#251: Tethered

It would be a silly exaggeration to say I'm in prison, but I am definitely tethered. Ever since they found this blood clot, I have had a tube running from my nose to some source of oxygen. In the house it's a little machine called a condenser. Outside it's a rolling cart with a metal gas bottle that lasts about five hours. My little ball and chain.

I am growing to hate these two devices. I've always chafed at any external discipline, but being tied down for weeks on end is a whole new experience. 

I'm just not feeling very patient today. I want to be better now. Eating and breathing are pretty fundamental activities, and I don't seem able to do either without supplemental plumbing. I'd like to just stop wearing the air hose, but I'm a little scared to do that till the doc says it's ok. I had some cream of mushroom soup yesterday. That went well, so all the news isn't discouraging.

I had a visit from two friends yesterday. She is a cancer fighter with quite a few years of experience. We were talking about my upcoming scans and I realized that I am quite unprepared for bad news. I expect them to tell me that I'm all better. No evidence of disease. Back to the world I go. That's what I expect, but what if i'm wrong? What if they tell me I have to go back for more chemo and radiation? How will I deal with that? Even as I write the words, my brain refuses to take them seriously. Mrs P and Mum and I would all like our lives back, please. Please God, no more cancer.

Peace
Pennsy