Kathy's Song

 

Kathy's Song

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Kathy's Song: Simon and Garfunkel

It is not yet summer, and our days are already bordering on uncomfortable.  The heat grows during the day, and by late afternoon, the hum of air conditioners resonate from every house.  Only the caws of crows and the trumpets of the Sand Hill cranes are louder.  And far more irritating.  The songbirds are plentiful, but their melodies are all but lost when the cranes and crows take center stage.  A pity.  So much beauty lost to the cacophony of the few.

Inside our house is where I spend most of my time.  I seldom watch any daytime television, but I do listen to my music.  I have categorized about 8,000 songs - or more correctly - pieces of music.  They are cataloged by genre, or by season, or by language, and I have captured a mixture of all the pieces I love to hear - repeatedly.  This list is trimmed and added to, on an ongoing basis.  If, for some reason, a song falls out of favor, it is unceremoniously removed.  And songs are added, whenever I hear something new.  Some people collect coins or cards.  My passion is music. Some of my music has not found a place in my library.  Much like a putter which does not perform to a standard, and finds itself in some dark corner of my garage, so do unremarkable songs.  Music is my addiction.

Kathleen Mary Mullen lives a different life than I.

She is a teacher.  And that is most certainly, a noble profession.  Since the times of Socrates and Aristotle, we have admired and revered our educators.  Their skill was to instill within us, the need to find truth.  Not to provide answers, but to create a thirst for knowledge.  

                                                            School uniform on "Team Day".

And my dearest friend does that.  It is her calling.  She has managed to be a good wife and a loving mother, but she is happiest and at her best, when she is with children, in a classroom.  She can remember students from the first class she ever taught, and she tells me, each evening, of the successes of her day.  She seldom talks of them in totality.  She mentions each by name. She talks of struggles and victories.  She seeks ways to improve the life and the learning of each.  She is at school before 8am and usually home by 6pm.  Often, much of her evenings and weekends are dedicated to making plans or grading tests.  It is a rigorous job, but she enjoys a satisfaction unavailable anywhere else.

 And now, in addition to her life's work, my bride endures psoriatic arthritis and me.  And all that has gone wrong in my body.

Compared to Kathleen, I dwell in the minor leagues.  An amateur, trying to entertain and educate my friends on the struggles brought about by cancer, and the roles we all play in its treatment.  Success and failure.  Attitude and concern.  Honesty from a sick man.  Hope for others.

She has become my advocate.  She cares deeply for me, and has offered, repeatedly, to stay home with me.  And provide the care and companionship she feels I need.  She worries constantly, and shares my pain.  My body is beaten and my skin is badly damaged.  And she still loves me.  My future has been precipitous for years.  And she wants only to be with me.

Her class has been her salvation.  It demands her attention.  Her children adore her, and she, them.  With them, she has purpose.  And their educational growth is in her hands.  She must always be at her best.  Kat plays in the majors.  She is the professional.

Every evening, while our dinner cooks, we play cards, as taught to us, many years ago, by Bob and Edith Keith  We have a cocktail, and we review her day and my day.  And we speak of our family and friends.  And we know how blessed we are to have y'all share our life.

I visited with Dr. Harrington last Monday.  We recapped my meetings with the oncological group, and we debated the need of my entrance into a new trial.  He, too, had concerns regarding side effects, but believed that I would do the right thing, in the end.  

I explained that I would prefer to know whether or not the Keytruda was shrinking the tumors, prior to receiving the injections, but that might not be possible.  Lately, the anticipated has become the unexpected.  Short meetings have become interminable.  Conversations have produced infusions.  Patterns have been demolished.

I was given Dexacyclin, an antibiotic, to stem the ooze which has been emanating from the sores on my skull.  Hopefully.

Waiting and uncertainty.  These are the the best descriptors of my life.  Time will reveal what it will, in due course.

Monday is surgery day, and my second infusion will take place on Tuesday.  After that, who knows?

In the meantime, Happy Mothers' Day to all those who delivered us into this world.  You are loved by we who benefited by your love and guidance.  It did not all go to waste.

Thank you, Kath.  For things too many to recite.

jrobinmullen@gmail.com