4-21-11

[wilomn]

For the last 18 weeks I've lived on a 3 week cycle. Every third friday was chemoday. Every third sat. and sun. were recovery days and every third monday was back to work. It's a fun cycle.

I exit the elevator. I take a long walk down a large corridor after entering the new facade of the old hospital. I know, as I've known the last 5 times that I'm going to have blood drawn for tests then off to the chemo room where I will sit in a chair that but for it's lack of straps would be at home in an asylum. Well, not that bad really, it is nicely cushioned and there is a thing that passes for a headrest though even my solid granite dome struggles to find comfort there.

The nurses are uniformly nice and genuinely caring. Noble ladies, and the odd man, bringing me the poisons that will put me near enough to dead to reboot my system.

It's a long walk down that echoing passage, past the gift shop with it's ugly over priced incredibly huge purses, passing the cafeteria and it's obligatory rollup iron grate, my steps making no sound since I wear squishy shoes. I wonder if the corridor minds that I pass soundlessly, leaving no physical trace of either my entrance or exit.

I'm generally one of the first ones in and last ones out. It's about 6 hours all told, not including travel time. During the administration of the cancer whackers chills are present, and nausea, and dopiness since the give me benadryl and one of the anti nauseas also makes me sleepy. It's all done intravenously. There are follow up drugs for nausea and to help shrink the malformed cells that are making all this possible. And other drugs for some of the side effects, which can be moderate to severe, which themselves are host to wonderful additional side effects of their own.

Some of the treatments for cancer themselves can cause cancer. The drugs the put in my veins are capable of destroying tissue on contact. They don't even want it coming in contact with bare skin, yet into my circulatory system it goes. I'm just barely smart enough to know that there must be some danger involved. Probably covered in one of those many many pieces of paper I signed. Along with the one saying no machines if things go south.

Well, tomorrow is round 6. Next week is testing to see just what the results of this course of treatments has accomplished. Or not accomplished. Were I given to impatience doubtless I'd be suffering bleeding ulcers by now. But, you have to finish to determine results. And just because the lab lost that blood work and kept you waiting 2 weeks before YOUR inquiry alerted them to the fact that they had lost it is no reason to think that incompetence may be rampant.

Well, let's just hope it isn't.

I write today not to complain, or not only to complain, even though I'm not really complaining, but to simply tell what it's like to go through this. For me but also for those who know people like me and don't know what it's like or what to say and do. I'm not special, there's nothing special here, an uncommon point of view yes, but that's just the way it is. What I've got and what I'm going through is becoming more common, will become more common, but is still seen seldom enough that most don't know much about the actual process or thoughts of others like me who are in the midst of it. I never gave it much thought until it was my turn. I don't imagine many do. There's not much need and it's not much fun.

What all that preamble is leading to is my desire to write here. Not to chronicle, I'm not committed enough for that, but to give anyone wanting it a glimpse of what this process is as well as a place to put my thoughts down, giving a glimpse of myself to those who may like to see it. Must be mortality knocking because I've NEVER cared before. But then I had a long range idea of what was likely to happen as I got old that is probably not even close to being feasible now.

I've always been a pretty guarded person. I had a guy I've known for several years ask me what I did for a living not too long ago. Most don't know much about me and I've fostered that. In fact, I've fostered an entire image that is useful but not necessarily an accurate reflection. (this is the part where I think I have something meaningful to say but am unsure how to go about saying it)

If people think you're a rude arrogant prick, you can say and do things and they will ONLY view them as coming from a rude arrogant prick. Couple that with a tag line that says you may not be very smart, and a LOT of folks, especially the ones bent on dastardly deeds or simply trolling, will underestimate you. Do that long enough that a couple of genuinely intelligent people catch on and start playing off that and not only are bad guys busted and trolls toyed with, but entertainment is provided for the masses.

Snuck in that entertainment though, hidden in the creases and folds, buried in the mucky gunk filled furrows of minds all unknowing, seeds were planted; never knowing if they would take root, sprout, grow, but planted nonetheless.

I'm a farmer who almost never sees his crop. Once in a while though, every now and then, I see one grow. I see a sprout develop into a seedling into a bush and finally into a solid being; able and willing to be one of the good guys.

Being one of the good guys, in and of itself, is quite an accomplishment. It's not easy. Seeing it done is important.

It's one way of generating good will, which feeds The Grace, which helps keep Beauty and Creativity and Wonder and most important of all, Mystery alive.

Without those, this would be a very cold and dark place.

[marmie]

Took me forever to find this blog of yours my friend! Well worth the time though.