Here's a word I learned while watching Cash Cab yesterday. Yes, I am that boring. An intermezzo can be a piece of music between the major movements of a symphony. It can also be a sorbet or wine intended to cleanse the palate between courses of a meal. That's what I'm doing now. Cleansing my palate.
Monday's meeting with the doctor was like the meal I'd been waiting for. It was delicious. I loved celebrating with friends on the phone, on Facebook, and on my blog. But something was missing. I thought that a clear CT scan would mean that it was all over. I expected to wake up the next day and start a new life. Turns out that it doesn't work that way. The threat of cancer is over, but the recovery has barely begun.
Since getting the good news, I've been exhausted. Wiped out. In his book, Lance Armstrong said he spent this period playing golf and eating Mexican food. I won't be playing any golf, but I'm not ready to jump back up on the bike just yet, either. Mrs P keeps telling me that it's going to take time.
This offends my Protestant work ethic. My mind tells me I should be up and around. Doing things. Getting stuff done. My body does not agree. In spite of the Ambien, sleep takes forever to come. When it does, I sleep for hours and hours. When I wake up, I feel like I'm in a fog. Yesterday, I tried on four pairs of shoes. I was sweating like crazy. It took me an hour to recover.
So what about this intermezzo? What is it going to sound like? It's going to be quiet. I'm afraid it's going to be bland, like a sorbet between the fish and the meat courses. And it's going to take far too long.
The first thing I did when I got home after the appointment on Monday was to start a "to do" list. They are mostly little tasks. Chores, really. They are important things, but they aren't really goals. Yes, I want to do the things that will get our lives back to normal. Do the dishes. Finish the taxes. Get the car fixed. Fold the laundry. But I want to do some bigger things, too. Direct a play. Run a 5K. Play Shakespeare. Find a smaller house. Get a job acting.
None of these things will be easy, and I can't do any of them on my own. Each will take time, planning, lots of work, and plenty of luck. But first, I'll need to pick one. And I will. Just as soon as I can get up out of this chair.
Peace,
Pennsy
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
#262: Did I Really Have Cancer?
In an exam room not much different from the one where the doc told me there was something wrong, my oncologist showed me a report saying that there were no signs of cancer on my CT scan. And the blood clot is almost gone. It's a preliminary test, but they found no signs of cancer in me. I don't know if I'm in shock or what, but I've been numb ever since.
What the hell just happened? Did I really have cancer? Did they actually cut me open and take out my jugular vein? Did they really pull all my teeth and install a hose in my stomach and shoot me with radiation and fill my veins with poison?
Did all those people really call and visit and write to say they loved me and were praying for me? Did they actually have yard sales and rummage sales and fund raisers to help when our insurance was canceled?
Was it real? Eighteen hours of sleep, puking my brains out, swallowing pain pills like tic-tacs? Did I really spend the last six months (minus two days) thinking I might be dead by Christmas? Did I dream all that?
Yesterday at 3:00 I had cancer. Then, by 4:00 I didn't. Or at least none that they could see. What the hell just happened?
What do I do now? SSI says I can go on disability. Should I take it? Should I look for a job? Go on a trip? Write one of those "I survived cancer" books? Do I volunteer somewhere? Do I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for fear of a relapse? Or do I treat this like a second chance? An opportunity to get things right?
Something just took half a year of what's left of my life. I feel like it ought to mean something. Like it ought to have some significance. I'm just not sure things like this mean anything. They are just events, stuff that happens. If they have meaning, it is in the way they change us. I wonder how cancer has changed me?
Now that I'm not afraid of dying any more, will I be as patient and forgiving? Will I be as grateful? Will my priorities change? I just don't know.
Right now I don't know or feel much of anything. I guess I'm still in limbo, just a different neighborhood than the one I was in yesterday. In the seventies we had a very corny saying about today being the first day of the rest of your life. Something really big was true about my life yesterday, and now it isn't true any more. And I'm not sure what's more important: the things that changed, or the ones that will stay the same.
What's changed? I don't feel like I could die any minute. I don't feel like there is an alien living in my body. I don't feel like an invalid. I'm not fighting cancer any more. At least not my own.
What hasn't changed? I love my wife and my mom. People care for me. I want to act.
I'm sure these lists will get longer over time, but it probably isn't too productive to dwell on them. Many of my questions are going to have to answer themselves, and many will have to just remain unanswered.
Maybe the biggest thing cancer has taught me is that I am more loved than I ever thought possible. More than I could ever ask or imagine. If that's the only answer I ever get, I'd have to say it was worth it.
Peace,
Pennsy
What the hell just happened? Did I really have cancer? Did they actually cut me open and take out my jugular vein? Did they really pull all my teeth and install a hose in my stomach and shoot me with radiation and fill my veins with poison?
Did all those people really call and visit and write to say they loved me and were praying for me? Did they actually have yard sales and rummage sales and fund raisers to help when our insurance was canceled?
Was it real? Eighteen hours of sleep, puking my brains out, swallowing pain pills like tic-tacs? Did I really spend the last six months (minus two days) thinking I might be dead by Christmas? Did I dream all that?
Yesterday at 3:00 I had cancer. Then, by 4:00 I didn't. Or at least none that they could see. What the hell just happened?
What do I do now? SSI says I can go on disability. Should I take it? Should I look for a job? Go on a trip? Write one of those "I survived cancer" books? Do I volunteer somewhere? Do I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for fear of a relapse? Or do I treat this like a second chance? An opportunity to get things right?
Something just took half a year of what's left of my life. I feel like it ought to mean something. Like it ought to have some significance. I'm just not sure things like this mean anything. They are just events, stuff that happens. If they have meaning, it is in the way they change us. I wonder how cancer has changed me?
Now that I'm not afraid of dying any more, will I be as patient and forgiving? Will I be as grateful? Will my priorities change? I just don't know.
Right now I don't know or feel much of anything. I guess I'm still in limbo, just a different neighborhood than the one I was in yesterday. In the seventies we had a very corny saying about today being the first day of the rest of your life. Something really big was true about my life yesterday, and now it isn't true any more. And I'm not sure what's more important: the things that changed, or the ones that will stay the same.
What's changed? I don't feel like I could die any minute. I don't feel like there is an alien living in my body. I don't feel like an invalid. I'm not fighting cancer any more. At least not my own.
What hasn't changed? I love my wife and my mom. People care for me. I want to act.
I'm sure these lists will get longer over time, but it probably isn't too productive to dwell on them. Many of my questions are going to have to answer themselves, and many will have to just remain unanswered.
Maybe the biggest thing cancer has taught me is that I am more loved than I ever thought possible. More than I could ever ask or imagine. If that's the only answer I ever get, I'd have to say it was worth it.
Peace,
Pennsy
Saturday, September 11, 2010
#261: Wait For It...
It's a surprisingly good day. I'm starting to resign myself to the idea of waiting. Mum and I joked yesterday about how silly we'll all feel on Monday when the doc tells us there's nothing wrong. That would be a good problem to have to deal with.
Cancer has radically changed the way I worry about things. I've always preached that stuff about "Consider the lilies" and whatnot. You know, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change." if you want to stay sane with cancer, you have to do more than just preach that stuff. The stakes are so high, and the worst cases so terrible that letting yourself get too far ahead would drive you crazy. Don't let me kid you, I worry. I'm not some kind of mental master. I still get scared of what might happen. But I'm a lot happier when I give my mind something else to do. Having that rehearsal this week was really a blessing. Even if I did feel "Rode hard and put up wet" when it was over. I've been living on the buzz for two days.
Today we have some guests coming to visit. Our niece and nephew-in-law are coming over before the big UK vs. Western Ky University football game tonight. It will be great to have some youthful energy in the house for a while. All us geezers are getting on one another's nerves a little. It's always good to have to put on your company manners. Even if it is only for an hour or so.
Tomorrow, I'd like to go to church. I haven't been in a while, and I feel a little like a phony only showing up when I need something. I haven't been struck by lightening yet, so I don't guess God minds too much. I have friends there, including other cancer fighters, and it does my heart good to get a little unconditional love, whatever my own motivation might be.
Besides, I guess there are worse reasons to go to church than loving one another. Come to think of it, I'm not sure there's a better one.
Peace,
Pennsy
Cancer has radically changed the way I worry about things. I've always preached that stuff about "Consider the lilies" and whatnot. You know, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change." if you want to stay sane with cancer, you have to do more than just preach that stuff. The stakes are so high, and the worst cases so terrible that letting yourself get too far ahead would drive you crazy. Don't let me kid you, I worry. I'm not some kind of mental master. I still get scared of what might happen. But I'm a lot happier when I give my mind something else to do. Having that rehearsal this week was really a blessing. Even if I did feel "Rode hard and put up wet" when it was over. I've been living on the buzz for two days.
Today we have some guests coming to visit. Our niece and nephew-in-law are coming over before the big UK vs. Western Ky University football game tonight. It will be great to have some youthful energy in the house for a while. All us geezers are getting on one another's nerves a little. It's always good to have to put on your company manners. Even if it is only for an hour or so.
Tomorrow, I'd like to go to church. I haven't been in a while, and I feel a little like a phony only showing up when I need something. I haven't been struck by lightening yet, so I don't guess God minds too much. I have friends there, including other cancer fighters, and it does my heart good to get a little unconditional love, whatever my own motivation might be.
Besides, I guess there are worse reasons to go to church than loving one another. Come to think of it, I'm not sure there's a better one.
Peace,
Pennsy
Thursday, September 9, 2010
#260: Square One
Yesterday's adventures wore me out. The scan was easy. The rehearsal was exhausting. It was only a read-through, but it was a lot more than I'm used to. Never thought I could feel so tired just from talking.
There was nothing to the CT scan. A nice lady put an IV in my arm. Hit the vein the first time. Not even a bruise. Believe me, with all the needle sticks I've had this year, I've really come to appreciate that sort of thing. The scan was quick. The tech helped me onto the table, hooked up the contrast fluid to my IV, and closed the door. One quick trip through and back and it was all over. I'll get the results Monday. In the meantime, I'll be trying to keep busy and distracted. I'm tired of fretting over things I can't do anything about.
Last night's rehearsal was hard. Physically hard. I was so excited to get started that I showed up an hour earlier than everybody else. Since we were meeting at the director's home, we sat and chatted for a while. I made friends with her dog. Once the rest of the company arrived, we had a lovely meal together. Our hostess had taken the trouble to fix a home made mushroom soup for me, and was gracious enough to eat it with me while she served the rest of her guests a more substantial feast. It reminded me of Atticus Finch eating peas with his knife. It was very kind of her to do that. The eggplant parmesan sure looked good.
Don't get me wrong about how hard the rehearsal was. It isn't like we were dancing and running around. We sat in comfortable chairs and read out loud. By the time we were finished, I wasn't sure what kind of sounds were going to come out of my mouth. The character uses lots of dialects. All mine sound like Dracula. When I tried to sing along with the music, I croaked. I'd like to say I wasn't bad for a first time back, but I was pretty bad. The drive home felt like a cross-country cattle drive. I climbed into bed and died for about fourteen hours. And for all that, I feel like a million bucks. It's great to be back doing what I love.
Still, this comeback thing is going to take longer than I thought. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
Peace,
Pennsy
There was nothing to the CT scan. A nice lady put an IV in my arm. Hit the vein the first time. Not even a bruise. Believe me, with all the needle sticks I've had this year, I've really come to appreciate that sort of thing. The scan was quick. The tech helped me onto the table, hooked up the contrast fluid to my IV, and closed the door. One quick trip through and back and it was all over. I'll get the results Monday. In the meantime, I'll be trying to keep busy and distracted. I'm tired of fretting over things I can't do anything about.
Last night's rehearsal was hard. Physically hard. I was so excited to get started that I showed up an hour earlier than everybody else. Since we were meeting at the director's home, we sat and chatted for a while. I made friends with her dog. Once the rest of the company arrived, we had a lovely meal together. Our hostess had taken the trouble to fix a home made mushroom soup for me, and was gracious enough to eat it with me while she served the rest of her guests a more substantial feast. It reminded me of Atticus Finch eating peas with his knife. It was very kind of her to do that. The eggplant parmesan sure looked good.
Don't get me wrong about how hard the rehearsal was. It isn't like we were dancing and running around. We sat in comfortable chairs and read out loud. By the time we were finished, I wasn't sure what kind of sounds were going to come out of my mouth. The character uses lots of dialects. All mine sound like Dracula. When I tried to sing along with the music, I croaked. I'd like to say I wasn't bad for a first time back, but I was pretty bad. The drive home felt like a cross-country cattle drive. I climbed into bed and died for about fourteen hours. And for all that, I feel like a million bucks. It's great to be back doing what I love.
Still, this comeback thing is going to take longer than I thought. I can't wait to see how it turns out.
Peace,
Pennsy
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
#259: What the Old Timers Know
Today is my CT scan day. My brother-in-law is also having his umpteenth chemo treatment. I am amazed by his ability to take the punishment. I guess we all do what we have to do. He and his sweet wife B are off to Bowling Green for treatment this morning. God bless them both.
The head and neck cancer support group was much less scary yesterday. Several people commented on how much better I looked. It was a refreshing perspective. These folks haven't seen me for a month. When you are living day to day, it is easy to lose track of long term changes. They reminded me how really badly I was doing just four weeks ago. I was making progress without even realizing it.
Last month I was scared by the stories of people whose sense of taste took two or three years to get back to normal. Some people never get all the way back. Yesterday those same stories gave me hope. You can recognize the long time survivors because they are so positive and encouraging. Those of us closer to treatment are more worried, but the folks who actually make it for years are. The ones who keep hoping for the best. I talked a little about my anxiety, and hey just kept telling me, "You're gonna be fine." And I will be fine. Whatever the outcome of today's scan, I'll be fine. I'll still have great doctors and people who love me. I'll still have God, no matter how frustratingly silent God seems to be. And I'll still have this blog to share my story with people who need to hear it.
It's gonna be fine.
Peace,
Pennsy
The head and neck cancer support group was much less scary yesterday. Several people commented on how much better I looked. It was a refreshing perspective. These folks haven't seen me for a month. When you are living day to day, it is easy to lose track of long term changes. They reminded me how really badly I was doing just four weeks ago. I was making progress without even realizing it.
Last month I was scared by the stories of people whose sense of taste took two or three years to get back to normal. Some people never get all the way back. Yesterday those same stories gave me hope. You can recognize the long time survivors because they are so positive and encouraging. Those of us closer to treatment are more worried, but the folks who actually make it for years are. The ones who keep hoping for the best. I talked a little about my anxiety, and hey just kept telling me, "You're gonna be fine." And I will be fine. Whatever the outcome of today's scan, I'll be fine. I'll still have great doctors and people who love me. I'll still have God, no matter how frustratingly silent God seems to be. And I'll still have this blog to share my story with people who need to hear it.
It's gonna be fine.
Peace,
Pennsy
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
#258: Places to Go, People to See
There are events on the calendar for a change. This afternoon is the head and neck cancer support group. Tomorrow is my CT scan and then I have a rehearsal tomorrow night. Singing without teeth should be an adventure.
I'm apprehensive about the support group. The last meeting freaked me out a little. Lots of stories meant to be encouraging that made me feel worse. Sort of reminded me of the friend who said that AA meetings always made her want to drink. It's the one time that being around other people with cancer really scared me. People three and four years past treatment who still couldn't taste or swallow like they used to. People with hearing aids and dramatically scarring surgeries. It made me realize how much worse off I could have been, but also showed me that I'll probably be living with the consequences of this disease for a long time. When I got home that night I was as sick as I've ever been. I actually threw up in the yard, before I even got into the house. I'm hoping that tonight's meeting is a little less dramatic.
Tomorrow's scan, I've talked plenty about. It will just be a little ride through the big donut. The exciting part of that adventure comes on Monday when they tell me what they see.
The rehearsal is going to be a small one. Just me, the director, and one other actor going over some music (I think.) They are nice people and they know me, so I'm not worried about being judged or anything like that. Nevertheless, I'm very self conscious about my speech. I expect to be pretty frustrated by the sounds my mouth won't let me make yet. I've always been especially vain about my voice, so I guess this is going to be a real character builder. Still, I can't wait for the go ahead on the new teeth.
It's another beautiful day in the Bluegrass. The girls and I are getting ready to go spend some time in it. It will be nice to have some things to accomplish before I go back to worrying.
Peace,
Pennsy
I'm apprehensive about the support group. The last meeting freaked me out a little. Lots of stories meant to be encouraging that made me feel worse. Sort of reminded me of the friend who said that AA meetings always made her want to drink. It's the one time that being around other people with cancer really scared me. People three and four years past treatment who still couldn't taste or swallow like they used to. People with hearing aids and dramatically scarring surgeries. It made me realize how much worse off I could have been, but also showed me that I'll probably be living with the consequences of this disease for a long time. When I got home that night I was as sick as I've ever been. I actually threw up in the yard, before I even got into the house. I'm hoping that tonight's meeting is a little less dramatic.
Tomorrow's scan, I've talked plenty about. It will just be a little ride through the big donut. The exciting part of that adventure comes on Monday when they tell me what they see.
The rehearsal is going to be a small one. Just me, the director, and one other actor going over some music (I think.) They are nice people and they know me, so I'm not worried about being judged or anything like that. Nevertheless, I'm very self conscious about my speech. I expect to be pretty frustrated by the sounds my mouth won't let me make yet. I've always been especially vain about my voice, so I guess this is going to be a real character builder. Still, I can't wait for the go ahead on the new teeth.
It's another beautiful day in the Bluegrass. The girls and I are getting ready to go spend some time in it. It will be nice to have some things to accomplish before I go back to worrying.
Peace,
Pennsy
Monday, September 6, 2010
#257: Rather Be Flying
Seven days more and the wait will be over. On Wednesday I have the first CT scan since treatment ended. Next Monday I get the results. They will tell me if they see any cancer still in there. The waiting is driving me crazy.
I've been doing a lot of very esoteric reading. Reading about Mormonism and Masons and Theosophy and Hinduism. It's as if I'm searching for meaning somewhere else. My own life is so stuck in limbo right now. I have always stubbornly sought my own answers, but right now I would love for someone to tell me what it all means.
Last night I dreamed I could astrally project my consciousness. I left my body and flew around the world like a ghost or a magician. Nothing about my physical being mattered, not cancer, not being tired. I wasn't afraid of being sick or dying. I just flew, free and strong. I was pretty disappointed when I woke up. Turns out that the laws of space and time still apply to me.
I've been having these crazy paranoid thoughts. What if, after all this, I beat cancer and I'm not a better person for it? What if I'm the same selfish, frightened person I was back in April? Back when I was really sick I was sure that I was becoming someone different. Someone whose priorities had changed. But what if that was just a delusion to help me get through all that misery? Would that mean my cancer had no purpose, no meaning? Should it?
Part of me wants to hope that it will all be over soon. I'll sit in the examining room and the doctors will say that I'm all better, I can get the PEG tube out of my belly, get dentures for my mouth, start lifting and running again. Stop being afraid. Start being a new man. I want to hope for the best, but I'm afraid of how I'll react if I don't hear all that.
What if they tell me it's back or it's moved or it's worse? What if I need more chemo or have to do radiation again? I was diagnosed on April 16. Almost five months. It feels like such a long time, but I don't guess it is. Not really. Lots of people battle cancer for years. Will I? Can I?
See why I'd rather sleep? Life is much better when you can fly. I don't know what's coming, but I do know something is going to change in seven days. I hope it's me.
Peace,
Pennsy
I've been doing a lot of very esoteric reading. Reading about Mormonism and Masons and Theosophy and Hinduism. It's as if I'm searching for meaning somewhere else. My own life is so stuck in limbo right now. I have always stubbornly sought my own answers, but right now I would love for someone to tell me what it all means.
Last night I dreamed I could astrally project my consciousness. I left my body and flew around the world like a ghost or a magician. Nothing about my physical being mattered, not cancer, not being tired. I wasn't afraid of being sick or dying. I just flew, free and strong. I was pretty disappointed when I woke up. Turns out that the laws of space and time still apply to me.
I've been having these crazy paranoid thoughts. What if, after all this, I beat cancer and I'm not a better person for it? What if I'm the same selfish, frightened person I was back in April? Back when I was really sick I was sure that I was becoming someone different. Someone whose priorities had changed. But what if that was just a delusion to help me get through all that misery? Would that mean my cancer had no purpose, no meaning? Should it?
Part of me wants to hope that it will all be over soon. I'll sit in the examining room and the doctors will say that I'm all better, I can get the PEG tube out of my belly, get dentures for my mouth, start lifting and running again. Stop being afraid. Start being a new man. I want to hope for the best, but I'm afraid of how I'll react if I don't hear all that.
What if they tell me it's back or it's moved or it's worse? What if I need more chemo or have to do radiation again? I was diagnosed on April 16. Almost five months. It feels like such a long time, but I don't guess it is. Not really. Lots of people battle cancer for years. Will I? Can I?
See why I'd rather sleep? Life is much better when you can fly. I don't know what's coming, but I do know something is going to change in seven days. I hope it's me.
Peace,
Pennsy
Thursday, September 2, 2010
#256: No Giving Up
OK, first some good news. It's been a day and a half since I last used the feeding tube. I'm finally able to stand the taste of my protein shakes. I may lose some weight, but at least I'll be ready when it comes time to pull it out. The rules are that I have to be off the tube for two weeks, have to maintain my weight, and have to be healthy enough that further treatment is not likely. The last part is out of my hands, but I can at least put the PEG tube behind me. I feel a lot less like an infant when I don't have to ask to be fed, which is a bonus.
It's a little bit of an exaggeration to say I can stand the taste of these shakes. The truth is that most everything still tastes terrible. I've just decided that it doesn't matter what stuff tastes like. I have to learn to eat again. All I can do is hope my taste is back to normal before I try my first slice of pizza.
Now the girls are going to take me for a ride. I have given them every reason to write me off over the past few days, but neither of them has the courtesy to give up on me. Good to have people around who don't get sick of trying.
Peace,
Pennsy
It's a little bit of an exaggeration to say I can stand the taste of these shakes. The truth is that most everything still tastes terrible. I've just decided that it doesn't matter what stuff tastes like. I have to learn to eat again. All I can do is hope my taste is back to normal before I try my first slice of pizza.
Now the girls are going to take me for a ride. I have given them every reason to write me off over the past few days, but neither of them has the courtesy to give up on me. Good to have people around who don't get sick of trying.
Peace,
Pennsy
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
##255: The Waiting is the Hardest Part
What was once a daily joy has become a weekly chore. I miss blogging, but then I've been missing just about everything lately.
While I was warned about how difficult radiation and treatment would be, I have to admit I was totally unprepared for this ordeal of waiting to find out if they worked. It's still a week till the CT scan and almost two until the appointment when we get the results. Meanwhile every itch and tingle convinces me that the cancer is back. A few weeks ago I couldn't conceive of that possibility. Now I'm obsessed with it.
Everything irritates me. Conversation works my nerves. Silence depresses me. Watching TV feels like a waste of time, so I put on the headphones and watch YouTube. Walking makes me happy, so I stay in bed till noon, when it's too hot to go out. Nothing I'm doing makes sense.
Part of what I'm going through is depression, but mostly I'm scared shitless. I told Mum yesterday that I think I'm sleeping just to avoid being awake.
We've had some rough news this week. My sister's brother-in-law passed away suddenly. A friend was diagnosed with cancer. People I love and care about have much bigger problems than mine. My God. Is that the problem? Am I upset because I'm not the center of attention any more? How hideous is that?
See why I'm not blogging much? I bore myself with all this complaining. I certainly wouldn't want to read about it online. I'll try to find something more interesting to write about tomorrow.
Peace,
Pennsy
While I was warned about how difficult radiation and treatment would be, I have to admit I was totally unprepared for this ordeal of waiting to find out if they worked. It's still a week till the CT scan and almost two until the appointment when we get the results. Meanwhile every itch and tingle convinces me that the cancer is back. A few weeks ago I couldn't conceive of that possibility. Now I'm obsessed with it.
Everything irritates me. Conversation works my nerves. Silence depresses me. Watching TV feels like a waste of time, so I put on the headphones and watch YouTube. Walking makes me happy, so I stay in bed till noon, when it's too hot to go out. Nothing I'm doing makes sense.
Part of what I'm going through is depression, but mostly I'm scared shitless. I told Mum yesterday that I think I'm sleeping just to avoid being awake.
We've had some rough news this week. My sister's brother-in-law passed away suddenly. A friend was diagnosed with cancer. People I love and care about have much bigger problems than mine. My God. Is that the problem? Am I upset because I'm not the center of attention any more? How hideous is that?
See why I'm not blogging much? I bore myself with all this complaining. I certainly wouldn't want to read about it online. I'll try to find something more interesting to write about tomorrow.
Peace,
Pennsy
Thursday, August 26, 2010
#254: Change Around the Corner
Three quarters of a mile today, at a much better pace. Jake would have preferred more time to sniff and pee, but I had my own agenda. Besides, people frown on me sniffing and peeing in their yards.
It was a fantastic day, moderate temps and almost no humidity by Bluegrass standards so we were able to clip right along. Somewhere along the walk, I realized that I need to find my watch. I gave both my watch and my car keys to Mrs P back in April when I went in for surgery and haven't seen much of either since then. I do remember that the battery is dead on the watch, though. It will be nice to care about time again.
Mum went to KFC and brought me back some mashed potatoes and gravy tonight. Things went pretty well until I ran out of gravy, then it was a little like eating wet sand. The taste was strange, but not unpleasant. I did enjoy some scrambled eggs for lunch, though. That's a new one to add to the menu. I can practically make a meal of the foods I can eat now, as long as I want grits, eggs, and mushroom soup. We may try some egg drop soup from the local carry out tomorrow.
I go back to the center for another blood test tomorrow. I'm starting to feel like a real athlete. The difference is, no substance is banned from my body. They shove all kinds of stuff in me. They keep adjusting the level of the blood thinners, trying to get the mix just right. I'm fine with that. Long as I keep getting better, I can handle a couple of needle sticks a week. When the nurse is both good and lucky, the bruising isn't too bad, either. At least I'm just taking Warfarin tablets instead of injections every day.
It feels like change is in the air. The beginning of the school year always feels that way to me. Something new is just around the corner. Can't wait to see what it is.
Peace,
Pennsy
It was a fantastic day, moderate temps and almost no humidity by Bluegrass standards so we were able to clip right along. Somewhere along the walk, I realized that I need to find my watch. I gave both my watch and my car keys to Mrs P back in April when I went in for surgery and haven't seen much of either since then. I do remember that the battery is dead on the watch, though. It will be nice to care about time again.
Mum went to KFC and brought me back some mashed potatoes and gravy tonight. Things went pretty well until I ran out of gravy, then it was a little like eating wet sand. The taste was strange, but not unpleasant. I did enjoy some scrambled eggs for lunch, though. That's a new one to add to the menu. I can practically make a meal of the foods I can eat now, as long as I want grits, eggs, and mushroom soup. We may try some egg drop soup from the local carry out tomorrow.
I go back to the center for another blood test tomorrow. I'm starting to feel like a real athlete. The difference is, no substance is banned from my body. They shove all kinds of stuff in me. They keep adjusting the level of the blood thinners, trying to get the mix just right. I'm fine with that. Long as I keep getting better, I can handle a couple of needle sticks a week. When the nurse is both good and lucky, the bruising isn't too bad, either. At least I'm just taking Warfarin tablets instead of injections every day.
It feels like change is in the air. The beginning of the school year always feels that way to me. Something new is just around the corner. Can't wait to see what it is.
Peace,
Pennsy
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
#253: Back on the Road
Jake and I went for a walk today. We did a half-mile loop around a couple of blocks here in the neighborhood. I thought we kept up a pretty good pace, and I had no trouble breathing. It was nice to break a sweat from actually moving for a change. Most of my sweating this summer has been from near-death experiences. I think this is the longest I've walked since I got sick. I'm looking forward to stretching that distance to a mile. Might even be running before long.
The eating adventures continue. Last night I had an insane experience. I made myself a bowl of grits. That in in itself was a treat. While I wore the oxygen hose, I had to stay away from the stove to prevent setting my face on fire. Now that I can go out there, I can do a lot more experimenting and discovery. For example, and this is the insane part, last night I discovered that grits taste like fried chicken to me. This makes no sense. It's as if strawberry jello tasted like onion rings. I should be so lucky. Actually, that tastes pretty much like strawberry jello. But the grits thing really made me laugh. It got me wondering if it is my mouth or my brain that's playing tricks. Now if I could just find oatmeal that tastes like a nice piece of fillet.
The doc has me doing neck stretches. He is concerned that my surgery site will stiffen up if I don't start moving it around. It's hard to tell what it feels like since I have a big nerve missing in there and much of the right side of my neck is numb, but I can feel the limited range of motion. It's hard for me to tell if that's from stiffness, or if it's because of the muscle they took out of there. I know that my right arm is limited, especially when I try to lift it to the side. That may never come back, but I think I can strengthen the muscles around it. My friend C is a personal trainer and we're going to start working on getting me back in condition as soon as the doctors give me the OK. I'm looking forward to getting back to the gym.
In the meantime, a half-mile walk feels like a pretty good start.
Peace,
Pennsy
The eating adventures continue. Last night I had an insane experience. I made myself a bowl of grits. That in in itself was a treat. While I wore the oxygen hose, I had to stay away from the stove to prevent setting my face on fire. Now that I can go out there, I can do a lot more experimenting and discovery. For example, and this is the insane part, last night I discovered that grits taste like fried chicken to me. This makes no sense. It's as if strawberry jello tasted like onion rings. I should be so lucky. Actually, that tastes pretty much like strawberry jello. But the grits thing really made me laugh. It got me wondering if it is my mouth or my brain that's playing tricks. Now if I could just find oatmeal that tastes like a nice piece of fillet.
The doc has me doing neck stretches. He is concerned that my surgery site will stiffen up if I don't start moving it around. It's hard to tell what it feels like since I have a big nerve missing in there and much of the right side of my neck is numb, but I can feel the limited range of motion. It's hard for me to tell if that's from stiffness, or if it's because of the muscle they took out of there. I know that my right arm is limited, especially when I try to lift it to the side. That may never come back, but I think I can strengthen the muscles around it. My friend C is a personal trainer and we're going to start working on getting me back in condition as soon as the doctors give me the OK. I'm looking forward to getting back to the gym.
In the meantime, a half-mile walk feels like a pretty good start.
Peace,
Pennsy
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
#252: One Less Tube
This one day at a time stuff is not as easy as it looks. I am so tired of waiting, so tired of little victories. So I was delighted yesterday when we passed a major milepost.
I went in to the center for some blood work. After it was done, I asked to see Dee, my oncology team leader. "When can I get rid of this air tank?" here's how the decision was made. First they put one of those big white clips on my finger and checked my oxygen saturation level while using the tank. It was around 99, whatever that means. Then they walked me briskly around the halls for a few minutes without the tank. We were watching to make sure that my oxygen level didn't go below 90. I finished my test at around 93. The doc said I could take off the hose, but that I should keep it around for a while in case I need it. Now it's gathering dust in the corner and I am very happy to be rid of it.
My friend J stopped by today. She is directing a staged reading that I'm going to be part of in the late fall. I'm hoping to have my teeth long before then and should have learned to speak again. It's a musical based on an old Rod Steiger movie called No Way to Treat a Lady. The role is juicy and the cast sounds fun. I've never worked with J before, so that will be a new adventure. A musical will be a lot for me to take on, but since its a reading, it won't be quite as demanding as a full blown production. Long as I don't have to
eat anything, I should be fine.
Speaking of eating, progress is still slow on that front. Last night I tried some chicken vegetable soup and it tasted like an ash tray to me. Also tried some chocolate pudding and it didn't taste like anything I've ever eaten before, least of all chocolate pudding. I think we have grits on the menu tonight, and I have high hopes.
I've been reading on my iPad. There are lots of free books you can download. Been digging into the Book of Mormon. I don't think I'll be converting anytime soon, but I enjoy learning about other people's faith traditions. Reading on the screen is much more comfortable than I expected. The type is bright and clear and the pad is very comfortable to hold. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this keyboard, too.
My next goal is to get my teeth. That is going to be pretty important if I ever hope to get rid of my other bit of plumbing, the PEG feeding tube in my belly. I cant help but think that the ability to chew is going to broaden my dining options considerably
But, you know what they keep telling me... "One day at a time." For now when I need encouragement, I'll just gaze at that unused oxygen tank in the corner. It really is the little things that get you through the day.
Peace
Pennsy
I went in to the center for some blood work. After it was done, I asked to see Dee, my oncology team leader. "When can I get rid of this air tank?" here's how the decision was made. First they put one of those big white clips on my finger and checked my oxygen saturation level while using the tank. It was around 99, whatever that means. Then they walked me briskly around the halls for a few minutes without the tank. We were watching to make sure that my oxygen level didn't go below 90. I finished my test at around 93. The doc said I could take off the hose, but that I should keep it around for a while in case I need it. Now it's gathering dust in the corner and I am very happy to be rid of it.
My friend J stopped by today. She is directing a staged reading that I'm going to be part of in the late fall. I'm hoping to have my teeth long before then and should have learned to speak again. It's a musical based on an old Rod Steiger movie called No Way to Treat a Lady. The role is juicy and the cast sounds fun. I've never worked with J before, so that will be a new adventure. A musical will be a lot for me to take on, but since its a reading, it won't be quite as demanding as a full blown production. Long as I don't have to
eat anything, I should be fine.
Speaking of eating, progress is still slow on that front. Last night I tried some chicken vegetable soup and it tasted like an ash tray to me. Also tried some chocolate pudding and it didn't taste like anything I've ever eaten before, least of all chocolate pudding. I think we have grits on the menu tonight, and I have high hopes.
I've been reading on my iPad. There are lots of free books you can download. Been digging into the Book of Mormon. I don't think I'll be converting anytime soon, but I enjoy learning about other people's faith traditions. Reading on the screen is much more comfortable than I expected. The type is bright and clear and the pad is very comfortable to hold. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this keyboard, too.
My next goal is to get my teeth. That is going to be pretty important if I ever hope to get rid of my other bit of plumbing, the PEG feeding tube in my belly. I cant help but think that the ability to chew is going to broaden my dining options considerably
But, you know what they keep telling me... "One day at a time." For now when I need encouragement, I'll just gaze at that unused oxygen tank in the corner. It really is the little things that get you through the day.
Peace
Pennsy
Friday, August 20, 2010
#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
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
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
#250: Adventures in Fine Dining
Yogurt. Oh my. Yogurt was a big mistake. It tasted like lumpy vinegar. Every day I try something new. Our one success was with what I called "gruel" but what was actually cream of wheat thinned down with milk to an almost soupy consistency. That was the first flavor I could stand to have in my mouth all summer. It was, as one of my Facebook friends said, like manna.
Actually, it was weird. It didn't taste like cream of wheat at all, it just wasn't disgusting. Applesauce. Now that was disgusting. Anything sweet is just too much for me. It turns to chemicals in my mouth. I described it to Mrs P as the flavor of a rusty snow shovel, dirty, salty and metallic. Chicken soup was better, but too spicy. The herbs in it played havoc with my stomach which hasn't had anything more adventurous than fruit punch Gatorade in it for months. Plain broth may be better. The vegetables in the soup were fine, but the chicken was hard for me to break up and swallow. Also, the noodles kind of wore me out after a while.
Oatmeal was another failure. There are a million varieties, of course, but we tried Quick Oats and they were too course and sticky for me. They coated my throat and mouth and anything that stays in there long enough turns nasty. But nothing was as bad as the yogurt. I don't know how to describe it. Blueberry yogurt is one of my favorite foods, but this was just awful, so sour and the texture was unpalatable. I could barely choke down the first spoon full.
So we continue the great experiment. Right now I'm sitting down to a nice hot bowl of gruel. Tonight we're going to try mashed potatoes. It seems like the blander the better is the way to go. Can't be too sweet. Can't be too cold. Can't require chewing. But it has to be solid food. I have to wean myself off of this liquid diet in order to get rid of the PEG tube. It's a strangely unambitious sounding project, trying to discover something I can stand to eat, but it's mine.
The funny thing is, I'm accustomed to treating my body like a dumpster. If it fits, it goes in. I've been working on receipts for last year's taxes (where would we be without that extension?) and I'm horrified at what passed for my meals when I was on the road. What a vast collection of fatty, sugary junk. Suddenly I find myself completely rebuilding my diet starting from a foundation of hot cereal. Maybe I can be a little more thoughtful this time around.
On the other hand, I would sell my soul for a slice of pizza right now. So I don't want to commit to any radical resolutions.
Peace,
Pennsy
Actually, it was weird. It didn't taste like cream of wheat at all, it just wasn't disgusting. Applesauce. Now that was disgusting. Anything sweet is just too much for me. It turns to chemicals in my mouth. I described it to Mrs P as the flavor of a rusty snow shovel, dirty, salty and metallic. Chicken soup was better, but too spicy. The herbs in it played havoc with my stomach which hasn't had anything more adventurous than fruit punch Gatorade in it for months. Plain broth may be better. The vegetables in the soup were fine, but the chicken was hard for me to break up and swallow. Also, the noodles kind of wore me out after a while.
Oatmeal was another failure. There are a million varieties, of course, but we tried Quick Oats and they were too course and sticky for me. They coated my throat and mouth and anything that stays in there long enough turns nasty. But nothing was as bad as the yogurt. I don't know how to describe it. Blueberry yogurt is one of my favorite foods, but this was just awful, so sour and the texture was unpalatable. I could barely choke down the first spoon full.
So we continue the great experiment. Right now I'm sitting down to a nice hot bowl of gruel. Tonight we're going to try mashed potatoes. It seems like the blander the better is the way to go. Can't be too sweet. Can't be too cold. Can't require chewing. But it has to be solid food. I have to wean myself off of this liquid diet in order to get rid of the PEG tube. It's a strangely unambitious sounding project, trying to discover something I can stand to eat, but it's mine.
The funny thing is, I'm accustomed to treating my body like a dumpster. If it fits, it goes in. I've been working on receipts for last year's taxes (where would we be without that extension?) and I'm horrified at what passed for my meals when I was on the road. What a vast collection of fatty, sugary junk. Suddenly I find myself completely rebuilding my diet starting from a foundation of hot cereal. Maybe I can be a little more thoughtful this time around.
On the other hand, I would sell my soul for a slice of pizza right now. So I don't want to commit to any radical resolutions.
Peace,
Pennsy
Monday, August 16, 2010
#249: Daring to Look Ahead
A new week full of possibilities. It has been a long time since I had the courage or the inclination to look ahead more than a few hours. Suddenly I have actual plans and anticipations! Feels like part of me is coming back to life.
We should learn this week if I've been approved for COBRA coverage from work. That will aid the great drug scramble. I hope to learn if our request to waive the pre-existing status on my cancer is approved. That will free up some money to cover part of my chemo. I continue hoping for the kindness of the strangers at Blue Cross. We're also talking with the folks at Medicaid to see if they can offer any help.
Blood work today will well us how well the anticoagulant drugs are working. If I'm progressing on schedule, I'll be able to eliminate some shots and maybe even get rid of this oxygen tube in my nose. I thought I was all finished wih shots, but they put me back on the Arixtra last week.
I've started trying to eat by mouth. I have to be off the feeding tube for a couple of weeks before they will remove it. That part is hard. I can't stand the taste of anything. Applesauce, oatmeal, even chicken broth all taste more like solvent than food. I try a little each day, but it is discouraging so far.
One thing that is not discouraging is the continued kindness and generosity of friends and family. I would have thought that by now people would have been bored with me and my stories, but they continue to call, write, and visit. It means so much.
Met with a director on Saturday who wants me to be in a staged reading of a musical. It depends on when I get my teeth. Meantime, I have started working full steam ahead as if I were preparing the role for performance. It is such a great feeling to be busy doing work that I love. I just don't know when I'll have the wind again to be able to play. One thing I learned from reading Lance Armstrong's story was to never give up on a comeback. It maybe a while, there may be false starts, but I am determined to play again.
The best news is that for the first time in months, I have something to think about besides cancer. That in itself opens a world of possibilities I am eager to explore.
Peace,
Pennsy
We should learn this week if I've been approved for COBRA coverage from work. That will aid the great drug scramble. I hope to learn if our request to waive the pre-existing status on my cancer is approved. That will free up some money to cover part of my chemo. I continue hoping for the kindness of the strangers at Blue Cross. We're also talking with the folks at Medicaid to see if they can offer any help.
Blood work today will well us how well the anticoagulant drugs are working. If I'm progressing on schedule, I'll be able to eliminate some shots and maybe even get rid of this oxygen tube in my nose. I thought I was all finished wih shots, but they put me back on the Arixtra last week.
I've started trying to eat by mouth. I have to be off the feeding tube for a couple of weeks before they will remove it. That part is hard. I can't stand the taste of anything. Applesauce, oatmeal, even chicken broth all taste more like solvent than food. I try a little each day, but it is discouraging so far.
One thing that is not discouraging is the continued kindness and generosity of friends and family. I would have thought that by now people would have been bored with me and my stories, but they continue to call, write, and visit. It means so much.
Met with a director on Saturday who wants me to be in a staged reading of a musical. It depends on when I get my teeth. Meantime, I have started working full steam ahead as if I were preparing the role for performance. It is such a great feeling to be busy doing work that I love. I just don't know when I'll have the wind again to be able to play. One thing I learned from reading Lance Armstrong's story was to never give up on a comeback. It maybe a while, there may be false starts, but I am determined to play again.
The best news is that for the first time in months, I have something to think about besides cancer. That in itself opens a world of possibilities I am eager to explore.
Peace,
Pennsy
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
#248: Blessings to Count
Changes are happening. Good changes.
Now that I'm off the pain killers my sleep is much more normal. I'm actually awake during the day. This is a blessing because the days are so beautiful this week. Miserable to be outside in, but lovely to look at. Staying awake all day also helps me sleep at night. That's good because nighttime is when the worst anxieties come along.
My stomach has settled down. We're trying a day without the anti-nausea drugs. That torture has left me alone for a few days. So has the sore throat. Those are the two things I hate the most about being sick.
The depression has passed for a while. So long, old friend. See you next time. Life never looks better than during the days after a depressive bout. The most wonderful part of the disease is that it feels so good when it's over. Like hitting yourself with a hammer.
Still no food by mouth, but I am drinking more water to keep my swallowing muscles working. As soon as I can a stand the taste, I'll be guzzling those protein shakes like a madman.
One funny side effect of losing my teeth... I have these crazy fingernails. I'm not sure quite what to do with them. I've always been a nervous biter. Now that they're growing, I have these grooming decisions to make. Trim them? Get a manicure? Let the m grow wild like Howard Hughes? All I know is that they make itching a much more rewarding experience.
While my nails are growing, my beard is showing no signs of returning and my hairline is still very high in back. I've stopped shaving my head though, and it's coming back nicely up top.
My improved condition means that Mrs P can get out of the house more. That is good for her mental health, which is good for both of us. I've a long list of blessings today. A good day to be Pennsy.
Now that I'm off the pain killers my sleep is much more normal. I'm actually awake during the day. This is a blessing because the days are so beautiful this week. Miserable to be outside in, but lovely to look at. Staying awake all day also helps me sleep at night. That's good because nighttime is when the worst anxieties come along.
My stomach has settled down. We're trying a day without the anti-nausea drugs. That torture has left me alone for a few days. So has the sore throat. Those are the two things I hate the most about being sick.
The depression has passed for a while. So long, old friend. See you next time. Life never looks better than during the days after a depressive bout. The most wonderful part of the disease is that it feels so good when it's over. Like hitting yourself with a hammer.
Still no food by mouth, but I am drinking more water to keep my swallowing muscles working. As soon as I can a stand the taste, I'll be guzzling those protein shakes like a madman.
One funny side effect of losing my teeth... I have these crazy fingernails. I'm not sure quite what to do with them. I've always been a nervous biter. Now that they're growing, I have these grooming decisions to make. Trim them? Get a manicure? Let the m grow wild like Howard Hughes? All I know is that they make itching a much more rewarding experience.
While my nails are growing, my beard is showing no signs of returning and my hairline is still very high in back. I've stopped shaving my head though, and it's coming back nicely up top.
My improved condition means that Mrs P can get out of the house more. That is good for her mental health, which is good for both of us. I've a long list of blessings today. A good day to be Pennsy.
Monday, August 9, 2010
#247: A Close Shave...
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| Fluoroscopy image c/o Northwestern Radiology |
I've never been awake in the recovery room before. Usually I'm gorked out of my mind and judging from my reputation, I'm hysterically funny in that state. Today I was wide awake and was struck by the surreal nature of the conversations. To my right was a woman recovering from an angioplasty. Not too groggy there. Two or three stalls to my right, a woman kept saying, "Dad. Daddy. Are you ready to wake up?" It got to be eerie after a few minutes. Then they brought a young boy into the stall to my left. He had just come out of surgery and he was having full blown hallucinations -- terrors, actually. He was sure that his family had abandoned him and that he was surrounded by strangers who wanted to kill him. Complete panic mode. When his mother finally came in, he didn't recognize her and they both freaked out. It was a very disturbing scene. The good news is, the kid is not going to remember any of it. On the other hand, mom may be in therapy for years.
It occurs to me that a lot of people would have considered this a pretty eventful morning. Heck, getting your bikini line shaved by a guy named "Jake" should be memorable, all by itself. But to me, it felt like just another day at the office. Nobody died. Nobody discovered any life threatening mystery lumps inside me. All in all, an ordinary day.
Well, except for the shave. That's really going to itch in a couple of days. My sister says to keep the corn starch powder handy.
Peace,
Pennsy
Sunday, August 8, 2010
#246: George Bailey's Lament
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I want my life back. That was my prayer yesterday. Alas, no angel to grant my wish, no bell ringing just yet.
If Saturday wasn't the worst day, it was certainly the worst so far. Started with retching and ended with tears. I don't know when I've wept so much and so hard. I am so tired of being sick. I want my life back. I don't want to puke any more. I don't want to eat through a tube or breathe through a hose. I want to be awake more than five hours a day. I want to chew something. Taste something. Walk a mile. Or ten. I want to go a day without needles and syringes. Give me my life back, Clarence.
It's a strange thing, crying. I went for years without doing it, certainly not without some great tragedy like the death of a family member. Now I weep at the drop of a hat. A kindness from a friend. A lovely movie. Or like yesterday, the frustration of not being in control of any damn thing in my life. I don't know what to do with these tears. Two things my father never taught me, how to fight with my wife and how to cry. I never remember him doing the first, and the only time I remember him crying was at my grandmother's funeral. He was a much more reserved man than I will ever be, and not much of a role model for how a 50-year-old man should behave when is so afraid of dying that all he can do is cry.
So I wept like a baby. I wept in my wife's arms and she sat bewildered and helpless with her arms around me. I wept as my mother stood by watching this grown man she had raised with tears and snot streaming down his swollen, toothless face. I guess I was feeling sorry for my self, but the tears had none of that guilty, self-indulgent feel that I usually associate with self-pity. Instead, I was grieving for the life I was afraid I was losing. Weeping for the hopes that might not come to pass. I have never felt death so near as I did yesterday, and I was scared of him. I don't want to go yet. I have too much to do. Too many roles to play. Too many trips to take with Mrs. P. Too many "Thank You's" and "I Love You's" to say.
Finally I prayed the prayer I've been afraid to say for all these weeks. "Oh, God. Please don't make me sick any more." Yes, I blame God for all this. I blame him for thinking up cancer in the first place. I blame him for every trip to the bathroom. Every breathless gasp. I try to forgive him. I want to make peace, but the truth is that I can't help feeling that my best friend has betrayed me. He's making me sick and I'm afraid he's going to let me die. I don't know what to do with these feelings. I'm not sure what I'd counsel someone who came to me with them. My dad would have said that I need to have more faith than that. I have to trust that God's plan is at work. I know he's right, but what's happening just feels so wrong. Tears seem like the only possible response, at least they did yesterday. Today I feel a little more in control of myself. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? "Get a hold of yourself!" I'm calm today. Of course, I haven't been sick today, either. I have a script that I'm reading. Still learning my way around the iPad. Just finished Pride and Prejudice. I'm not without projects. I have things to occupy my time. But still...
I want my life back, Clarence. I want to live. I want to live...
Peace
Pennsy
Images from Hank's Eclectic Meanderings and The Dancing Image.
Friday, August 6, 2010
#245: Dinnertime for a Schmuck
It's been a rough couple of days. The daily trips to the hospital for shots are really taking it out of me, more than radiation did, as I remember. I don't know why this should be. There's more stress with all the insurance company BS going on. On the other hand, people have been so generous with help, it's hard to feel too sorry for myself on that front.
Mostly I'm just tired. I told Mrs P that I felt "flu-ish" today. You know that kind of tired just before you get the flu? That's sort of what I've got. I'm also coughing pretty violently. I think my throat is starting to slough off some of the stuff that's crusted on in there. That's good news, but not so much fun to go through.
Yesterday was our 21st Wedding Anniversary. Mrs P took me to the movies to see Dinner for Schmucks. We laughed our heads off. The picture is silly and fun, just what we needed this summer. I took my oxygen tank and she enjoyed some popcorn. It was a lovely night, even if I did wind up sick when we got home. I'm not sure if it was from the late hour or the exertion of laughing so hard for so long. In any case, I'm glad we went.
Mostly I'm just tired. I told Mrs P that I felt "flu-ish" today. You know that kind of tired just before you get the flu? That's sort of what I've got. I'm also coughing pretty violently. I think my throat is starting to slough off some of the stuff that's crusted on in there. That's good news, but not so much fun to go through.
Yesterday was our 21st Wedding Anniversary. Mrs P took me to the movies to see Dinner for Schmucks. We laughed our heads off. The picture is silly and fun, just what we needed this summer. I took my oxygen tank and she enjoyed some popcorn. It was a lovely night, even if I did wind up sick when we got home. I'm not sure if it was from the late hour or the exertion of laughing so hard for so long. In any case, I'm glad we went.Mum just came in and told me that it's time for my supper. It feels a little like feeding time at the zoo. I need to go get nutrition pumped into me now. More news tomorrow.
Peace,
Pennsy
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
#244: Technological Wonders
Had a good meeting with the oncologist today. She is full of encouragement, a valuable commodity. The oxygen tank should be gone soon and so should the daily injections. My acting career is still a mouthful of teeth away, but I may be chasing Mrs P around the house again in the next few weeks. That is even more enticing.
I had a bad day yesterday. Nausea, dizziness, I over did it. Mrs P and Mum and I went to a support group for head and neck cancer fighters and their families. I really haven't digested all that happened there because I started getting sick about halfway through. I think that my air tank ran out and I didn't realize it. That isn't something I have la lot of practice recognizing. We made it home before the sick began, but just barely made it.
Today was more quiet. Meals, meds, sleep. That's my routine, at least until my breathing is back in shape. Then I start training to resume life among the moving.
Peace,
Pennsy
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