Good evening, dear reader. I hope this evening finds you well. I apologize for the brief hiatus since my last post. As you may recall, I was a bit under the weather – not to fret, however; I do believe that I managed to sweat out whatever was causing the (low-grade) fever that night. When I awoke the next morning, the bed was soaking wet. I ended up taking Wednesday off from work and basically just being a layabout. It helped me to get my wind back, and by yesterday I was feeling more or less normal (physically anyway, but more of that to come).
Yesterday was a emotionally down day. Actually, it was an inexplicably emotionally down day. I crawled into bed early and just went to sleep. Then I woke up around midnight and never really went back to sleep, so I’ve been rocking my multiple-therapy-sessions-Friday on a maximum of four hours of sleep. And as I was getting dressed this morning I stumbled upon the Unisom. Of course. Because Murphy loves me. And a Smith & Wesson beats four aces. But the no-sleep thing was actually pretty cool. I got a ton of writing done in my head. I haven’t yet had a chance to put it all on paper (or, more accurately, to deposit it as a combination of seemingly random bits of data across an electrostatic storage medium), but I did get some of it typed out during my chemotherapy treatment today. Which explains why there wasn’t a blog entry posted this afternoon. Sorry about that; I know, I’m a slacker.
Conversely, today has been fairly positive. Aside from a few rocky moments when I’ve allowed myself to hear without really listening (dear Adrianne, I swear to you I’m working on this; I promise I’ll do better; please be patient with me), today hasn’t been bad at all, actually. The day started just before eight when I got up to await the weekly visit from the home health nurse. My blood pressure this morning was something like 108/62. I guess I was pretty mellow. Nothing major to report about today’s visit except the nurse’s recommendation that I get a prescription for an antibiotic. It seems the whatever-the-hell it is that I’ve been coughing up at night is of a mildly worrisome color. So next week the nurse is bringing the appropriate materials to take a sample. Assuming, of course, that the antibiotic that I picked up from the pharmacy an hour ago doesn’t clear the whole thing up.
A quick shower and I was off to chemotherapy, where I spent most of my time working on a story until I was able to get online, at which point I started playing around with my day job and joined a conference call. Fortunately, this call included only people with whom I work closely, so there were far fewer issues regarding my slowly developing articulation skills. After the conference call, there was a juggling incident. It seems that the clinic staff are greatly amused by stupid human tricks.
After chemotherapy it was a quick elevator ride to the radiation clinic, one piece on the baby grand, and twenty minutes bolted to a table. Either I’ve gotten completely accustomed to the treatment or I was just plain tuckered; I believe I dozed through most of today’s procedure. At least I knew I was safe from rolling off the table.
That, my friends, was the bulk of the day. The not listening bit occurred after I got home, and it precipitated a conversation about which I am very much looking forward to writing. However, I’m still processing a few things; plus, the conversation included a story with some other players, and I would like to get their permission before sharing everything. There are some intensely personal elements to the tale. It’s probably not quite as dramatic as I’m making it out to be, but it does include some more history of this current war. Much of this history I learned for the first time today. I suppose it’s fair for me to give you a bit of a teaser:
When cancer – or any disease, I suppose – claims part of your body, part of your skill set, there is the temptation to indulge oneself in the could/would/should triad of blame-guilt. And there’s been quite enough of that to go around, apparently. I learned today that there are others who blame themselves for my losses, who feel they should have said something sooner, encouraged more medical responsibility. Hell, I could have been less trusting and more inquisitive – usually I am, why not this time? Maybe Adrianne is right – maybe I was afraid of the answer and just didn’t realize it consciously. Maybe.
But I have to ask myself a few things before wading out into that sea of guilt and regret. What have I lost? I can still taste. I can still speak. In eighteen months, no one who doesn’t know me personally will be able to tell that I have a speech impediment. Yes, this is one of my goals for myself. Never tell me the odds1. My surgical margins are clear. We’re treating whatever microscopic minions are hiding out with chemotherapy and radiation. I will have a full, normal, healthy life.
What have I gained? I got my brother back.
I’ll take cancer any day.
So, there will be more to come. I’m realizing more each day about the ramifications of this present conflict. I’m realizing more each day what the final victory will mean. It will mean a great many very good things.
Until next time, dear readers, take care of each other.
Namaste.
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1 – Thank you, Han Solo.
