. Now, I was going to see my boy graduate from college. Who would have thought! Lori and I were so proud. After five years of hard work and perseverance, Nick would be graduating from Temple University Fox School of Business with degrees in Real Estate and Risk Management. The ceremony was fabulous! Held at the Liacouras Center on Temple’s main campus, we had a whole contingency of family attend. Afterwards, we had a great luncheon in town, a glorious day. The happiness we felt for Nick went hand in hand with the sadness we had in our hearts because he would be leaving in a few days for his new career in Los Angeles. So far away, we already had plans to visit in the summer. Lor cried at the airport when we dropped him off for his flight. My tears waited until he went into the terminal. Nick was a smart, handsome, confident and determined young man. “He’ll be fine”, I said to Lori in the car. “He’ll be fine”.

We cruised through Valentines Day at the store a week later and prepared for the winter blues. Usually, after that holiday, we waited for the tax refund money to start flowing. Engagement ring sales would shoot up as that extra influx of funds helped our customers out who were looking to pop the question. We were happy to oblige. I needed a gift too. The end of February was my wedding anniversary. Married on the 29th of February, leap day, I always joked that since the date was not on the calendar but every fourth year, I had two or three days to come up with a gift. The 28th of February, the 29th of February or the 1st of March! All kidding aside, this year was 26 years. An important number in our family. Lori’s birthday was on the 26th, Nick’s was too. Joey wore the number 26 as his jersey number from when he started playing Junior hockey as a tribute to his Mom and Nick. Kicked me to the curb eh!

Our story began when my brother Glenn had a vacation he had planned, stymied by a work obligation thrown at him at the last minute. A week in Puerto Rico was mine if I wanted it and could quickly arrange transportation. Hell yeah! I asked my friend Eric Cutler if he wanted to go and off we went. A week at the El San Juan hotel. A nice but hot week in July of 1990. We arrived on a Friday morning, relaxed for the afternoon and headed out to dinner at the hotel restaurant and Casino. During dinner, we noticed a trio of pretty young ladies having dinner in the restaurant at the same time. We made our way over to their table and started up a conversation after we had finished our meal. Lori Ann, Valarie and RoseAnn were their names and they were definitely not from Philadelphia. Their distinct New York accents were both loud and prominent in our conversation as we tried to talk over the surrounding noise and local band playing in the venue. I was mostly speaking with Lori and having a nice time connecting with her. The night flew by and the girls excused themselves, going back to their hotel a few blocks away around 1 AM. Eric had left about an hour earlier. I was wide awake and feeling great. I wandered over to the casino and tried my luck at the Roulette table. Having never played before, I started out watching other players and their strategies. At 4 am, the casino closed down and I cashed out with $2800 dollars in chips pouring out of my pants pockets. Holy Sh@*%^t! What a night!

The next day, Eric and I spent time on the beach and decided to head over to the Sands Hotel and Casino for dinner. The girls had mentioned that they were staying there until Sunday and we figured that maybe we would run into them again. That we did and they said that they had made reservations at our hotel and would be heading that way soon. With time to kill, I convinced Eric to join me in the casino before going back to the El San Juan. I was on a roll. Two hours later and $500 dollars up, I figured that we better go back and try to meet up with the New Yorkers. Our cab pulled up in front of the hotel literally as they were walking out. One more minute later and we would have missed them. Talk about fate. RoseAnn and Valarie excused themselves whlie Lori agreed to join me and hang out in the club for a little while longer. A little while longer lasted until 2 AM. The conversation was just amazing and the connection even better. I walked her out of the hotel and we strolled along the beach towards the Sands while the light of the moon and stars lit our way. We stopped and sat on a large boulder that presented an opportunity for me to write my cell phone number down for her and then get her info as well. All of a sudden, a loud burst of thunder and big bolt of lightning ruined the moment. We walked quickly along the fence that separated the beach from the hotel parking lots, trying to beat the impending onslaught of a tropical thunderstorm. We reached the gate for the Sands only to find it locked. The public access was about another block away. We ran to the open gate as the skies opened up. I pulled this beautiful young lady under a huge Palm tree to escape the monsoon descending upon us and made my move. Lip to lip, it was about as romantic as you could get! A Harlequin novel written in real time. As the rain started to subside, another mad dash to the hotel entrance, an elevator ride to her floor and another kiss at her door. I waited a sec as she closed the door and listened as the conversation got loud on the other side. Undoubtedly, an excited exchange. I hoped it was promising.

28 years later, was it our 26th anniversary….?? There was no 29th of February on the calendar this year. Doesn’t matter, every year is leap year…For us.

Next Up: That Damn Rock

As we spend time preparing for our Thanksgiving festivities,the turkey, the sides, the massive assortment of pies and desserts that land on our tables across America… Our families rejoice in this feast and celebrate together the great things that keep us unified. To me, it is a one day holiday respite before the onslaught of the Holiday shopping season. From Black Friday to Christmas Eve, the holiday shopping season encompasses both holidays of Christmas and Hanukkah and the mad spree that fits in to those twenty seven or so days between Thanksgiving day and Christmas day. To the jewelry industry, it’s usually a make it or break it month. As I have written about before, December is the most important month of the business year.

The season ramps up at a fast and furious pace. The closer we get to December 24th, the business done and customer count becomes exponentially greater every day. It’s grueling, tiring and satisfying all at once. I usually love playing Santa Claus. Not this year. My exit meeting with Dr. Gooch at Jefferson was untenable. How was I supposed to take three months off of work? I know….my brain was severely traumatized. I know…the blood was still putting pressure in my skull. I know…the vibrations still occurring in my brain were no good. I know…the pain was unrelenting and distracting as well as the painkillers needed to help me. I know…that I had no other choice. Weather the storm. Work twenty seven days in a row. Suck it all up for the sake of your customers and your bottom line. There was no other way out. I had to do it. I am the business.

My first day back, Black Friday, was terrible.Lori had to drive me to work. I wasn’t allowed to get behind the wheel for a few weeks. Part of my recovery. Waiting on customers was brutal. My head was pounding, I couldn’t focus well and I was constantly speaking off key. Making stupid mistakes calculating pricing and discounts was a normal occurrence. My memory was minimal at best. Regular customers names eluded me. Luckily, everyone that came into the store really understood the situation and gave me a break. Nadine and Sheree just did their best to keep me propped up and representing. It was so hard. When the store was empty, I would crawl up in my office chair and close my eyes. I would remain like that as long as possible to rest my brain and get ready for the next wave. Needless to say, this was “The Christmas From Hell”.

As each day passed, I became weaker and weaker. I could barely keep my eyes open. The holiday grind would wear down the best of us. It was killing me. One day during the last week of the season, a young man, a regular customer, stopped in to let his wife pick out her Xmas gift. She was looking for a pair of diamond hoop earrings. I spoke to him while Nadine helped his wife choose her gift. He seemed down. Not his usual self. He explained to me that his father had just passed away. Two weeks before Christmas. How sad is that? He had a young son who wouldn’t get to know his grandfather. Just awful. “What happened”, I asked. His dad was only 62 years old. ” He collapsed at home with massive pain in his head. The ambulance came and took him to Nazareth hospital where he was diagnosed with a Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage. He was loaded into a helicopter and was on his way to Jefferson Neurological Hospital when he coded and passed in the air.” I listened intently to his story recounting the exact same reality that I had experienced only one month prior. For whatever reason, I was spared another mans fate and still alive and here to listen to this young man’s story. I was numb, lucky, blessed, all of the above. I didn’t recount my story to him. Survivors guilt overcame me once again.

As the season wore down and came to an end, I was a veritable vegetable. Completely worn out and down for the count. I would need weeks of down time after this ridiculous feat of stupidity. Nevertheless, I survived both the Brain injury and the Holiday season. It was time to heal now. Hopefully the damage to my brain didn’t get any worse. It may just take more time to get normal again. How long? Who knows. Could be years. My appointment at the Neurologist was around the corner. We shall see.

Next Up: 26 Years

The long and arduous journey that lay in front of me couldn’t have come at a worse time. The two to three weeks that I would remain in the Jefferson ICU, would literally come to an end right before Thanksgiving. A mere few days before Black Friday and the start of my big season. Twenty six straight days of long hours and running around the store at a frenetic pace. How the hell will I be able to do that! Dr. Gooch basically told me that I would need to stop working and take at least three months off, then gradually return to the store. Obviously, he never worked in the jewelry industry. That would never happen. My routine in the brain injury and stroke unit was basically a repetitious regimen of drugs, ultrasounds, constant checks by the nurses and residents. Every four hours, a nurse came in with two humongous football shaped pills for me to choke down. I forget the name of those pills but their purpose was to stop any vibration in my brain. To dry up the large amount of blood swirling around in my skull. Whatever. They were nasty. What else was nasty? The constant sound of Snap, Crackle and Pop in my brain. Like Rice Krispies popping constantly out of my ears as the pain kept throbbing throughout and the blood dried inside. The Percocet every four hours kept the edge off most of the time. There was no stimulation like my phone or TV. Too much on the brain at this point and kept off at the request of the doctors.

My mornings everyday started with the loud shouts that came from outside my room. The staff would literally have morning Pep rallies at the front nurses station. A lot of loud gestures and shouting like they were getting ready for a hockey game. It was annoying when your roommate was groaning in pain and hitting the call button over and over again. With no response. Until of course the final “Whoop” went up and the shift got moving. “Ridiculous” I thought. After breakfast, every morning around 11 am, the Ultrasond tech would come in with her machine and do a comprehensive study of my brain, neck and chest. The gel was always so cold. This would happen three times a day…for almost three weeks. Resident doctors came in constantly to review my condition and examine my head, neck and groin.

It was tough for family and friends to visit. Although they wanted to. I wasn’t the best of company and Jefferson not the easiest place to come down to. My parents, Lori, Nick, Aunt Roseann and maybe a few more. It was boring. The only excitement was when my roommates went crazy and had to be moved into private rooms or rushed to the operating room. It was a crazy place and three weeks was gonna kill me. The way I felt though, I had no choice.

A Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage is a mostly or highly fatal brain injury. For some reason, high blood pressure, weak veins, medically induced/drug damage, trauma, whatever in that class of all of the above that can cause a blood vessel to burst and cause massive brain damage or death to an unexpecting victim. I was very fortunate to survive mine. Survivors of Subarrachnoid Hemorrhages face months to years of recovery. Many trips to the Neurologist for follow up visits and cat scans to rule out additional points of interest and the chance of relapse. Memory issues are common as well as extreme fatigue. These issues can go on for years or worse for many patients who digress in their quality of life. No driving either for like 3 months or more, depending on the recuperation period of each patient.

One morning, a young nurse was given the job to change my IV that was in my forearm for the last ten days. Well, I am a bad stick. After three tries, she gave up and called in a male nurse. Three or four more pokes and I was still not done. I had enough. The expert called in was an older Philippino nurse who handled it well and showed up the youngsters. Thank God. Getting stuck with a thick IV needle really sucks. Getting stuck like seven times…awful! The days wore on and Dr. Gooch came by regularly to check on my progress and fill me in on the test results being generated everyday. I was getting there. The vibrations in my skull were lessening and the chances for relapse becoming rarer. All good signs that I was improving and surviving this debacle. The nights were long, the days, the same.

Lori came down to get me out a few days before Thanksgiving. Our meeting with Dr. Gooch lasted about one hour as he detailed the extensive amount of do’s and don’ts for my rehab and recuperation. It was wonderful to see daylight and feel the fresh air as we made our way to the car. I was pretty shaky. My release date was November, 21st. Two days before Thanksgiving. I slept for two straight days then spent the holiday in my bedroom while everyone feasted on Lors delicious Turkey and all of the great sides she prepared. I had a plate delivered. It tasted so good after that awful hospital food. The next day on the calendar was Black Friday. The big start to the holiday shopping season. My season. Sorry Dr. Gooch, I have to work nine hours a day for the next twenty seven days. Or stay home and recuperate for three months and lose my business. No choice here. I’m alive, I’m awake, I’m able to stand, I’m in the store starting tomorrow. That’s the way it goes. This should be fun.

Next Up: The Christmas from Hell!

As I laid on the table in the Ultrasound procedure room, the Resident doctor that was tasked to do my operation, was viewing my charts and previous history. I started asking her questions about the procedure and how many times that she had performed the process. Her answers were vague and she began to perspire profusely. I was now extremely uncomfortable. The reason that I was lying there in this predicament was that this problem was created by another Resident in the OR the night before. Soon thereafter, a middle aged nurse walked in and sat down at the end of the operating table and began entering data into a computer station. She didn’t say a word while she worked and just smiled when she caught me watching her. The cherubic Resident walked out of the room in a few minutes and told me that she would be back with the rest of her colleagues to begin the job to correct the reverse aneurysm.

A few moments past and the silence in the room was broken by this ridiculously strong Southern accent , ” How y’all feeling this morning Mr. Keenan ?” Wow! This was like a deep south, Alabama, Louisiana style drawl. I remarked that I was damn scared right now that this person was doing my procedure! She began to ask me about my history and many general questions that preceed a medical procedure. Legalise and printed out paperwork to sign. The usual, just in case we have a major problem stuff. I could barely understand her half of the time. She was very sweet though and understood my anxiety. I brought up the fact that this “Virgin surgeon” was about to perform my delicate and dangerous surgery. I then asked her that if she was in my position, what would she do? Flat out, her response was,”No Way honey!” Oh my God! She verified my worst fears! I was petrified at this point and told her that I felt the same way, what can I do? She said “Don’t worry, I got you”. This Southern Belle, my hero, walked out of the room for a few minutes and obviously handled my business. My Southern angel led the contingency of doctors back into the room. The petite Head of the Ultrasound surgery department informed me that under the circumstances, she would be personally performing the bulk of the procedure. Not only was the other doctor still sweating profusely through her surgical mask, her face was red and overall demeanor less than accommodating. She was not a happy camper. Not my problem. I could not handle another screw up. I was in pain. Terrible pain.

The procedure began by numbing the area of my upper inside thigh to ready it for the very large needle that would deliver the glue or cement that would seal the artery. It took a while for the team to come to a decision as to the precise location of attack, pinpointing the exact spot while viewing the Ultrasound screen. When the decision was made to inject, it would be a big pinch while the needle pierced my leg, entering the area of injection. Remember, my instructions were to scream out loud if a huge pain hit me, alerting the team that they missed their mark and sealed off my vein. Zero blood flow meant catharizing my left leg, through my groin, to unclog the blockage in the right leg. No pain meant that the injection was a success and subsequent scans would show proper blood flow. No comingling of the blood flows, no more danger. No more pain. At least after a few days. When the surgical crew left the room, my Southern angel dressed my wound and readied me for the next step, a CAT scan on the whole leg to rule out any clotting or leakage. She wheeled me out while I listened to her speak in Southern tongues. It was music to my ears. After all, my brain was full of blood, my head was still throbbing without much of any pain meds, and I would be heading back on a gurney in a short while for the short but sweet ride back to the Jefferson Neurological ICU. My home for the next three weeks. I can’t remember her name, but she saved me that day. Thank you, my Southern Belle.

Back in my ICU bed, I crawled up into a fetal position. The last 15 hours were pure hell. I needed massive amounts of rest, sleep and prayer. I was not out of the woods yet. As the sun set and the room got dark, the only noises I could hear were the constant screams and moans and crying of poor souls who were suffering from brain Hemorrhages, strokes, head trauma, brain cancers, etc. It was not a great place to relax, only attempt to heal. As the night wore on, I still was not getting any pain meds from the big guy. The head of the department was a young MD named Dr. Gooch. Straightforward and concise, he pulled no punches and was not some squirrely,, wishy washy dude. “Mr. Keenan…you came to us with a skull filled with blood. Pressure was being put on your brain and we operated to seal your Hemorrhage and stabilize the situation as quickly as possible. The operation was successful and now you will have a long and arduous recovery. While I listened to him speak, the only thing that I could hear were the bells and banging going on in my head. When he was finished speaking, for the first time ever in my medical world, I lost it! “Where are my fucking pain meds! I can’t take the pain anymore!” Please dude!! Dr Gooch smiled, crossed his arms and said, “Get Mr. Keenan some percocet, every four hours and Double up the first dose…stat” Thank you Dr. Gooch. He would pop in early the next morning to reveal his plan to rehabilitate me. I finally fell asleep for a little while until the screams of my roommate peirced the veil between us. His pain was so acute. His condition very grave, suffering a massive stroke. I think he passed the next day. So sad. Yes, I am a lucky guy but I can’t take much more.

Next Up: The Recovery Begins

I woke up in a hospital bed with all kinds of equipment around me. All kinds of sounds like beeps and chirps going on all around me. The main thing here being… I woke up. I was informed by a nurse at my bedside that I was in the Neurological ICU post op ward at the Jefferson Neurological Hospital. It was early in the morning, around six AM. Soon thereafter, the attending surgeon and surgical resident that performed my surgery entered the room. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Keenan” was the first thing that he said. The Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage that burst in my brain was leaking a large amount of blood into my skull and thankfully the surgeons were able to secure the situation before what could have been a fatal end for me. He said that even a little bit longer response time, it would have been too late. I am, again, a lucky man. I was in a tremendous amount of pain. My head was just pounding as the anesthetic was wearing off. The surgeon told me that the ICU Neurologist was preparing a pain management program for my stay. I hope that it’s quick! They exited the room as I gathered my thoughts for the first time. Wow! What the hell just happened? Where’s my family? Are they OK? Do they know that I am in the ICU?

Lori had called Nick who was having dinner at Parx Casino with friends. He had left to go out after Lori had driven me to Doylestown Hospital. He was so used to my trips to the ER, he wasn’t too worried or aware of the grave situation presenting itself at the time. Lori called Nick as soon as the ambulance left Doylestown Hospital and he headed home right away to bring Lor downtown to Jefferson. After they learned that I survived the surgery, Nick headed home and Lori slept in the waiting room until she was able to see me. Our visit was brief since I was still in a precarious state. My parents came in to see me for a few more minutes and then take Lori home. It was a long night for everyone. A long scary night. I tried to rest as the pain continued to escalate in my head. It was still pretty early in the morning, around 9 am. The doctors spoke to Lori for a bit and informed her that I would probably be recuperating in the hospital for approximately three weeks before being released to go home. Really now? This was obviously bad. How about some pain meds, please?

I tried to sleep while the flurry of the floor buzzed all around me. Good luck. This was one busy place. Dozing off, I tried to rest my brain and body. The trauma to my whole self was massive. While I lay there, a massive pain starts grabbing my right groin. An excruciating throb inside my thigh like it was going to explode. My discomfort was contagious as the nurses rushed to my side, hearing my cries for help. What was happening now!! The surgeons were called in to assess my situation and to my dismay, were well aware of my predicament. One doctor sat at the edge of my bed massaging my leg. “I regret to inform you, that during your operation, one of our surgical residents created a condition known as “Reverse Aneurysm”. As the Resident was placing the catheter in my groin to follow the artery to my brain, he pierced the arterial wall and then pierced the vein wall beside it. The situation was rectified but when withdrawn, the catheter caused bleeding that traveled between the artery and vein comingling the blood flow. This condition was not only extremely painful, it was very dangerous. The only good thing was that a new round of Morphine would be administered immediately to help with the pain. Barely. Within a few minutes, two ambulance personnel showed up and I was placed on a gurney. What?? Without explanation, I was being taken down to the ambulance bay for a load up and ride across the street, literally, to the actual Jefferson Main Hospital for another procedure to repair the Aneurysm created while saving my life the night before. I kind of felt that this stealth mission was being performed due to a major fu!@#k up while my life was being saved. I wasn’t complaining. While I waited alone in the pre-op area, I wondered what procedure would be coming next. Just then, three doctors appeared from behind the heavy pleated curtain. “”So what gives guys”?, “What am I doing here”?, “What’s the plan”?, “On a scale of 1 to 10…how dangerous is my predicament?” All major concerns of mine at this point! There were two new residents, one cherubic looking brunette and a really young looking Indian fellow. The head surgeon was a very, very petit Phillipino woman. Soft-spoken and confident. She, well I think she, will use an ultrasound machine to locate the Aneuryism and seal the leaking vein with an injectable sealant. The procedure was precise and dangerous. If I felt tremendous pain, I needed to yell and wave my hands. That would mean that the glue used to seal the leak had infiltrated the vein and blocked the blood flow. Ok then. This day just gets worse. The danger scale 1 to 10? About a 9 according to the attending physician. The cherubic attending resident was apparently next up to give the procedure a shot. I don’t think so!

Next Up: A Southern Angel

November 4th is just a bad day on my calendar of life. I thought that my world would start to normalize after everything that transpired in the year 2017 had me upside down. The 4th started out as a normal Saturday, going to work, selling jewelry, contemplating the Christmas season and going home to relax and watch some TV. There is a great little Chinese take out restaurant, Golden China, that has the best Chinese food in the area. Our family has been ordering food from there for twenty years. Joey even worked there for a while as a delivery person. I love their Shrimp with Garlic sauce… no carrots please. I placed an order around 4:30 to take home for dinner. The food always arrived at closing time at the store. Daphne, the owner, always threw in free egg rolls.

I arrived home and after putting the Chinese food on the kitchen table, I headed upstairs to change into shorts and a t-shirt. Lori was getting ready to go out with some friends from her school and Nick was hanging out, waiting to eat with me. A pretty average Saturday night. That would change in an instant. I reached down to the floor to pick up my clothes and Bang!!! I dropped to my knees. The pain in the back of my head was so horrible I could barely breathe! Like I had gotten shot by a gun, the bullet piercing my brain. I could barely hear Lori saying, “What’s wrong, what’s wrong!” I couldn’t function. I was able to only stand up with my head bowed between my knees. I laid in bed, trying to assess my situation. It was bad. I told Lori that I was sorry but please get me to the hospital! I could barely make it to the car. The drive to Doylestown Hospital was not fast enough. Lor did her best. The nurses took me back to a bed quickly and, as usual, Dr. Malibu Ken walked in and assessed my situation. Dr. Ken, not his real name, was always there whenever I had to visit the emergency room. He looked like a California surfer dude, talked like one too. He knew me well. The first step was a CAT scan to see what was going on in my brain. After that was completed, some Morphine to ease my pain. We waited for the results.

The twenty minutes it took for Dr. Ken to come back to my room seemed like hours. He asked me if I had ever had Migraine issues before. Bad headaches. Nope…never. His diagnosis was to send me home after the pain meds were delivered, with some additional meds if I needed them going forward. I wasn’t buying it. This was too severe. I never had anything like this happen before. I was right. No more than five minutes after he walked out, the curtain flew open and Dr. Ken was in crisis mode. Nurses were all over me and a gurney ushered in to take me to the Helicopter pad! What!! I was being evacuated to Jefferson Neurological Hospital. Dr. Ken explained to us that the CAT scan came back showing a brain Hemorrhage. A Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage. This was a devastating scenario that needed immediate attention at the brain trauma center at Jefferson. No time to spare. Was I scared? Damn right. WTF 2017!

Lor gave me a kiss and I told her that I loved her as they rushed me to the elevator. My life was flashing before my eyes yet again. How was this possible? So many years battling Leukemia, now this! The elevator doors opened and I was on the ground floor again. It was pouring rain outside. The Helicopter was a no go. It would be a hundred mile an hour ambulance ride, from Doylestown to center city Philadelphia. I thought that I was going to die from the ride. Forget the brain Hemorrhage! Bouncing around in the back of the ambulance, I couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t helping my situation. A normally hour plus ride turned out to be forty five minutes, sirens blaring. As we backed into the back entrance to the hospital, I could see the nurses awaiting my arrival. The ambulance doors swung open and out I went. Right to another elevator and into an operating room. The ice cold room was eerie. Big lights overhead, surgeons buzzing around, all waiting for me. This was a big deal. Within minutes, I was out for the count. 10, 9, 8, 7… all over again.

Next Up: “You’re A Lucky Man”

As the summer ended and my ass was finally becoming the friend that I needed it to be, peace and tranquility were the new norm in my life. I was like walking on water. No pain, no pus, no swelling and no problems. I felt incredible! So many years of pain and torture gone! Sure it took three months of hell, but right now, it was all worth it! Just in time for the October busy season, heading into Christmas, I was in full speed mode filling up the store and getting ready to play Santa. Nick was back from sunny California, taking his three final courses that he needed to graduate from Temple, then would be heading back to LA again to begin his career In Risk Management. We were so excited for him. His graduation from Temple University would be in the second week of February. A great ceremony, post lunch celebration and then right to Philly Airport a few days later where his new adventures would begin to take flight.

In the end of October, Nick came into our bedroom one evening to discuss the move to his new diggs in Redondo Beach. A shared triplex where Nick would occupy the basement for $1200 per month. A nice setup near the beach. But wait, there was more. He handed Lori his phone while announcing to us that he was now in a relationship. Lori looked at the screen and said ” Oh, it’s a guy?”. She went to hand me the phone and I just put my hand up. I didn’t want to see it. A difficult, awkward, unexpected moment for both of us. The pain of my response was evident as Nick became very emotional and asked me” What did I ever do to you?”. He rushed out of our bedroom in tears, obviously hurting. I had no words. Nick being gay was always a reality of mine for his entire life. The many, many girl friends, but never a relationship. The summers on the beach, girls going out of their way to gain his eye but never any response by Nick. Even girls giving him phone numbers to no avail. I knew the day would come when he would be ready to jump that proverbial fence. After all, my oldest first cousin Bill came out as gay after birthing five children and being married to his wife for 16 years! Being ready for it was another thing. I felt so bad when he left the room. I knew that I had hurt him. It took so much guts for him to reveal his truth to us and relieve the anxiety that was building up inside of him for so many years. I texted Joey in Canada. Apparently, Joe was the first to know. They were brothers who were pretty close and even though Joey was in Canada, living and playing hockey, Nick would reveal his secret to him first. Thankfully, that went well. Meanwhile, Rome was burning in Doylestown. A quiet, tense night and a massive announcement to digest. Nick was right. He had never given me reason not to be anything but proud of him. Never! A wonderful, intelligent, warm, caring, helping and phenomenal student and person. Loved by everyone. Pure gold. This wasn’t his problem, it was mine. Lori understood the complexity of the situation and gave me some space and time to digest. I love this boy more than life. He has been nothing but the perfect son in our lives..so handsome, so smart, so accomplished. He grew up in such an awful situation with my Leukemia. The week would prove to be quite emotionally intense. Something had to give. I needed to open up, handle the situation.

Meanwhile, I had a long conversation with a jewelry vendor that I’ve had a thirty year relationship with during the week. We spoke of Nick and the situation at hand. He asked me if I had heard about another jewelry store owner in New Jersey who was recently in the same situation. His son had come out to the family. He was nineteen years old and headed to college. That situation went way worse. The boys father physically harmed the young man, threw him out of the house and cut him off financially. No money, no home, no college and no love. How awful. A week later, the boy went missing and the family found out that their son had hung himself. How awful is that? I couldn’t imagine!!

After our conversation, I immediatly called my Nick and told him how much I loved him, how wonderful he is and how I would make sure that I would support him in everything he did. “His Name is Elliot…dad”, he said. “Got it buddy. I love you son”. “Give me some time, I’m still your biggest fan”. I hung up the phone and cried. When I got home, I hugged him so hard. My son is gay. So what? It had to be so hard and take a huge amount of courage to make this known to Lori and I…and the world. Live your life Nick. I got your back. I love you so much…I Promise… Dad.

Next Up: Bang!!!

My path to wellness all summer was wraught with potholes and problems. It was late September and all was quiet on the Southern front. Nick was back home from California, completing his internship with the Hiscox Insurance Group. He needed two more classes to graduate from Temple University with his dual Real Estate and Risk Management degree. Hiscox offered him a great deal to relocate to LA where he would begin a career as a Risk Analyst. After graduation in January, Nick would be on his way. So proud. Back to work regularly at my store, at this point, things were getting back to normal for me..finally.

September is one of my favorite months. The weather is beautiful, my birthday, Joey’s birthday and business always starts to pick up as the masses return from summer vacation. The calm before the holiday storm. Unfortunately, we always miss celebrating Joe’s birthday as he is usually at some other city across the US or Canada, skating away by then. Towards the end of the month, something was stirring …. You know where. Seriously!!?? A lump was forming where my prior surgery was and I was having pain going to the bathroom again. I couldn’t fathom the fact that I could again have an issue like this. I put an urgent call into the office of my red headed friend. I arrived at his office and after a quick discussion, landed prone on the exam table for an answer. This is what I heard…”Uh-oh, No Way!” How disconcerting is that! I said “Doc… WTF!!” “Mr. Keenan, you have developed a Fistula”. Having no clue what he was talking about, he went on to explain that it was like a tubular infection in a vein, going from inside the rectum to the outside of your anus. He would have to operate again. The third operation on my butt in three months. Another overnight stay at the hospital and weeks of recuperation. An incision that would go from inside the rectum, severing the sphincter and continuing outside the anus as it follows the Fistula. Cleaning the infection out. More stitches, more pain, more problems. Why me?

I would need Sheree to help out again. Problem was that she would be away for two weeks and I had to schedule the surgery for the second week of October when she would return. The pain was becoming worse and worse as each day passed and the infection was becoming unbearable. She couldn’t get home fast enough. It was awful. Finally, I couldn’t wait to start that backwards countdown again. “Hey Doc… let’s get it…Please!” Ten, nine, eight…goodnight. After the surgery, I was in the recovery area and I think I woke up too soon! The pain was horrendous! The nurse actually had Anesthesia come in and knock me out again! Crazy! Lor was by my side as they rolled me up to my room. I think she was pretty tired of all of this too. Dr. Reds came in soon after and said that I would have to see him in about a week . The surgery went well according to him and he said that I should recover in a few weeks. Pain meds please? You betcha.

Next up: Coming Out

I wasn’t in the best of moods. Poor Lor had to take the brunt of my discomfort and her ass humor wasn’t making it any better. Haha. This was some painful shit. I have gone through nasty treatments, bone marrow aspirations, big needles, broken bones, chemotherapy, etc. Huge internal hemorrhoids take the cake. Thank God for Morphine! There was no way that I would attempt a bowel movement and thankfully the pain meds slowed down that process. I couldn’t wait for Friday morning to come. I really had no idea what to expect but the suspense was killing me. Lori stayed with me until visiting hours ended and would be back in the morning before my ten AM surgery. I spoke to the boys that evening. Nick was already out in Los Angeles on his CoOp job with the Hiscox Insurance Company and Joe back in Canada.

I had to sign all of the usual pre surgical paperwork, and after, the Surgeon came in and prepped me on the procedure, I was on my way. Dr. Aberjan was a young doctor with crazy long red hair. He seemed pretty confident and I had no other choice but to let him handle these gremlins right now. The usual count down to zero, that you never make, left me sleeping soundly and hoping for the best. I woke up in the post-op bays, groggy as expected, with the nurses poking and prodding me and performing their jobs to get me up and moving back to my room upstairs. They still had me on Morphine but that would be short lived as the Doctor let me know that the operation went well and I should recuperate within the week. I would get to go home the next day with a generous helping of extra strength Tylenol and a return exam appointment in about a week. Sitting for a few days was not recommended. I left Doylestown Hospital Saturday afternoon with high hopes that my years of hemorrhoid issues were behind me. Lol.

Well, my return home went south real quick. Do you know how much of a difference there is in the pain threshold between Morphine and Tylenol? HUGE!! I was in agony! Not only was I constipated, the swelling continued as the sutures areas inside me burned and weeped. The pain was awful! I called the doctors emergency line. Unfortunately, a script for narcotics has to be hand written and not just called in to a pharmacy. I would have to eke it out until Monday morning. The script for Percocet would be waiting at nine AM at his office. I was freaking there at 8:45. I went right to the pharmacy and then right home to medicate. The medicine gave me relief. It was like having a sword up your butt, twisting and turning, creating havoc in your rectum. The worst! I needed to rest and relax for a few more days. My follow-up with my GP was Thursday. No moving or pooping yet. No way!!

While I was recuperating, I needed to go to the store for a few hours one day. I needed to meet a good friend there to show him a big diamond for his wife. It was an urgent situation and it had to be done. He was depending on me for his anniversary, a big sale. It was a tough job. I felt feverish and the pain unbearable. I couldn’t wait to finish the sale so I could get back home in bed. My follow up with my GP was the next day. I needed rest. While I was supposed to be making progress by now, the percocet pills were the only thing keeping me sane. The pain remained unbearable. On Thursday, I drove myself to the doctors office as Lor had to work and nobody else was around. My GP Dr. Fissel began his examination of the area and gasped as he separated my cheeks. “This is not good”, he said in an urgent tone. “You need to get to the ER at Doylestown Hospital right away! My situation was grim. A Cellulitis infection was spreading throughout the rectum and deeper inside. It was a dangerous, infectious scenario that I was in. Hence the continued unbearable pain. He would call ahead to the hospital to prepare me a room and I to Lor to let her know of my predicament.It would be back into a pre-op room where I was fitted with a new IV pole and several very strong antibiotics. Cellulitis is a big thing I found out. A very painful thing. Morphine was added again…thank you! This would turn out to be a week long stay. Summer of 2017 sucked! Luckily, my friend Sherrie helped Nadine out at the store. The summer is usually slow so my absence wasn’t too bad for business. Meanwhile, one evening during my stay, the urge to have a bowel movement hit me and after two weeks, this was going to be ugly. Two young nurses were on duty that evening and I think that I left a new understanding of constipated- internal hemorrhoid stitched, need to go-respect on them. If the screaming in the bathroom didn’t impress them, the bloody toilet and the rush to get more Morphine in me woke them up real quick! ARHGGG!

As the week played out and the pain became more manageable, the Cellulitis succumbed to the relentless attack of the antibiotics and I would be a free man again. Free to sleep in my own bed and suffer on my own toilet. My ass had now been killing me for three weeks. It was time for some relief. Big relief!

Next Up: Uh-Oh… No Way!