I knew it had been a long time since an update but I hadn’t realized how long. I apologize.
Shortly after my last update, my daughter-in-law Etta flew in to keep an eye on me, and the next day the Witchy Practitioners* removed what they promised will be the last chemo treatment bag. With the exception of daily radiation treatments, I proceeded to sleep for the remainder of the week. This can’t have been exciting for Etta but she kept me nourished and hydrated, provided such conversation as I was able to follow or sustain, and generally went above and beyond. The WPs promised that the effects of the chemo would return and continue long beyond the actual chemo itself and in this they were not wrong. The side-effects also continued. ‘Nuff said.
They had promised to stop the radiation treatments on the 9th, but the WPs were having so much fun and they claimed I was tolerating it so well (they confused tolerance with toleration, of which I now have none) that they decided not only to extend the treatments by two (bringing me up to my life-time limit of Rads / Grey / whatevers – I should now be able to enter containment domes at Fukushima and Chernobyl with no ill effects but for plenty of profit – gimme my dough) but to focus in on the area of most interest. This means that they bombarded my anus, via my external lady parts, with enough rads to level a small Southern city. Like chemo, radiation is the gift that keeps on giving, so it wasn’t until the following week that the side-effects of the radiation showed up. Curative radiation is made of photons. Curative photons seek folds of skin. Photons + skin previously not exposed to photons = intense sunburn. We all have many little folds in the Area of Interest. Ladies have many, many more. They all burned (I was prescribed a Magical Lotion otherwise prescribed to those with 2nd and 3rd degrees burns) but I still peeled and hurt like the very devil atop a flaming chollo. I took Vicodin – one or two a day did it – I’m a wuss. I took Ambien. When I wasn’t being contrary and argumentative (maybe 1/10th of my waking hours) I slept. The cats loved it. My stalwart daughter-in-law put up with me regardless. She flew out on the 12th and stalwart son Richard arrived on the 13th.
Allow me to say, right here, that without the care and help of my kids, and I include Etta, my life would be hella gloomier and harder to take. To the extent that I am here and as coherent as I am, you can blame them.
Richard is still here, scheduled to fly out next Sunday. This is not a happy prospect but, like Wendy, at some point I gotta grow up. By then I will be able to fend for myself.
I also gotta say that aside from my gratitude for my kids, I’m feeling disgustingly sorry for myself. I have thick dark bars running from my waist south, which don’t show any sign of fading. All my tender bits hurt like hell, some with the addition of the aforesaid devil and flaming cholla; sitting is not a happy prospect. I am so easily wearied that it’s all I can do, without a struggle, to make my bed before I crawl back into it. I want my daddy. Or Bill Rotsler, who gave the biggest, warmest, and most cost-free hugs in human history. Cue the Warren Zevon.
On the other hand, today is better than yesterday. I have an appetite and my mouth is no longer sore, so I can satisfy that appetite. Was out of bed before the alarm rang, and stayed out of it. Enjoyed a beautiful, blue, windless morning on the lanai, surrounded by my furry family. I think my feistiness level is rising, which is also good. I hope to sustain it without going bitter, which is not a good taste, particularly from the inside. And I intend to stay feisty at least until the 31st, when I have appointments with the WPs and do not plan to bring Ms. Nice Guy with me. I may, however, bring my Navajo Rain Stick, just to show them that I got my own magic ju-jus, too.
* I have decided that all practitioners associated with this event are not to be dignified by other than “Witchy Practitioners,” from the ones who live in tome-lined caves and make hieratic gestures with lighted sticks to those who shake rattles to those who position the Magical and Immense Device of “Healing” to those who provide Magical Little Tubes of Relief in return for a quarterly of your monthly income.