I judge a good vacation by how well I don’t know what day of the week it is. If I have no clue, the vacation is smoking!
Since I’ve been in cancer treatment, I’m real foggy as far as what day it is, most notably during the weeks I’m dealing with chemo side effects. My phone and computer beep at me to remind me of doctors’ appointments (someone has to be in charge) otherwise one day is like another. So here it is, a beautiful sunny Saturday, once the reward for a good week’s work, now a day in the down period of a chemo cycle. The sun and blue sky helps my spirit. How could I ever feel down on a day like today?
My perspectives have been altered in more than a temporal sense since I started cancer treatment.
The boy who was me before cancer would tense up before having blood drawn. Now, I have perspective. Blood drawn? Can’t use the port for this one? Ok – but my left arm is shot, try the right one. No, not there, that vein collapsed yesterday. How about here? Too deep for you. Top of the hand? Sounds grand.
Pre-cancer, the thought of having a lesion lanced would have led to a sleepless night. Now: Where do you want me? Using a scalpel instead of a needle? Cool. This is going to sting a little? Ok. On three, all right, 1 – 2 – hey that was on two! Naw, didn’t sting at all. Ok, maybe a little, but it was nothing. Great job, Doc!
Being in the hospital negated my sense of modesty. When I was in my Worcester oncologist’s office getting hydration just after a hospital stay, he wanted to look at my lesion. There in the infusion room, I started taking my jeans off, and Dr. S. said “we can wait until the examining room.”
Being in the hospital changed my outlook on my body. I need a shot in my stomach, ok. Do I mind if the student nurse administers it? Have you done this before? Once? Ok, go for it! (And she did, assertively, but that was cool.)
The port surgery was a snap, a nap and when I awoke I had a device implanted. The feeding tube surgery will be the same deal. I didn’t and won’t lose any sleep over a simple procedure.
Maybe I was just being a baby about all this stuff before. A needle, a scalpel, they hurt for an instant (sting / burn / pinch) – it’s really nothing. I think of all the time I wasted worrying about these “procedures” and laugh at myself.
Cancer has many lessons to teach me. These are useful ones. Perspective comes with a price but also with humor.
Thanks everyone for your thoughts and prayers. I am so grateful to have you with me on this journey.
Love…
Richard
Welcome to my world of the flexible schedule and often being vague about what day it is … Only I don’t have to have lesions lanced and shots in my stomach, so I guess it isn’t quite the same. And I still have my non-hospital modesty … You’re way ahead of me, as usual.
ReplyDeleteJackie and I were talking yesterday about a trip to Florida I have planned for May. I’ll be visiting my friend, Kathy, who I’ve known since I was six years old. We played together as children, were best friends in high school and took different paths in our wild years, but always managed to keep in touch and to bridge the gaps in time between visits, in view points and in temperaments. She and I plan to drive the panhandle of Florida listening to Tom Petty CDs. We’ll explore fishing villages and small towns that have been overlooked by developers. Florida is so exotic and spooky. You see it even in Orlando where there’s been a lot of development. You go outside in the morning to find your car and there are wild turkeys wandering around the parking lot. There’s no telling what we might find wandering around the parking lots of small towns in the panhandle.
Jackie, knowing of Kathy’s and my long relationship and our rambunctious natures, asked that we not pull a Thelma and Louise on her, since it doesn't really end all that well.
No. In the first place, that sort of thing only looks good in a convertible and we don’t have one. In the second place, I’m just not an adrenaline junkie. When I go, I want to go fast, but I don’t want to go scared. I’d have to drive off a cliff every day for two weeks before it would start to feel exciting instead of horrible to me. I’m pretty sure you aren’t allowed to drive off a cliff every day for two weeks to get used to it before you do it for real.
I think it’s amazing what we can get used to. I have no memory of my first six months of being a fulltime performer. I was so numb with terror every time I was on stage that I can’t remember it. But, I got use to it and now I pretty much remember most of my shows. I often can’t remember where I put the money I got paid for doing the shows, but I remember the shows. (I’ve put Jackie in charge of the money for obvious reasons.)
It’s amazing that you’ve gotten use to needles and scalpels and taking your pants off in public … But, since you have to put up with those things, I’m very glad that they don’t bother you much anymore.
I hope the vacation gets better all the time. But, next time, I think you should do a curse or something instead of chemo … You know, if somebody gives you the choice …