OK, Campers, lots to talk about today. . .
First, this is the 11th anniversary of my son
David’s passing from melanoma. As
always, I think of him every day, but on this day, the memories are a little
sharper. But this year will be a little different
than others. Usually, Elaine and I go to
the Ringling Bayfront to watch the sunset from what was David’s favorite
spot. My own health issues and the fact
that it’s cold here today (I know, you non-Floridians are guffawing that some
of us consider temperatures in the 60’s as cold) preclude that and David would
be the first to call me an idiot for standing out in the cold wind in my weakened
state. And then after sunset, we would
return home to watch a movie, one of David’s favorites or one that he gave
me. But tonight is Team Trivia night so
I will be spending the evening with friends.
Again, one more thing David would tell me I should do.
I don’t remember if I told this story before (chemo brain in
action – more on that later), but in any case, it’s my favorite David
story. Way back when, the collective family
nickname for my two sons was ‘The Weasels’.
Don’t know where it came from but it stuck. But the morning after David passed, I was the
first one awake at about 8 AM. The house
was full of people, but most didn’t get to bed until 5 AM. Even though I only had three hours of sleep,
I was wide awake. I made some coffee and
then went to sit on the lanai, mostly to just sit. Now our house was on a small lake. After a little bit, I noticed something
moving across the lake, at the extreme left end of it. It was a weasel and it began to walk the
length of the lake, on the far side from me.
Now I know people say there are no weasels in Florida, but I saw what I
saw. When it reached the end of the
lake, it stopped at looked at me, through David’s eyes. Then I heard David’s voice tell me “It’s OK,
Dad. I’m running free.” And then the weasel turned and scampered off
through the woods.
Returning to the present and its attendant weirdness, I had
an embarrassing experience a couple of evenings ago. My hearing aids have small plastic cones on
the end that go into my ears. Well,
somehow, the one in my left ear (the one that has some hearing in it) came
loose and lodged itself in my ear.
Elaine’s and my efforts only served to push it further in. So, the next day meant a trip to the
audiologist to have the d*mn thing professionally removed. Ah, the joys of aging!!
Which reminds me, I promised I’d talk about chemo brain,
which is a real thing. It seems that
chemotherapy has the extra side effects of slowing your thought processes and
generally affecting your memory, even to the point of forgetting how to do
things that you’ve known for years. Of
the ten symptoms of chemo brain, I seem to be scoring on most of them. But, as my friend Will has pointed out, most
of them are the same things that come with aging. . . Oh, well, it’s my excuse and I’m sticking
with it.
And I still spend a lot of time remembering that I have
incurable cancer and will be receiving chemo for the rest of my life or until
the miracle cure is discovered. And I do
believe in magic and miracles by the way.
I’d be lying if I tried to say that I’m not scared, but we surprise
ourselves with what we can deal with when we have to. I saw something on Facebook the other day,
but I forgot who said it (chemo brain in action). But, to paraphrase, there are only two days
that you can’t do anything about – yesterday and tomorrow. So, do everything that you can today. I like that.
As I’ve indicated before in these missives, every day brings new
surprises and adjustments. I figure by
now, I’m up to the new new new new new new new new . . . new normal.
I’ve also decided that cancer is not going to be what kills
me. I envision my end coming when I get
hit by a runaway beer truck. There’s a
certain irony to that as I’ve basically been on the wagon since my initial diagnosis
about two years ago. Up until I switched
to wine as my adult beverage of choice, I had spent most of my adult life as a
beer snob. Now, I’m not claiming that I
was an expert. In a blind taste test, I
couldn’t tell Chimay from Iron City, but I would order the Chimay every time,
even at four times the price.
Finally, at my last infusion trip, the blood test showed that
my platelet count was low and that it would have to be raised some so I can
tolerate the chemo. I sort of thought
that an easy way to do that would be to become a vampire, which would also add
years, if not centuries, to my life. But
since I couldn’t find any favorable air fares to Transylvania, I’ll just have
to do what the doctor said and consume more protein.
Well, that’s it for now.
Back to Moffitt tomorrow to continue treatment.
Peace and Love to All!!
Joe
