Support Group News from Proton Pals

The Odyssey, Part 5 . . .

"Houston, the Eagle has landed;" that is, the 'American Eagle' on Tuesday with the wife aboard after two weeks away-- a momentous arrival (not on the moon, of course) but here: our home away from home. With her motherly hand, I'm now on the straight and narrow path. No more frozen dinners, late night snacks, piled up laundry, and a faded memory of bachelorhood. I'm toast!

The trip to Houston was less trying for her than the SuperShuttle from Bush International (IAB) to our apartment. The van was fully occupied requiring several stops along the way to drop-off passengers. For her it was a test of endurance, made no less tolerable by a fellow passenger who mistakenly thought she was on an ego trip. She babbled about herself incessantly to the annoyance of all. By the time my wife stood at our front door, she was badly in need of a wine transfusion.

A semblance of normalcy returned after the first glass. But, alas, the first was also the last. I had failed to restock the wine cellar (the fridge as some might call it.) With dinner and a further thirst beckoning that could not be satisfied by "Hungry Man" dinners and water, we set out for the Hotel ZaZa. I had noticed the hotel several blocks away on a walk the preceding weekend.

What a great find. The Hotel ZaZa is one of those off-the-beaten path "luxury-styled" boutiques with great ambiance, great rooms, great bar/restaurant, and GREAT! Prices ($12 per glass of wine). We had our dinner seated at the bar with full view of the room, enjoying our food and wine: the allure of subdued lighting, the interesting artwork -- and, the "gay" scene unfolding around us. We couldn't tell for sure about the fuzzy hair deep voice with plastic purse sitting next to us with a lady friend: "Not that there's anything wrong with that." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Outing). Regardless, it's a special place. We will return.

Our view of Houston, the city, is limited to our freeway trips back and forth from Bush International with views of older, faded neighborhoods; the frequent daily route to the Proton Treatment Center; walks in the nearby neighborhood; and occasional shopping trips. Houston is a city of contrasts, as most are, but maybe more so. It sort of sprung up without benefit of zoning laws. Commercial buildings, business offices, retail stores, restaurants, sit side-by-side with single or multiple family residences. The downtown is a gleaming jewel of modern high rises. Elsewhere, over a mostly flat landscape, single high rises jut up out of nowhere, some like obscene finger gestures as monuments to ugly.

My Houston friend, Joe, has been a God-send by providing transportation, enabling us to restock the larder. On one of such earlier trips, he took us to the "Central Market" grocery which I can best describe in type as a "Whole Foods Market" on steroids. The fresh fish counter was at least thirty feet long: Special foods, deli, breads, produce, meat, wine, etc., in abundance and variety as I've never seen before -- a gourmet's delight. He has since taken us to other groceries that offer on average a variety and selection of delights that are not usually available at home. I'm afraid it has become too tempting. Our grocery bills are frightful.

Our apartment is located in an area known as the "Museum District." The museums of Fine Art; Contemporary Art; Natural History; Buffalo Soldiers; Health; and several others are all within blocks of each other. Last Sunday, I set out to find the Museum of Contemporary Art. I thought I knew where it was, but after walking block after block into an area that began to look less appealing, I decided it might be wiser to double back. I finally came upon the sculpture garden adjacent to the Fine Art Museum and from there into the museum's main building. By that time, I had grown tired and my right leg, which had become strained, was giving me trouble. My journey ended there without exploring the museum, but, with another great find: a cafeteria on the lower level of the museum that offered a full menu of food and drink. Now, in addition to the hotel we have two relatively nearby places for occasional dining out.

My treatments have become a daily routine, now half-way done. Last Thursday, the routine was interrupted by a power surge that knocked the radiation machines off-line. It took two hours before they were back up. I had described previously the need for us to have an optimum level of fluid in our bladders at least 30-minutes prior to radiation. Now, with an unknown period of delay, maintaining the appropriate fluid level became a fine balance between grin-and-bear-it, and give-it-up. So, we've got eight geezers in medical gowns doing a Hopi Nation whooping dance up and down the hallway to invoke the spiritual gods of fire and water.

I've had relatively few side-effects so far. Hot flashes and sleepless nights have been the worst of it from the hormone therapy. Dr. Lee has recommended supplements to alleviate the effect, but I haven't noticed significant change just yet. The other problem has been some discomfort in my right leg similar to a shin-splint which keeps me off the treadmill and limits my walks. There was concern of the involvement of a blood clot. That was eliminated after an ultra-sound scan of the veins and artery in my leg. Tai Ly, the nurse practitioner, scolds me: "You rest. You stay off feet. You take ibuprofen. We want you live." I take her advice.

I've done the best I can to get Dr. Lee to call me by my first name. My friend, Joe, who has a closer relationship over more years, is still greeted as Mr. Landry. I guess I'll have to live with my last name which is much better than "Sir."

Super Bowl Sunday beckons. The Saints seem to be the favored time in Houston. So, until next time . . .This month we're going to postpone publishing the fifth part of a journal by one of our ProtonPals. I've had some feedback about the length of the newsletter since it seems some of you print it so you can read it at your leisure.

For a PDF version of Gene's interesting story please go to the ProtonPals website.