Further rants and raves from San Francisco.
multi-faceted
today
February 2007
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funny things...
there 'ya go, waking and walking, talking and musing. seems like a big go 'round and round. every day, same old thing. folks coming and going, doing and not. they eat, they shit, they walk, some stalk.
can't say where i'm going, knowing only where i've been. it's a new year for me, and i'll keep celebrating these birth anniversary dates until i don't - deep, six, maybe.
fleeing feets, young and restless, innocent and not, so much to learn, so much to try. watching my own, watching her friends, watching brightlights', watching, remembering, trying. was it the windowpane, was it the orange sunshine, was it the surf or the moon?
people to touch, some to hold, some to forget, some to miss.
meehall
here one day, gone tomorrow.
are we anything but a future memory?
the nest is tired, the young soon to fly off. old and new, young and stew.
did they learn what i had to offer? do they care? will they before i dust in the wind?
impact others now
funny things...
German Pancakes
It was warm today, sun being out, so unlike this town early September. A few more weeks, we'll have our last bit of summertime, when the real warmth blesses us, when the final layers of bone marrow reach their heat threshold. I dread the coming cold.
My close friend passed away on Labor Day. I knew he was sick, I spoke of it here. I've been down to see him, it had been a few weeks since my last visit. Bobbie called yesterday. Bobbie called today. I'd been ringing the house since Friday. Funny how you know things. Dennis went into a coma on Friday. Dennis passed away on Labor Day, with a smile on his face, with flowers all around him.
My close friend had a big heart. I've known this man for thirty five years. I have very few friends from that chapter of my life. Dennis was one of the few, one of the chosen, one of the select that was there for thirty five years, and will remain in my heart and mind for the remainder of my years. Dennis taught me so much, helped me in so many ways, treated me always, with respect and love. Dennis had a gift, and touched many lives during his journey.
Dennis was a man of many talents. Dennis was a dog rancher, a rabbit farmer, and a grower of exotics, mostly orchids and bromeliads. Dennis was also a very talented chef, and was the cornerstone of a restaurant in Santa Cruz known to many as “The Solarium.” In the early 1970's, the Solarium was a collective, and Dennis had the “franchise” on weekend brunch. Dennis and crew did the usual eggs benedict, croissant and fruit, but also earned a following for his German Style Pancakes. Sweet, fluffy, and garnished heavily with powered sugar, the choicest of fruit, and a sprig of mint, these pancakes were divine.
I miss my friend.
Twenty two days of rain the march of oh six. Twenty two days of uncertainty, twenty two days of muggy messes and over-flowing gutters. Twenty two. Those sunny exceptions were nice, got out, got some walking in, and generally enjoyed the increasing warmth.
I got a call last weekend from a long lost friend. His was not good news; he gave me phone numbers and contact information. I called, I spoke with someone I don’t know, and I spoke with someone who does. I asked about Aunt B, there was a long pause. I asked when, Tucker replied: December 5th.
I miss Aunt B already. Aunt B was a fairy trucker. Aunt B taught me how to drive an 18 wheel Peterbuilt. Aunt B and I, then known as Wonder Warthawg, took to the roadways with that 18 wheeler and hauled “garbage” (aka produce) from El Lay to Sea At Tel. We hauled oranges and asparagus and apples and grapefruit and things like that. We hauled ass up the Ho Chi Min Trail, enlightened and enlightened by the Siskiyou,
The voice from the past, Keith, is the now grown foster son of my good friend and fairy godfather, Uncle Dennis. I met Dennis as a junior in high school just after a racing buddy of mine graduated early, and met this “crazy hippie dude with blonde flowing hair and beard.” Dennis and I became immediate friends. I was one of the first to visit him at his new mountain home, an antique trailer on the back forty of a teachers dog kennels near four corners in the Santa Cruz mountains. Dennis’ home was motivational – I soon owned my very own shiny aluminum, 50’s vintage, ersatz Airstream. Dennis, a few years later, helped me find a engagement similar to his with Aletha, and I moved my shiny Boles Aero to Loma Prieta Road, where my rent was paid in exchange for kennel services and other such chores as agreed upon. I loved living on the edge of public/private lands. I had no neighbors, sans a flock of peafowl, 30 beagles, 17 chickens, 5 great Danes, and my rabbits.
Keith told me that Dennis is dying from pancreatic cancer.
This is way too many people with cancer from my “circle of friends.” This isn’t like the AIDS epidemic of the 80’s in
Personally, I think the planet got blasted with a ray beam from some alien invaders. How alien? Texans, maybe.
I’ll be spending some driving time to
Haggadahs or Haggis
It's nearly that time of year again, when family and friend are joined together for Passover and Easter.
Most of you know the story - one religion punctuates the week with the promise of the second coming.
The other reiterates "in order" the story of the exodus from Egypt, and the 40 years Moses refused to ask for directions.
I'm not a religous man. I was born into a tribe and, out of respect of my elders and ancestors and daughter participate
without too much criticism. Organized religion in my opinion was born of the rich controlling the masses. Teach them, maybe,
preach to them, likely. Subjectify them, guaranteed. The Roman Empire never fell, the Vatican took over. Mohammed led
a nation of semites into a global frenzy of capitalistic hating unlaid young men. That's not what this is about.
For twenty some odd years now I've had to pull two nights of Seders. Before I was married, it was "friends" then "family" seders
to attend. When I was married, it was SoCal for one night, NoCal for another. Too much travel. Both seders were nice, each family,
each custom special. My families' seders aren't the same anymore - the seder of 2002 was the last seder my mother was at. It was
her "last supper," two weeks later we lost her.
This year will be and is different. Brightlight and I will be hosting First Night together. Brightlight's extended family, as well as her
parents from Joisey will be joining us. I'm hoping that some of my sisters will join us. Second night will be at DocSis' house. I've
been sharing second night with her since 2003. DocSis makes a killer gefilte fish.
So what of Haggis?
There's always a discussion about which Haggadah to use. The opinions are many, the anecdotes tried and true, the seder
must go on. Some haggadah's make little mention of women, who, according to Mao Tzedung, hold up half the sky. Some
haggadahs pontificate, boring the assembled with laborious prayer and construct that is supposed to be the same, year
after year. Contemporary interpretation is fine, but "The Order" is supposed to be upheld, this is the story of the Exodus.
So what of Haggis?
Way back when, Joseph's brothers, jealous that he had his father's devotion, tossed him into a pit and left him to die.
We learn that Joseph didn't die, and ends up living in Egypt. Shit gets bad years later, and Joseph's brothers migrate
to Egypt, looking up their kid brother to ask for Pharoah's favor. Joseph wasn't angry with his brothers, does the PR for
them, and the Pharoah now has Jewish neighbors. Like most folks, they breed and multiple, and like all folks, they die.
Years later, the new Pharaoh is having fiscal challenges. He's tapped out the national bank accounts building those
pyramids. He's not an unreasonable guy, but he's got folks to care for and the outsiders are a drain on resource. So
he uninvites them, but can't really make up his mind. Alas, there's a white kid in Pharoah's ranks who knows about the
Jews. Abandoned as a child, and set adrift in the Nile, Moses was discovered by one of Pharoah's many wives. Remember,
this is a story that is supposed to be true. The woman who discovers Moses takes him back to Pharoah's mansion,
and raises him as her own. [Ramses was supposed to have sired 900 children, so it's easy to assume one more
could be slipped past the guard without question].
Moses was a PR kinda guy. Strong and handsome, he became a trusted advisor to the Pharoah, until he discovered
he was really a Jew, not a diety. Shit goes downhill fast. Moses leaves the ranks of the privelaged, and finds cause
with his tribe, the visitors from Canaan. Moses implores Pharoah to "let my people go," but Pharoah is pissed off
by the deceit, and won't give in. The 10th plague does it, First Born (males, of course) are going to be slaughtered
by G*d. Pharoah freaks, of his 900 off-spring, do you think any of them were female? Fat chance, so much for legacy.
Pharoah slips for a moment, and Moses leads the tribe to the Red Sea.
Pharoah, regaining his senses, calls his guard to re-capture his labor pool. No, they weren't slaves on the Pyramid
Project, that was royal work only, they were the slaves that maintained the infrastructure - roads, bakeries and
fish markets. What baker doesn't bring yeast with him? So Moses does this magic act with G*d's help, he parts
the waters of the Red Sea, his tribe escapes, while the royal guard drowns in the returning seas.
The desert wasn't fun. And the tribe wasn't keen on lack of facilities. They fought, they bickered, they questioned
Moses. They were lost in the desert.
So what of Haggis?
Fast forward a millenium or so, and welcome the New World. Women are equals now, and Jews have options
on their degree of orthodoxy. Some seders are punctuated by the 4 Questions, a lame explanation of the 10 plagues,
and a hearty meal. Others are endurance events beginning AFTER services end (sundown + travel time), and often
don't end until midnight, with dinner served somewhere around 10pm. I don't particularly like the endurance events,
nor do families with children.
So what of Haggis?
The haggadah, or guide book by which the Seder is conducted, is as interpretive as a group of yids is opinionated.
I'm no fan of these women-centric books - the story was about a time when women had an important role without
much glory or accolades: keep the house clean and give a man sons.
The story needs to be told, but it need not be embellished in a lame attempt to change history, even if that history
is folklore.
I would prefer Haggis to some of these haggadahs.
I would serve pork chops at a seder before I'd lead one with some of these contemporary attempts to change history.
Four glasses of wine
Four questions.
Ten plagues
Forty years in the desert.
Sephardic or Ashkenaze, the story is the story.
It's not about equal rights
It's not about slavery.
It's not about salvation.
It's about guests over-staying their welcome.
It's about time the story gets told right.
If you don't like the haggadah, wait until the end of the week, and roast a ham.
#9
#9
#9
Don't get sick if you can avoid it. Don't drink the water if you can avoid it. Don't let your health insurance lapse, no matter what.
Putting one's life "on hold" for six months beats the alternative, doesn't it? I'm happy to be here, and happy that this portion of my treatment cycle is much easier to manage than was the Chemotherapy. Chemo is nasty stuff - kills young cells, hair, intestinal, cancer. Good for killing the cancer I had. Radiation, all 4000 rad, once I'm done with the remaining nine sessions, should kill whatever remains. In a few more months, I'll get myself another one of those expensive PET scans and pray that it's all gone. I'm ready.
Learned a few things during this timeout period. Friendships that are limitless, and those that are conditional. Integrity and love is something that doesn't require verbosity. You're honest or you're not. You care or you don't, there's no in between. Some have professed willingness to help, yet never show up when needed. Others have offered, without condition, and have been there, when needed, with only a phone call. Brightlight has made this healing process much easier than it might have been without her in my life. Ample offers to help me, few of which were accepted, and some of which have proven the difference between a real friend and a wannabe. Live and learn.
Still need to recover from the financial drain of not working and living off savings. Seriously thinking about an Eco Resort in Puntarenas (Costa Rica) or Bocas (Panama). Cost of living is about 40% that in San Francisco, and it's warmer down that way, there's room to differentiate, and plenty of "friends" and family to help make it happen. Living a slower pace is good, and the warmth is healing, the water is like a bath, and life is too short to dream about it and regret not doing. Organic food, no industrial pollution, few automobiles and no McDonalds. Sounds like paradise, no? Picture waking to the sounds of a Howler Monkey, or Toucan, or Scarlet Macaw, ushering you out of bed and into the Bay for a wake up swim in the 80' water. Walk back home and brew a fresh pot of java from locally grown beans, fry up a few eggs collected from your happy chickens, and scoop it all up with freshly baked bread, rice or yucca. The day is half light, half dark, sunlight from 6am until 6pm, sunsets to die for. The evenings mellow out - suppertime under the stars may require a sweater - it does cool below 75' on occassion. Humidity is a factor during the wet season, but I won't be wearing a suit and tie, and a fan is often all that is needed to move the air enough to whisk away the sweat. Showering more than once a day is justified, and pleasant. Most areas I'd consider don't require a vehicle, so that, other than construction or related shopping trips, my two feet should suffice where boat doesn't. Village living.
Make the dream happen!
Nine more blasts of the Phaser, nine more sessions with Claire, the South African with fake blond hair. Nine more trips to Leland Land.
More to follow...
Duck and Cover
Not sure how this will unfold tonight. My girl is back, having spent one night at her Mom's, chicken soup and a good sleep. We're on to a two week cycle again (we hope), and we've got a few more days before the big switch occurs again. She hates the switch. She loves both of her parents. I think she's beginning to care about my partner, she's certainly settling into this larger, more active household nicely. One can only hope.
Not sure what it is that has me rattled. Weather has been nasty, Bay Area folks can't handle wet pavement, thick skies and poor visibility. They want to go faster, make that stale yellow light, do whatever it is they can to tempt fate, the laws of physics, and risk their (and others) lives without consequence. I've been doing my daily drives down 280, to Leland Land, for ten minutes of radiation. People are idiots. Sometimes we go in Brightlight' car - it does okay on the open road. Sometimes we're in my car, which was engineered for Autobahn like environments, even if I rarely test the limits of it's engineering, my car is quite comfortable at 80mph. Traffic on 280, once past 380 and 92, even during commute hour is an 80mph type place. I usually lock it in at 75 and lane #2. I get passed like I'm standing still. I see folks flying down that road at 100+, and it's the putz in a small car that gets nailed. I digress.
Our friend just had a portion of her bowel removed. She had a tumor, colon cancer removed. She was backed up for weeks. She is a vegetarian. She's never been sick. Her husband died two years ago of melanoma. She won't die from this (we pray), it doesn't appear to have spread. She will have a scar, a big one, for as long as she lives. She'll be accessorized for six months (or more) while she undergoes chemo. She needs a second surgery once she's cleared. She's going to be busy healing for awhile. She will prevail.
A good buddies wife is undergoing chemo following ovarian cancer (surgery done). She was dx'd the same week I was.
My mechanics wife had a lymphoma removed from her colon. She is undergoing chemo, she won't get zapped.
I hear of another every day - as Brightlight's baby would say: What the Fuck? What the Fuck? What the FUCK?
Six, seven people, in a circle of hundreds. Percentage wise, we're the minority. Obviously, it's hitting close to home. My daughter says it's because we're in that age group where stuff starts to happen and some people die. Nice teenage way of saying: "Dad, you're getting old."
I told my buddy that the plan remains the same: "Live to 90, then grow old gracefully." I'm not old, I'm aging. Old is a state of mind.
We're killing ourselves. More cancers all the time. Leland Land, in all its marvels, is a busy busy place. Granted, it's a clinic with a smart bunch of doctors, a place they do good research, find cures, save lives. I'm glad I can take advantage of their brain power and technology. But frankly, it worries me that they are so busy. Not that the Cancer Clinic can't handle it, rather, that they are equipped to handle hundreds, and can easily take on more. The messages about cancer have been wide spread: "Don't Smoke" - great, lung cancer rates are down, but what of lymphoma, breast cancer, prostate cancer, ovarian cancer, melanoma, colon, testicular, stomach, luekemia .... MORE PEOPLE ARE GETTING SICK ALL THE TIME ... WHY?
People are smart. We've learned much. We've learned to exploit our environment. We understand how to live in harmony with our environment, but we've become addicted to comforts that exploit. We're still bound by greed, larceny and theft. The unlikely ones contend with poorer landscapes, political impoverishment, rape, war and genocide. The lucky ones are warm, well fed, and generally educated. The lucky ones live longer. The lucky ones. I see 20 people in the Radiation Clinic everyday. I've seen a latin or two, many asians, one black man, the rest are white. They all look like they are normally warm, well fed and educated. I see old men, old women. I see middle aged folks, my contemporaries. I see a few teens, and one adolescent. This is the Radiation Center. This is California, the diverse Bay Area. Cancer isn't supposed to know race. Why is it most of the cancer patients are white?
Is it the water?
Is it the air?
Is it a government plot against the left coast?
Is it the result of an alien attack?
My generation is under attack.
Our species is under attack.
Our luck is being questioned.
The enemy is ugly, dangerous, and treacherous.
The enemy is greedy, vicious and manipulative.
The enemy is ruthless, beguiling and cunning.
The enemy is us, we're killing ourselves.
I hope we can end this nonsense before another 30 years goes by.
Gots me some chores to do
Feeling somewhat better than I have. Scan's are good, chemo's gone, body is slowly returning to me. Radiations' next, don't know what that'll bring, but I'm sure it won't kill me (today).
Spring is near, friends in the East are blanketed in snow, and my recent weekend "taking the waters" in Calistoga did what I needed - I've got a little warmth back in my bone marrow.
I'm jonesing, bigtime for the jungle - Panama, CR, whatever
People are fucking idiots - driving too fast, attempting to run over pedestrians, oblivious to anyone else, on foot or wheel, selfish, fucked up, rude. We were driving into San Anselmo Monday, had an appointment with my Eastern Doc - some punk ass yuppie asswipe with a sissy black ragtop VW sissy car decides he's going to park on the main drag, in a parking spot - goooooood idea you pile brained two legged excuse for homo sapiens. so he parks said sissy car, black, pretty, obviously mortgaged to half his monthly cock sucking income, but, dipshit fails to remember the laws. Law #1: wheels must be 18" or less from the curb. His were 48" away. Law #2: must park a minimum of 3' away from the street center line. So, I have to wait. He gets out of his car, his ersatz preppie outfit worn, his running shoes too clean, and his facial hair too long for a person with a real job. I look at him, my arms go up like "why don't you just park it in the road, dumbfuck?" He just looks back like I just pissed on his satin sheets.
Where is that vaporizer, anyway?
I'm jonesing, bigtime for the jungle, , CR, whatever
Feeling more like a human, growing more frustrated with AmeriKa, SFBayArea, the lies, the decline in services, the decline in common courtesy. Rich folks fucking us mere mortals harder and faster all the time. Poisoning our world, doing the worst sort of murder possible: "We can't erase your history, but we can your future." Plenty of my generation had relatives who's ashes are spread across 's landscape. As long as we live, their memory will live. But what happens to those memories, what happens two generations from now, when (g*d willing) my offspring' offspring considers parenting - will there be air to breath? food to eat? nature to enjoy? sunlight to experience? Will these short term profit takers progeny be the ones to rocket off the planet with the ill-gotten gains of two previous, fuck the masses, power players leaving the mortals, our progeny, to writhe in the toxic waste left behind, only have that incapable of sustaining any life form in another hundred years - it ain't that fucking long away.
Gots me some chores to do
Hundred years ain't so long. April 18th, 1906,
Gots me some chores to do.
Ain't gonna worry much about those fucks in DC.
Ain't gonna worry much about the liars, theives and scumbags
Ain't gonna fret much over the cranial, anally inverted
Ain't gonna worry much over the shit that doesn't matter
I'll change what I can, I will do my best to walk the talk, I'll reduce my use of plastics, and I'll continue to vote democrat.
*WE* have to wake up and demand honesty. We're letting them fuck us in the worst way - there won't be any left for our kids kids. It's not that far off.
Reference Points
Chemotherapy is done, comparative PET scan has been read, the first battle has been won.
We'll celebrate another time.
I knew, from early on, this wasn't going to take me out. I knew, from early on, treatment was viable, cure was possible. Cure is measured in time, months, then years, then hopefully, decades. I'm close to returning to the fully-fledged living, and hope to celebrate in earnest, later this year, when a follow-up X-Ray shows zero on the "activity" spectrum.
Radiation begins this week, and I'm taking advantage of my georgraphic proximity to Stanford. They have a Cancer Clinic. They have Lymphoma Specialists. They TRAIN the smartest and the most promising to be the future best. They have a ton of money. They walk the talk. Even SisDoc was impressed, and offered to drive me once or more.
Radiation will improve my celebratory chances. Radiation has been proven to help some reach a "cure." Radiation Docs are more scientist than physicians. How many rads over what time period - what depth and field - which linear accelerator - which potential side effects.
It ain't Nagasaki or Hiroshima or Chernobyl - unless they phuque up - unless they misaligned my tattoes, unless the face mask bolts are off - unless the workstation crashes and corrupts my CAT slices - sliced cat, novel, probably stringy, best stewed, better as dog bait, phuqueit, that's another thread for another time.
My Dad is 81 years old. His partner, my mother, will be gone four years in April. I miss her. I know my sisters miss her, I can only imagine my Dad's sense of loneliness, he had always thought he'd go first. My Dad had his aortic valve replaced 17+ years ago. My Dad has had prostate cancer for 15+ years. My Dad complained the other day - "I'm old."
Prostate cancer grows slowly. Most men get Prostate cancer, if they live long enough. Some catch it early, remove their prostate gland, some don't. If it is aggressive, if it's spreading, it can cause problems. Some die from it. Most don't. Parts fail when you get older, joints get old, systems work slower. Sooner or later, something breaks, sooner or later, we all die. Whatever the cause, life is a terminal experience.
My Dad doesn't want to lose mobility (understandably), my Dad doesn't want to not have a car, my Dad doesn't like old people. My Dad is an old person. My Dad is lonely, he's hurting right now, physically, and he's a worrier.
My daughter says that her Papa doesn't smile anymore. He seems anxious.
My sisters are concerned, he's frantic to have his taxes done, his paperwork up to date.
My Dad is pleased with his son's progress, apologetic I had to experience this thing. "It's not something you could have protected me from, Dad, I'm going to survive this." He doesn't hear that. He thinks he should suffer so that none of us do.
My Dad said he's old. I commented that someone called me old, just the other day. Old or young, we all get old, we all die. As long as I've got my mind and some mobility, call me anything you like. Old is better than dead.
My Dad isn't as old as he thinks. He could have another five or so years of "quality" living. His mind still works, his pain can be addressed, and his loneliness can be cured.
He's got to want it.
Round About
Rain and sun, draught and flood, the earth convulses daily, and still, we have the richest country on the planet, with some of the brightest minds, strongest spirits and enterprising souls, and still, we have to contend with puppets and idiots and self-serving, short-termers running the show in government and business.
I spent sometime reviewing the cost of this cancer last night – I’ve got one of those high deductible, major brands, PPO type health care plans. It’s working, I’m getting good care, I’m seeing big bills, and watching how the insurance company is picking up most of it, and paying the hospital, my providers and the “channel” about 65% of every dollar billed. Deductibles aside, I see how broke this system is in the mail everyday.
Doctor’s get paid, hospital gets paid, the drug companies get paid (Jesus H., I just picked up some of the needed drugs for round 3, one of which keeps me from heaving four days straight, $312 per fucking dose, get real), and still, I have out of pocket, and the major brand health insurance company is paying “prevailing rates” for the services I’ve received. Who pays for the 30% Major Brand ISN’T paying?
So I go to hospital the other day to see my friend, 45 year old active male, in the cardiactric unit of YouSee. Congestion they call it. No heart attack, but they’re talking like “your heart is running at 15% capacity, you need a new one.” He’s freaking. He’s got no insurance, business has been WAY off. Forget the lecture about health insurance being payment #2 following rent/mortgage, he’s freaked. So I tell him, get your tax returns and bank statements – there’s money out there, there’s money for the asking, just ask the right questions of the right people. You see, Major Brands isn’t going to pay them what they ask for, and the hapless fool that pays them what they ask for is leaving A LOT of money on the table. They overcharge because they have to, they expect insurance to pay 65%, and they don’t mess with those contracts. They can mess with you, lawyers ain’t cheap, and it’s usually the lawyers that win, and if you’re sick or injured, the last thing you’ll have energy for is fighting with the bill collectors – so, ask for help, it’s there! My friend is reassured – they already offered him a 30% cash discount if he paid them last week. I suggested he negotiate further discounts, THEN ask for a payment plan. 100 years at $10/month is better than nothing or a bankruptcy. THEY WON’T TAKE YOUR HOUSE – (in
Enough beating around the bush. Chemo two was much easier than chemo #1. The drugs lose their effectiveness, there’s less of a tumor to attack, the body has more experience being “poisoned,” and the patient more experience managing his/her reactions. Mine has mostly been plumbing related this time. My Eastern Doctor has given me an incredible treatment schedule to aid the Chemo drugs, get me in the best shape possible for Chemo while encouraging my body to heal as quickly as possible following chemo. For example, 20 capsule type things twice a day:
L-Glutamine
Vitamin B-12
TLC Thymic Longevity
DL-phenylalanine
Quercetin
N-Acetyl Cysteine
COQ-10
Tien Chi Ginseng
ImmunoPower
Nutriessential
Ducalax
That doesn’t include the stuff I take daily that DocBob has me on. I can’t wait to NOT need the Mofeen anymore. Stuff just numbs you all over. It’s not like a valium, or ingested herb or a vicodin or percocet. Mofeen is one heavy duty pain go-away drug. I’m taking a small dosage compared to some folks.
So, Round Three is tomorrow. I’m optimistic. I hope this will go better than Round Two, and I hope, when we get the PET Scan done later this month, we’ll get great news. Good news is: “It’s shrunk, it’s almost gone, one month of radiation and you should be good to go.” Yeah, one month, daily drives to Stanford, twenty minute phaser blasts and I’ll be “cured”. Worst case: “We need more chemo, it’s still alive and kicking, we just shrunk it 50%.” Best Case: “The chemo got it all, there’s no scar tissue to be seen, go home, bad dream is over, go back to your life.”
Goods News Likelihood: 80%
Bad News Likelihood: 12%
Best News Likelihood: 8%
Those are my numbers, not my doctors’. Nothing is definitive until the PET is done.
Just in case…
I thank each and every one of my friends, close and getting closer, not so close and showing me their true colors, and all those somewhere in-between or “sure, I’ll help in anyway I can [but you’ll never find me, nor will I ever answer your calls since I learned all your Caller ID locations]”
I love you!
Thank you for the meals
Thank you for helping w/Princess
Thank you for helping Brightlight
Thank you for your visits, your phone calls, your thoughts
Thank you for your sincerity and your willingness to help
Thank you for putting up with me, understanding my lack of energy
Thank you for your patience
I’ve got a date with Nurse Betty
My heads’ still bare
My belly is still full (as were my bowels, but that’s been fixed)
I’ve got a date with Nurse Betty
Round Three it is, Round Three it is
We’re almost done
We’re almost there
I’ve got a date with Nurse Betty
Arms open and bare
