#231: My Body at War With Itself

Last night I was sick again. This thing is not giving up without a fight. I was actually angry as I hung over the bowl. "Get out, you bastard," I mumbled between heaves. "You're not going to beat me. Get out." Mrs P thought I was sending her away at first, then she realized I was talking to the cancer. Sure it's crazy, but so is sitting on the edge of the tub with somebody who is puking his guts out. We all have our little madnesses. That's as good a definition of love as any, I guess.

I definitely feel as if this is the hard part. My body is revolting against the treatment pretty violently. The nausea is worse than it's ever been, and it comes faster than the drugs can keep up. My skin is really charred looking. I use the lotion that they gave me, but still look more like a burned french fry around my neck and upper chest. The fatigue amazes me. I think I'm probably awake for about five hours a day. The radiation is taking its toll.

My consolation is that if I feel this bad, the cancer must feel a whole lot worse.

Back when we made my original treatment plan, my last chemo was scheduled for tomorrow. Mercifully, I've been spared that third date. The cisplatin on top of the radiation was too much for my bone marrow to handle. Thank God. From what I've read and from what Mrs P's brother is going through, I think chemo is much harder on the body than this radiation I'm getting. Those people are the real cancer warriors. I feel like I'm way behind the front lines compared to some of my friends who are getting weekly infusions. Weekly, for god's sake! I don't see how they can live through it.

Been quiet this morning. Mrs P has gone to church. No stomach churning for me today. So far. I know better than to try to  predict the future. Two big events to hope for this week. I want to get to the park to see RENT. I also want to see my last radiation treatment on Thursday. The weather forecast is threatening all week, but that's typical late July weather in the Bluegrass. I'm just hoping for those late night storms that always make sleeping so pleasant. That will keep things cool and let the cast play their hearts out without worrying about the rain. Weather won't affect my treatments so much, though I'm always soaked with sweat when it's a rainy morning. I don't know if it's the humidity or if the damp just starts a kind of wicking effect in my skin. I know it's kind of ookey when I lift my bald head up from the plastic pillow block and it pops off with that wet sucking sound.

I have spoken with Jake about hacking into my blogger account. I've told him it's OK for him to write, but that he just needs to ask me first. I have a feeling his mamma may have helped him, but he is too loyal to narc her out. I can respect that.

Peace,
pennsy

#221: Little Dignities

When I get out of bed, I try to always put on my shoes. I'm not sure why. Partly it's that Jake is always leaving some sharp, chewed up piece of something or other lying around and I don't want to step on it. But I think it's also got something to do with keeping a little dignity. I don't want to be padding around the house like a sick person. Lacing up the Adidas makes me feel more like I've got somewhere to go, even if it is just to the bathroom and back.

Little dignities. That's something my vanity won't let me quite give up. Like tipping my ridiculous, huge sun hat to a lady. Like tucking my shirt in or tapping my walking cane on the sidewalk as I do my tenth of a mile hike around the block. Or keeping myself shaved. I want the world to know I'm still a man in here. Maybe I want to remind myself.

Beware the pink and blue
bunny people!

Then there are the other times, the silly times. Yesterday, Mrs P couldn't find her blue bandanna. Later when it turned up under my pillow, I didn't want to lose it, so I put it in the one place I knew I wouldn't forget it. This led to one of those arm's length self portrait sessions that I have come to treasure so much. Mrs P is a better photographer than I, even when she can't see what she's doing, so she usually does the snapping. In this case, she also stole a smooch. I was happy to give it up.

We're setting up a field trip for Mrs P this week. She and her sister are going to try to visit Big Brother 1, and we need Pennsy sitters. Generous friends have volunteered and we'll coordinate all that. I am so touched by the easy way people stepped forward to "take a shift." I can't tell you how it feels to be as loved as I am. I honestly had no idea...

After yesterday's blog about how weary I was, I went to bed for a while, as promised, but it wasn't very restful. I decided to try putting my feet in motion and wound up taking a walk in the end of yesterday's rain. It was a beautiful, humid bluegrass afternoon. The rain dripped from my big straw hat as my cane tapped the concrete and I made my way around two short blocks - far as I've walked for a while, I think. I had to stop and lean a couple of times, and I was pretty soaked by the time I finished, but it was a great feeling to be really tired, not just used up. As I made my way to our corner, the grill of the Honda was heading up the street. Mrs P was on her way home from taking Jake in for his nail trim. His behavior was exemplary, she says. Seeing them get out of the car gave me the strength to carry myself through the front door, and a real nap followed, not one of those restless flutterings between awake and asleep that can be so frustrating. It felt like a nap I had actually earned.

Found some old photos of Jake today. He really is an insanely beautiful dog. Also an idiot, but that just helps him to fit in. There is a special quality to Golden Retriever's coat in the autumn that just makes them look like a huntin' dog. Jake might be trainable, he is very smart and has a soft mouth, but neither Mrs P nor I have the knowledge or the inclination to take him out in the woods to shoot birds. Guess he'll just have to settle for being pretty. Just like his papa...

Peace,

pennsy

#220: Wiped Out

They told me that the second round of Chemo would hit a lot harder than the first. I just checked my posts from the first week. It was pretty bad then, too. Today I sat in the bathroom and could barely muster the strength to make anything happen anywhere. The good news is that the nausea is not so bad yet. I'd be happy to skip that part if possible.

The biggest symptom I'm having right now, besides the gummy throat, is fatigue. Like wow, fatigue. Like, let me just stop walking right here for a minute to recover from those ten steps I just took. This morning, I was doing the old man walk, for sure. Shuffling steps. Working hard to keep my head up. It's funny. I don't feel any pressure to put up a front unless I'm in view of someone else who has cancer. That's when I want to look my best. Someone who feels like me doesn't need to see some other schmuck schlepping himself down the hall.

"How do you feel, today," Shug asked. She's one of the radiation techs. She has some unpleasant sounding nickname that thay call her, so I decided she should be "Shug" as in "Sugar."

"I feel one hundred times better, Shug. Of course, I still feel like crap. But a much bette class of crap today."

I try to always shout a joke down the hall when they call my name. It usually gets a laugh in both directions, waiting room and treatment area. We need all the laughs we can get down in those lead lined rooms.

Mrs P and Jake just went out for a ride. He needs to have his nails trimmed, and he's incorrigible about letting her do them. You'd think she was trying to cut off his toes. I know it can be a dicy operation, but she's been grooming animals for many, many years. Jake just won't have any of it from her. We're hoping that Dr D's magic touch will be enough to calm him down. Meantime, I'm staying quietly at home today, too tired to move.

Gonna have to cut this post short. I'm breaking a sweat just typing to you today. Back to bed, I guess.

Peace,
pennsy