I Sing The Body Defective
On the Stereo: You Haven't Seen The End Of Me: Cher
In my bloodstream: Lisinopril, Omeprazole
This last week, for whatever reason, has been most contemplative for me. I do not know why, but I have found myself, during the day, and in the middle of the night, reflecting on friends who have left us. Some from deep in my past and others quite recently. Some died without warning. Some had time to consider their lives. I don't know which would be preferable. I don't think most of us will have a choice.
My first assumption, rightly or wrongly, is that we would like, when we die, to be remembered. That, in some way, would help justify our existence. On a grand scale, two roads are possible. We will have done good in our lives, or we will have been in some way, evil. Donating financially to a cause and perhaps receiving a plaque for your gift, is a worthwhile venture, but if done implicitly to aggrandize oneself, because you are affluent, the act loses a little of its luster. Still perceived, of course, as having done something good with your life, but perhaps more precisely, your wealth.
On the other end of the spectrum would be wrongdoers, who might seek recognition and validation through something more extreme, even to the point of commiting a violent act. Think John Hinckly Jr. or Lee Harvey Oswald. History will forever tell their stories, and keep their memories alive. They will have done something with their lives, even if it was a horrible act.
Being remembered as an assassin or for funding an endowment, or having your name on a university library are beyond the realm of most of us. My mind centers on the rest of us, and what we do, within the boundaries of our lives, to be held in someone's heart and mind, long after we die. I am only addressing those of us who want to be inherently, "good".
Doing good things, in the best sense, should be done with charity and humility. Most of us are not financially capable of making grand philanthropic gestures. But we are, absolutely, able to create a better life here on earth, for others. Those of you who, every day, make someone smile with a visit or phone call, will leave your footprint. That will not make the newspapers, but it is no less a gift. Anonymous and heartfelt. Our reward is having done the deed.
I do not have expectations of being memorialized after I die. Far from it. But I could recite the litany of names of my family and friends, with whom I have shared a life, who have beat me to this life's end. I still talk to several of them every day. While they were alive, they touched my heart and deposited memories that have never faded. I continue to see them as if they are still with me. They can make me smile and cause me to cry. And I laugh. I still cherish the joy they let me. I have been gifted the best memories by exceptional people. I am blessed beyond reason.
That is all I want for those I love. I want to be remembered, too.
I must confess that which haunts me the most. And I am unable to heal from it. I am asked often, if we have heard from our Seattle family, and the answer is still no. Each day I live, I am one day farther from the last time we saw our daughter and our grandchildren. Their lives move on, and we, for the past two years, have no memories of them, nor they of us. I try hard to be good. Not to be embittered. But their loss is often more than I can bear. Sometimes it is hard for me to be "chipper".
Addy's note home while she and Eleanor spent a few weeks with us. An eternity ago.
Addy's note home while she and Eleanor spent a few weeks with us. An eternity ago.
I was intending to talk about surgeries and scars to my core today, but I must apologize. I did not complete that task.
Sometimes we live on mountains, and sometimes, in valleys. I believe I speak for Kath as well, when I say that this valley has been deep and is far too long.
On Friday, I dropped Kathy off at school, and drove to Moffitt Cancer Center. I was almost there, when I felt an urge to go to the bathroom. I was close to the hospital, so I was going to be alright.
I was wrong. Oh so wrong. I had hydrated heavily that morning, to help facilitate the blood draw. I had a large glass of water before breakfast, an orange juice, a coffee, and had finished a bottle of water on the drive to Tampa. My time had come. I do have some prostate issues anyway, but now, the dam was showing stress and signs of cracking.
I was in the driveway to the parking area. The line in was not moving. I moved four car lengths in twenty minutes. I needed a plan. An emergency plan. I started looking for someone to take my car from me. Anyone. Nobody. I wondered if I could pee in the empty water bottle. I'm not that accurate. There was no time. My pressure relief valve was not going to hold up. There was a small self park entrance on my right, one car ahead of me, but there were no vacant spots. Another few minutes and I turned in. A desperate man. In need of a pee. I either had to flood my pants, forego the visit, and go home, or urinate in the parking lot. Great choice. I turned into the tiny lot and nobody was around. Thank goodness. I stopped the car and rushed behind a hedge. It was not entirely private, but it had to suffice. I peed. And I thought, this is just great. I am going to be arrested for indecent exposure. I peed some more. Then I peed some more and jumped back into the car and got back into the line. The total wait in the line was half an hour, to travel a hundred yards. I finally checked in for my blood draw and found a real urinal. I peed one last time. No policeman was hunting for me. I felt so good.
I had a scheduled appointment with Dr. Leidy, who is following the progress of my lymphoma. I had the mandatory blood draw, and then read some old Wall Street Journals. I have developed this habit of saving Weekend Editions for my visits to my doctors. They contain reviews of books, movies, wine, and theater, as well as numerous editorials. The papers are old, but their contained information is still relevant.
I started a conversation with a gentleman in the waiting room. That, for me, is not something I typically do. There are a multitude of issues at play in that room. One never knows where each person is in treatment stage. One might be there for the first time, filled with fear of the unknown and feeling discomfort to find themselves in a cancer waiting room. Others are nauseous from treatment. Some have hope and see their daylight, and still others are on a downward spiral. Caution is required. Some need privacy and sanctuary while many have no one to talk to and are quick to reach out for some semblance of humanity. From anyone.
The gentleman sitting across from me was rocking a baby carriage, its unseen inhabitant apparently not happy. For whatever reason, I interrupted him and asked if he were up to the task. He had earbuds plugged in and it took him a second to realize I was talking to him. He took out the buds and apologized, and when I repeated the question, he laughed, and said this baby was not his first. I did not know who was the patient, as he was alone with the baby, but I presumed it was his wife. We had a brief exchange and I asked if I might see his baby. Now that was a weird thing for me to do. I thought he might think me a pedophile. But I do love babies. He said, of course I could, and I looked in at this beautiful baby girl and began to talk to her. She was 6 months old and fussy. He told his little girl to say hello to her uncle.... and we laughed. They were a black family.
Just then, a pretty young girl returned from somewhere, and they were called in for their appointment. She was 19, another daughter, he said. I told him that was a strong age spread and he might consider buying a television. The older daughter had her arm bandaged. I guessed then, that she might be the patient. We said goodbye and I wished them well. And I am glad to have met them, as short as our time was.
Eventually the test results reached the doctor, and we had our meeting.
The main area of concern lay behind my stomach, according to my scans. There had been no change in its growth for several years, and we agreed to do nothing and return for another scan in a few months. No rush. I asked if my immunotherapy infusions might have arrested the growth, and she agreed that was a good possibility. In any event, I got out in good spirits. We get to keep on keeping on. I cannot say I have had a massive mood swing for the better, but we will be thankful for what we have.
Sometimes we live on mountains, and sometimes, in valleys. I believe I speak for Kath as well, when I say that this valley has been deep and is far too long.
On Friday, I dropped Kathy off at school, and drove to Moffitt Cancer Center. I was almost there, when I felt an urge to go to the bathroom. I was close to the hospital, so I was going to be alright.
I was wrong. Oh so wrong. I had hydrated heavily that morning, to help facilitate the blood draw. I had a large glass of water before breakfast, an orange juice, a coffee, and had finished a bottle of water on the drive to Tampa. My time had come. I do have some prostate issues anyway, but now, the dam was showing stress and signs of cracking.
I was in the driveway to the parking area. The line in was not moving. I moved four car lengths in twenty minutes. I needed a plan. An emergency plan. I started looking for someone to take my car from me. Anyone. Nobody. I wondered if I could pee in the empty water bottle. I'm not that accurate. There was no time. My pressure relief valve was not going to hold up. There was a small self park entrance on my right, one car ahead of me, but there were no vacant spots. Another few minutes and I turned in. A desperate man. In need of a pee. I either had to flood my pants, forego the visit, and go home, or urinate in the parking lot. Great choice. I turned into the tiny lot and nobody was around. Thank goodness. I stopped the car and rushed behind a hedge. It was not entirely private, but it had to suffice. I peed. And I thought, this is just great. I am going to be arrested for indecent exposure. I peed some more. Then I peed some more and jumped back into the car and got back into the line. The total wait in the line was half an hour, to travel a hundred yards. I finally checked in for my blood draw and found a real urinal. I peed one last time. No policeman was hunting for me. I felt so good.
I had a scheduled appointment with Dr. Leidy, who is following the progress of my lymphoma. I had the mandatory blood draw, and then read some old Wall Street Journals. I have developed this habit of saving Weekend Editions for my visits to my doctors. They contain reviews of books, movies, wine, and theater, as well as numerous editorials. The papers are old, but their contained information is still relevant.
I started a conversation with a gentleman in the waiting room. That, for me, is not something I typically do. There are a multitude of issues at play in that room. One never knows where each person is in treatment stage. One might be there for the first time, filled with fear of the unknown and feeling discomfort to find themselves in a cancer waiting room. Others are nauseous from treatment. Some have hope and see their daylight, and still others are on a downward spiral. Caution is required. Some need privacy and sanctuary while many have no one to talk to and are quick to reach out for some semblance of humanity. From anyone.
The gentleman sitting across from me was rocking a baby carriage, its unseen inhabitant apparently not happy. For whatever reason, I interrupted him and asked if he were up to the task. He had earbuds plugged in and it took him a second to realize I was talking to him. He took out the buds and apologized, and when I repeated the question, he laughed, and said this baby was not his first. I did not know who was the patient, as he was alone with the baby, but I presumed it was his wife. We had a brief exchange and I asked if I might see his baby. Now that was a weird thing for me to do. I thought he might think me a pedophile. But I do love babies. He said, of course I could, and I looked in at this beautiful baby girl and began to talk to her. She was 6 months old and fussy. He told his little girl to say hello to her uncle.... and we laughed. They were a black family.
Just then, a pretty young girl returned from somewhere, and they were called in for their appointment. She was 19, another daughter, he said. I told him that was a strong age spread and he might consider buying a television. The older daughter had her arm bandaged. I guessed then, that she might be the patient. We said goodbye and I wished them well. And I am glad to have met them, as short as our time was.
Eventually the test results reached the doctor, and we had our meeting.
The main area of concern lay behind my stomach, according to my scans. There had been no change in its growth for several years, and we agreed to do nothing and return for another scan in a few months. No rush. I asked if my immunotherapy infusions might have arrested the growth, and she agreed that was a good possibility. In any event, I got out in good spirits. We get to keep on keeping on. I cannot say I have had a massive mood swing for the better, but we will be thankful for what we have.
I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet to come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun
And I'll look back on Venus
I'll look back on Mars
And I'll burn with the fire
Of ten million stars
And in time, and in time
We will all be stars
My body (mind) has been defective of late. I will try to improve.
Next week
I celebrate the me yet to come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun
And I'll look back on Venus
I'll look back on Mars
And I'll burn with the fire
Of ten million stars
And in time, and in time
We will all be stars
My body (mind) has been defective of late. I will try to improve.
Next week
Love to y'all.
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