Last Day

August 10, 2007 | Filed Under amophostine, cancer, radiation, treatment | No Comments

I had my last round of chemo last week.  Today was my final radiation treatment.  I didn’t think this Summer would ever end.   Maybe because it was the last day, but I was excited to get to the center this morning.  I was positively beeming as I entered the place.  I made my last march to the wing where I get my amophostine shots.  My last two bee stings!  Unfortunately, I had that nurse I can’t stand so the needle hurt even more than usual.  Luckily, I didn’t have a long wait today.  20 minutes there and 5 more waiting in the Men’s Dressing room before Amy, the head technician came to get me.  My last day in the mask!  I won’t miss this.   No more than ten minutes — a couple of quick zaps and I was done.  Hard to believe.  So many other cancer patients came and went while I was getting treated over the Summer.  I had a long course of treatment.   Too long.   Amy and the other tech, Jill wished me a bon voyage and asked me if I wanted to take my mask home.  I said “yes” because I want people to see it so they understand something of what I went through.

They tell me not to expect miracles.  That it’ll take a while to recover from this.  Right now it’s still pretty bad.  I don’t have much energy.  Can’t yet eat solid food.  Still have this damn feeding tube.  My throat is raw.  I can’t barely open my mouth, much less swallow even water without discomfort.   How long is “a while”?  I’m hoping not long at all.

The Little Things Are More Important

August 1, 2007 | Filed Under feeding tube, prognosis, stress, treatment | No Comments

I’ve certainly spent my share of useless time puzzling over the big philosophical questions like, “Why me?”  “Why now?” “What’s the meaning of it all?”  Sure.  Before I was diagnosed. At the moment I was diagnosed.  And certainly those few weeks leading up to the start of my treatments.  But now?

 Fuck. . . when the doctor told me, “cancer,” I went numb.  All fear just left me. I no longer thought about outcomes.  I was as good as dead.  And the only chance I had to be otherwise was to endure the horrible treatments I’m dealing with now.  And what I’ve learned — what, I suppose, anyone who goes through this shit learns, is that the little fleshy, tangible inconveniences affect us more.  It’s a day-to-day deep in the trenches war of attrition.  Dealing with the aches and dull zombified out-of-this-world feeling after chemo.  Dealing with the side effects.  Constipation. Feeding through this damn tube sticking out of my gut.  The sore throat.  The spider webby mucus.  The continued weight loss and weakness. The watching other people eat their 4th o’ July BBQ, while you sit there only dreaming that one day you too will once again enjoy real solid food.  The general seemingly endless and overwhelming feeling of crappiness this multi-pronged attack on your body brings about.  The looking in the mirror and not even any longer being able to recognize your own face.  The so-called friends and family who no longer want to bother with you because you make them uneasy and  despite the fact that a friendly face or kind word might make a difference in your otherwise unhappy day.