Difficult Discussions

Had the discplinary readmittance meeting for my oldest son at the district's student services office today, accompanied by his family therapist. Went much as planned, except that there was no immediate resolution. The forces that be still have to question the other student involved in the altercation, then bounce the issue around the usual collection of administrators, most of whom are so distant from the parents, teachers, students, and certainly any given situation as to be dangerously irrelevant in their frequent misuse of power. It being but a few days before the start of spring break, he won't return to school for two weeks at best. The day drew to a close with a routinely scheduled parent-teacher conference for my youngest son, in which the remote possibility of retaining him in third grade for an additional year was raised, solely due to his comprehension abilities and a displayed difficulty with paying attention in class. Luckily, having displayed excellent work when he does focus, the common scholastic misdiagnosis of ADHD wasn't mentioned. Certainly made for a hard days for the boys. My daughter's biggest trial today was being snubbed by the welfare-leech babysitter's child after he asked her to play outside; he ran off to watch some questionable adult play with a remote control car out by the dumpsters behind his apartment complex. Pedophile bait, anyone?

My wife was approached by some fight-dog trainers this afternoon while she and our long-term temporary live-in walked our two Brazillian terriers. Of course, she only discovered that after she passed the odd couple's home, fended off some unusual propositions about selling the dog, and was then followed by one of them in his car for half a block. Just before she turned down another street, he offered her $100 per dog for both of them, letting it slip that they'd make great dog food for his extensive and visibly mauled collection of pit bulls. We decided that perhaps another walk down that street to get a house number might be a good idea, followed by a call to animal control.

One bright spot on the very near horizon is a scholarship-presentation ceremony tomorrow night for my oldest son and daughter. That is to say, they both have already received the scholarship, along with several other children throughout the distrtict, but only she will be able to attend with us from this household, as his continued suspension precludes his attending any function on any school district grounds. However, I'll delay any discussion of that event until tomorrow, rather than make whistful conjecture as to what might or might not happen.

The thing most on my mind for the last week or so, especially in the last two or three days, has been my doctor's appointment scheduled for this Thursday, in which we're to discuss the blood work results from my first appointment with him about three weeks ago. During that first appointment, actually my 'meet-and-greet' apointment with this newly re-discovered doctor (he saw my oldest as a newborn for a few months almost thirteen years ago), I mentioned to him that I was being tested and screened for multiple endochrine neoplasia, type 1 (MEN1) for the past three years. At the risk of waxing proverbially hypochondriac, MEN1 involves 'new growth' (neoplasia) in the major glands of the endochrine system, specifically the parathyroid, the pituitary, and the pancreas. I have already satisfied the first prerequisite for the condition, having had a confirmed diagnosis of hyperparathyroidism three years ago, and have shown scattered signs of the condition progressing. What alarmed me about the blood work results was the revelation of the degree of my hyperparathyroidism. Normal parathryroid hormone levels in the blood are roughly 6ppm to 11.7ppm; my level is 431ppm. The same blood work also revealed some advanced kidney damage, another trait of the progression of the illness.

I've never been one to give much thought to longevity, finding that such thoughts smack of arrogance or selfishness for reasons I don't fully understand. Neither have I ever given much thought to my own healthcare, having never had any dreadfully serious illness (apart from the high volume of kidney stones caused by the hyperparathyroidism) nor having ever had surgery more serious than the removal of my wisdom teeth. This is, frankly, frightening ground for me. Though I haven't received a definitive prognosis yet, I'm aware that my extremely high hormone levels point not to pharmacuetical solutions, but to surgery. Real surgery. Not the 'sit back and relax while I give you a local' surgery, not even the 'count backwards from ten and we'll see you in fifteen minutes' surgery. The 'in time, the scar across your neck might be slightly less jarring' surgery. There may be a laser option, but I have no real clue, despite a probably unwise level of internet research on the subject. I am greatly concerned that the procedure may damage the thyroid, causing wild fluctuations in my weight. I have no idea how long the recovery might take, nor if I will be dependent on synthetic parathyroid hormone after the procedure. Beyond these immediate concerns are the long-term concerns with MEN1. The final stage of MEN1 is pancreatic cancer; my father succumbed to lung cancer following a remission of prostate cancer in 2007, so the genetic predisposition for cancer exists. A high frequency and volume of kidney stones goes back in the men of my father's side of the family some fifty generations, which, I've been told, is a likely if not guaranteeing factor in the existence of congenital MEN1.

I have more to live for than my own indulgence. I have family depending on me. As difficult and near-impossible my marriage seems at times, as difficult as my relationship with my oldest son can be, what's to become of everyone else should something dire occur? And perhaps most troubling of all; if I receive that final, terminal diagnosis, should I continue to try and save my marriage, or set her completely free?