 |
|
Much of this cancer game is about learning to live with limitations. I realize that for some people that is a lifelong process, but this is a new issue for me. I retain ambitions that it might not be permanent. As ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) alumiere says in her post on living with pain and adversity, Jay has hope that he'll get through chemo and life will return to some semblance of normal, even though there will be huge changes for him. Nonetheless, here I am today, and here I will be through at least July.
My immediate issues right now are surgical recovery. By and large, they improve almost day to day, though sometimes I do play the two steps forward, one step back game. Our trip to Seattle last weekend set me back a bit, frankly. But this whole issue of resource management, "spoon theory", will apply just as strongly during chemo, which I am starting in two and half weeks. So for the sake of my own sanity I am viewing the surgical recovery process as contiguous with the chemo experience. You might call it Session Zero.
One of the hardest elements of this for me to manage is my sleep needs. In the days after the partial thoracectomy, I was sleeping as much as twelve hours per day. Much of that was drug-induced, but that's also what the body does with trauma — it shuts down so that resources can be spent on healing. These days I'm down to about seven and half or eight hours per night, plus one to two naps per day, plus a fair amount of laying about quietly in the name of spoon management.
And it's driving me nuts.
I'm used to sleeping six hours a night, waking completely rested and energetic, and charging into my day. Let me tell you, I can get a lot done in eighteen productive waking hours per day. Day jobbery. Writing. Parenting. Household chores. Pleasure reading. I'm down to about fourteen or fifteen waking hours right now, and losing about two or three of those to spoon management. It's like losing a freaking hand or something, in terms of impairing my productivity.
And this is what I have to learn to live with. For slightly different reasons, chemotherapy will have much the same effect on me. I don't know the severity, or the cycle yet, but it will quite likely be something like this. I am learning to live with the limitations. A lot things just don't happen the same way around here any more. Housecleaning, laundry, garbage removal. I still haven't rehung the smoke alarm from last week's garlic bread incident. (It's live, just sitting on the kitchen counter instead of hanging over the doorway.) The Genre car needs to go back to the mechanic, has for weeks, simply hasn't happened.
What I have guarded jealously is my writing time — an hour a day — and my exercise time — 30 minutes to an hour a day. I must keep my purpose going. That is who I am.
As to why I write about this stuff in such detail, even the difficult and weird stuff, like depression and sex; I suppose there's three reasons.
One, I am an external processor. I babble my way through my troubles anyway. In most of my life, that amounts to a lunchtime chat with kenscholes or time with calendula_witch. Most issues don't need a continuous, public airing. The journey of cancer, and its seemingly endless ramifications, has utterly taken over my life. So my need for external processing has amped up. I am a writer, so I write. I would write about it even if you weren't reading. This could be called the "selfish attention whore" modality.
Two, documentation. This is a hell of a journey. Millions of people make it every year. And almost no one talks about it. So again, I am a writer, I write. For some of you, this is research and reference for your own work. For others, it's a reflection of life experience in your own circle of friends and family. For others, it might simply be a look into a difficult place. But by documenting this, I expose mysteries and secrets and horrors and shames. That eases my burden, and it (hopefully) increases understanding. Consider this the "peer learning" modality.
Third, because too many people are wrapped in silence, and my words help them. I didn't know this when I started cancer blogging, and I rarely mention it as I go along, but I get emails, comments, letters; some weeks almost daily. People write and say, "Now I know what my father was going through, though he would never talk about it." Or, "I have two years to live, and you've helped me explain things to my family." Or, "We went through this with our son, and it really helps me to hear how you've handled it." I get emails that break my heart. I get emails that lift my heart. But it's become almost the most important reason for me to keep being so clear, so honest, so out there on this. Because cancer and its discontents are largely silent diseases, at least in terms of the individual experience, and I can loan my voice a while to those who have not yet found their own words. Consider this the "speaking to cancer" modality.
If you're still reading, what does all this say to you? How do you read my cancer journey? I admit to unseemly curiosity.
40 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
It occurred to me this weekend that I haven't made a writing process post in a long time. This irks me a bit, as my core identity is that of a writer, and one of the core purposes of this blog is to talk about writing and publishing. One of cancer's smaller thefts, to be sure, as obvious as my distractions have been.
Spent a delightful weekend in Seattle with calendula_witch, shelly_rae and markferrari. We attended tbclone47's party, then later shelly_rae and I went by a party at Red Rocket Station. Sunday included a nice six-cornered brunch with Kij and Kessel before we drove home.
And boy did this weekend drive home the "spoon theory" that the MS and some other communities talk about. My spoon issues are transient, not permanent, but they're very real. Making a 400 mile round trip three days after my second surgery in three weeks was perhaps not the wisest way to manage my spoons, but I'm glad I did it.
As ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/syndicated.gif) brendacooper said to me at tbclone47's party, "I'm used to seeing you with more energy."
Sleeping has gotten more difficult these last few nights. Both sides still hurt, more in the sense of "extreme discomfort" than "post-surgical pain". And the swelling is sufficiently reduced in my port implant that I'm becoming extremely and continually aware of its presence inside my body. Weird, very weird.
Likewise, the experience of a continual cycle of exhaustion, recharge and energy is a preview into chemotherapy. Those of you know me IRL know how I just race forward all the time. No racing for this Energizer bunny, not for months to come. I've got a couple of strong weeks ahead of me, then I'm in the spoon drawer until at least July.
As an aside to the spoons issue, I also have begun to note patterns in my exhaustion. If I rest before I'm wiped out, more frequently and for shorter periods, I get more done. Prophylactic naps are in my future. Conversely, if I'm engaged in a high-intensity activity like driving or sex, I can way overshoot my limit without realizing it until I've wound down. Then my need for rest is overwhelming.
As an aside to chemo, albeit an important one, last night calendula_witch and I realized that the sexual restrictions on chemo are much more complex than advertised so far by my medical providers. I've had discussions about condom use (I will be the Toxic Avenger, and pretty much every bodily emission of mine will be dangerous), being told by different providers everything from "a day or two after chemo" to "constantly until several months after you are done." But that assumes a very simplistic view of sex and sexual acts. They've been a bit coy about details. For example, I'm supposed to work very hard to avoid bacterial infections. Does that mean my performing oral sex is right out? So a deeply frank phone call to my oncology nurse is in order shortly, simply so I know where to set the pins.
Lots going on, lots to think about, and hey, it's the solstice! The sun returneth to my sky! Though calendula_witch leaves for San Francisco shortly, which dims my world a bit.
Happy Solstice, all, and stay healthier than me.
20 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
 |
| 2009-12-21 04:51 |
| [links] Link salad celebrates the turning of the sun |
| Public |
| calendula, cancer, cool, culture, healthcare, links, mainspring, personal, reviews, science, weird |
|
A reader reacts to Mainspring [ Powell's | Amazon thb | Barnes & Noble | Borders | Audible ] — Mixed but positive.
calendula_witch talks about our weekend
Sarah Bernhardt's leg Art culture guru James Gurney with a very strange tale, indeed.
A Softer World appears to have broken into my head — As calendula_witch put it.
The year in materials — Mmm, science.
Auschwitz sign recovered — This whole story was bizarre.
Mumps outbreak in Brooklyn — Antivaxers on the march. Evolution denial is merely pernicious, sabotaging education, science and society, and undermining the future competitiveness of our culture. Wrong-headed and misguided. Vaccination denial kills children. Evil.
?otD: Have you rung your solstice bells?
12/21/2009 Body movement: n/a (taking calendula_witch to airport) Hours slept: 7.0 This morning's weigh-in: 225.8 Currently reading: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer
3 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
 |
|
calendula_witch and I are off to Seattle shortly, for tbclone47's party, then social time with markferrari and shelly_rae. A whirlwind tour, back to Portland tomorrow afternoon, then she flies home to San Francisco at 0:dark:stupid Monday. the_child and I will follow on Boxing Day.
Difficult night last night for me in cancerland. I've been oversleeping and napping a lot, as part of the healing process. My body decided about 1 am that it had had enough sleep, and I spent a couple of hours rattling around. Both sides are extremely uncomfortable to lie on, due to the two recent surgeries, so I tend to go to my back, which is an unnatural sleeping position. I wound up in the lounger in the living room, where I could at least cradle my body in a more comfortable position. I'm not in a lot of pain, but the discomfort borders on the extreme.
Awake, I was having weird anxiety thoughts. Last night, calendula_witch had been reading about one of my high school classmates in The New Yorker. I'd said something mopey about never being famous enough for The New Yorker, she gave me a funny look and pointed out we never would have met if I hadn't been a well-known public person, given that we met at a conference she came to in part to work with me as an instructor. I had to laugh at that. Still, the thoughts came back to me in the night. I'd given up reading my high school almuni newsletter in my mid-twenties, when I was a low level grunt in the advertising field, and my classmates were making their debut on the London stage or becoming directors of investment banks in the Caymans or whatever. That's the thing about going to a very academically competitive, very exclusive private school — most of the folks around you are loaded with privilege and brains, which is a hell of a combination. Frankly, I'm loaded with both too, not pleading any kind of poverty here, but the ladder runs much higher than my rung, and we all have that human tendency to look up.
So look up I did last night, and feel somewhat sad and sorry for myself. Add to this the string of minor domestic disasters of late (the moth infestation, the plumbing problems, the burning of the garlic bread last night, the hidden water somewhere in my car...) and I have plenty to be grumpy about if I let myself. This morning on our walk, calendula_witch and I discussed that line of thought. I am, of course, prima facie an idiot. My social media presence reaches about 5,000 people every day. Tens of thousands of people read my fiction. The me of ten years ago would have gazed in envious awe at the career I have today. Human nature being what it is, we always stand at the center as the world moves around us. I often need to be reminded that I am special. She does this for me, brilliantly.
Meanwhile, when I did sleep, I had some pretty classic anxiety dreams. My brother had died, in my dream, of a rather strange accident, and I was so drug-addled I kept forgetting this. My parents were trying to keep it together for me in my cancer-ridden state. And so we went round in a little parade of misery, most of this theatre of the emotion taking place on the Portland MAX train in my dreamland. Then my teeth started falling out unexpectedly.
I don't need a Joseph to interpret that dream. Oneiromancy is second nature to any competent writer, it's what we do on the page after all. Still, that was interwoven with my anxieties about my life. When I finally did give up and rise from the chair, everything hurt. Luckily, my temperament and lifestyle have equipped me to think in layers without unhealthy compartmentalization, so I am able to recognize that except for the pain in my left and right chest, I feel pretty good, and respond accordingly. Part of the journey of cancer is managing the things that pop into my head, and keeping myself on track.
Seattle beckons now, and we are close to being later than we mean, so I am off. I will see some of you later today. Regular blogging service may be interrupted tomorrow, due to traveling back, but we shall see. In any event, y'all play nice while I'm gone.
17 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
My hair, after being French braided for two days.
Photograph © 2009 Shannon Page, used with permission.
12 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
 |
|
shelly_rae takes the train home to Seattle this morning, and life officially goes back to more-or-less normal here at Nuevo Rancho Lake, at least until chemo starts on January 8th. Life being more-or-less normal, calendula_witch arrives later this morning by plane from San Francisco. We'll spend some time recentering, then at a family Christmas party tonight. Tomorrow we're off to Seattle for tbclone47's birthday party, where we will see markferrari and shelly_rae, along with many other dear friends.
calendula_witch flies home on Monday. I follow next Saturday, the day after Christmas, accompanied by the_child. We'll get to meet calendula_witch's mysterious aunt from foreign parts, which will be good fun, and bomb around San Francisco. the_child comes back home the 30th, I return on the 3rd, then we begin the slide home into chemo land.
It will be a good Christmas, and good end to the year. I'll be cherishing all that for the New Year, because kicking cancer's ass through chemo is going to take every ounce of good I've ever had in my life. May all of you have a holiday season as joyous and filled with love as mine.
15 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
I'm having another one of those days where if I woke up feeling this way, I'd go to the hospital. Ah, the joys of surgical recovery. At least it was day surgery, and I was fit to go home yesterday afternoon. For some value of "fit".
( Under cut for medical TMI and general grossness. )
Overnight I slept ok but not great — can't roll in either direction, so I'm stuck on my back like a turtle, which is decidedly not my natural sleeping position. Today I'm uncomfortable as all get-out but mentally alert, functional, and in the same low-grade surgical pain I've become accustomed to lately. No more Vicodin, no Dilaudid, so I get to keep my brain intact.
But wow, what an exhausting day. And such a fool I felt, for no good reason, when I was being cared for beyond reason.
I love my friends and family, but fuck cancer.
33 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
| 2009-12-16 06:05 |
| [links] Link salad goes under the knife again today |
| Public |
| books, calendula, cool, green, healthcare, links, personal, photos, politics, publishing, reviews, science, stories, tech |
|
A reader reacts to Green [ Powell's | Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Borders ] — They really, really, really didn't like it.
On the other hand, "Rolling Steel" is well-reviewed — Rich Horton's summary of Clarkesworld says nice things about "Rolling Steel", by calendula_witch and me.
TOC: Is There Anybody Out There? edited by Nick Givers & Marty Halpern — I've been meaning to post this. My Sunspin story, "Permanent Fatal Errors", will be in this volume.
Dornier Do-X Flying Boat — One of my favorite aircraft ever. if I were stupid rich, I'd own a fleet of classic flying boats.
Top 10 Astronomy Pictures of 2009 — Bad Astronomy with some awesomeness.
Planets around sun-like stars — Centauri Dreams with more exoplanetary coolness. I wonder how this stuff sits with Young Earth Creationists, ID proponents and other literally minded fools.
Who made the giant Jurassic sea-floor gutters? — Darren Nash talks about trace fossils. I love the idea of behavioral fossilizaton. (I once saw a fossil in the State Central Museum in Ulaan Baator of two small dinosaurs who'd died fighting.)
Return of the steam engine? — Will we all get punked?
Lieberman's Vanity — Ta-Nehisi Coates quoting Huffington Post on Lieberman and healthcare reform. This has been dissolving before our eyes. Last week the Senate deleted the ban on lifetime caps, which will quite possibly be a death sentence for me someday. (My conservative friends who favor the current system might want to consider how they'd feel in my position.) I wonder why I'm a progressive, if this crap is what a 60-vote majority in the Senate gets us.
?otD: Got surgery?
12/16/2009 Body movement: 30 minute stationary bike ride Hours slept: 7.5 This morning's weigh-in: 225.0 Currently reading: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer
4 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
Yesterday was a very tough day. I was coming off the Dilaudid, almost cold turkey, because I'd grown so sick of being vague and sleepy. My pain levels were up slightly, my discomfort was up considerably (oddly, physical therapy helped rather than deepened that problem), but mostly I was feeling very bleak.
I have a long history of depression. I was hospitalized in my mid-teens following a suicide attempt, and was under mandatory psychiatric care until I was 18. I continued in therapy voluntarily all the way through college. Somewhere in my mid 20s, depression stopped mattering. The grim ghost had lost its fangs. I've continued in and out of therapy situationally since, including right now to help me cope with cancer, but I've never been back in the grip of the beast.
Yesterday was one of the worst days I've had since those teen years. I was obsessing about my nausea, my bowel distress, the state of my body while kicking the opiates. I was obsessing about money — the Genre car may need repairs sufficiently spendy to warrant getting rid of it and buying a different vehicle, the house has a plumbing problem, and my medical stuff causes me to bleed money in supplies, co-pays and such like. I was obsessing about cancer and mortality, for the obvious reasons. I was obsessing about pain. I was obsessing about emotional stuff, life issues and the like. All in all, I was a total, messy bitch to both shelly_rae, who's here taking care of me, and calendula_witch, who's down in California right now.
Luckily for me, everyone who loves me loves me just as much when I'm a mess.
But I hate this. I know that a decent part of yesterday's issues was Dilaudid withdrawal, compounded by pain and stress. Depression is a side effect of withdrawal. More to the point, it's a symptom of cancer. The grim ghost has come back to visit, and plans to settle in and stay a while.
As an adult, I've developed the habits of relentless optimism, boundless energy, reflexive positivity. Those are the tools that built my writing career during the decade+ when I wrote and submitted without success, in the nearly a decade since as I've experienced my career through its ups and downs, in the twelve years I've been parent to the_child. Those are tools which are being challenged badly now — as shelly_rae points out, in depression you focus on the small things because the large things are too horrible.
This morning we go to chemo class at the hospital. That will probably not improve my disposition, except in the sense that more information is always better. Still, I go on. What else can I do?
Depression might be the worst of cancer's gifts, but by God I'll find a way to make it into a gift.
33 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Another review of Interzone 225 — Including "Bone Island" by calendula_witch and me.
Dazed Rambling says he has attracted enough attention from me already — More! Hee. It's all good fun.
markbourne recaps his heart surgery experience — Lots of lessons for me from a good friend.
Crescent Neptune and Triton — Mmm. More APOD awesomeness.
Copenhagen climate change blah blah — Bad Science on climate change.
?otD: How many suns in Sunday?
12/13/2009 Body movement: 60 minute suburban walk (in freezing fog!) Hours slept: 8.5 This morning's weigh-in: 228.0 Currently reading: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer
1 Comment | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
| 2009-12-12 08:50 |
| [links] Link salad wonders if it will snow today |
| Public |
| calendula, cool, funny, links, personal, photos, reviews, science, stories, tech, videos |
|
Garbled Signals reviews Interzone 225 — Including "Bone Island" by calendula_witch and me.
Star Trek lip synch — Oh good lord.
Face Detection — Art writing tech guru James Gurney with a fascinating piece on machine recognition of people, and how that intersects with art.
Geminid Meteor over Monument Valley — Another mighty APOD image.
Iapetus: Coated in Off-world Dust — An interesting piece in Centauri Dreams about the relationships between Saturn's moons.
?otD: Whose idea was this winter storm anyway?
12/12/2009 Body movement: n/a (not yet, 60 minute walk forthcoming) Hours slept: 9.0 This morning's weigh-in: 229.2 Currently reading: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer
1 Comment | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
Every day or two I wake up a little more. I've cut back considerably on the Dilaudid. This helps immensely. I'll be back at work part time next week, and full time the week of 12/21, so the opiates need to be gone at least during working hours. On track to do that.
The next event here is the port implant surgery on Wednesday 12/16. That's day surgery, on an outpatient basis, but it will pretty much soak up the day. After that, everything kind of smooths along until chemotherapy starts on 1/8.
shelly_rae will be here through Friday morning 12/18, calendula_witch will be back that day. We're off for tbclone47's birthday party on 12/19, then back to Portland on 12/20. calendula_witch goes home on 12/21, then the_child and I head for California on 12/26. I'll be there through 1/3, then calendula_witch will be back in Oregon 1/7 for the chemo, as will shelly_rae if her schedule permits.
Still need to get a grip on my mental and emotional state of late. With a few exceptions, I've been largely neutral or positive, but only in the last few days have I become even slightly multi-threaded again. Being single-threaded drives me batshit. I feel so limited. I could also stand for the deep freeze weather to be done with, along with the intense and chronic oversleeping the healing process brings.
Life, of course, goes on. Confirmed a couple of fiction sales recently, submitted copy edits executed by calendula_witch on my behalf, working with tbclone47 on the production issues around "The Specific Gravity of Grief", have some signature sheets to do for Subterranean Press, and yesterday for the first time managed to do some actual writing when I put in an hour and a half of revisions on Our Lady of the Islands.
So coming back to myself. Lots more to say when I get a slightly better handle on it. You guys have been brilliant.
9 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
As of 0:dark:stupid calendula_witch is on her way back to sunny California. Wish her well on the long drive home.
I'm here at Nuevo Rancho Lake with shelly_rae, further improving on my further improvements. We braved a one mile walk in the 19 degree air this morning, because I couldn't stand not to get out and move.
Dad is coming over shortly to take us out for some errand running, then a physical therapy appointment, then a psychotherapy appointment. Much as happened yesterday, by the time we get home I'll be a puddle of exhaustion. The rest of the week is much lighter, with a couple of low key family events, and that's about it.
Main thing right now is waiting to find out the surgery date for having my port implanted. I figure that's about like getting a Harkonnen heart plug installed, which can only serve to make me even more science fictional.
For now, sprawled on the couch attempting to recover energy for the next part of the day.
2 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
This morning, calendula_witch and I ( went in for surgical followups, including post-operative consult as well as oncology consult. Medical details under the cut. )
So, the net is that I'm having chemo, from January to June. I have a lot of logical fears, and some illogical ones, but the big kahuna of chemo fears is my dread of the mental blunting. The effects of "chemo head" scare me spitless. Add to this my concerns about the long-term effects of peripheral neuropathy, and I have plenty to keep me occupied. I will cope with these fears as I cope with everything, by running toward them and owning them. But that's the view today.
21 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
 |
|
Ah, the perils of cancerbrain.
Yesterday, calendula_witch and I actually left the house by automobile. I've been walking, but otherwise indoors, since the surgery. Videos needed to be returned, and one re-rented, and I just wanted out. (As it happens, the ride was intensely uncomfortable due to my chest swelling issues, but still worth the effort.)
As we were preparing to leave, I could not find the car keys. I'd swapped cars with Mother of the Child, as her seats are much higher and more vertical than those in either the Genre Car or the Witchmobile, and are built such that I can position myself with less pain and discomfort. the_child had left me with the keys, but they were nowhere to be found. calendula_witch and I tossed the house. I called MotC and the_child, both of whom had gone over to her friend D—'s house for dinner, on both their cell phone and on the landline at D—'s house. No answer on either line (calls 1 and 2), so I called back and left an urgent message on each trying to find out if the_child had moved the car keys (calls 3 and 4).
The car keys were eventually found in my pocket. (Ahem.) I called back both numbers and left messages saying everything was alright, no need to call me back (calls 5 and 6). A few minutes later, D— called me back (call 7). We had one of those conversations one has with children where an otherwise erudite and verbose child suddenly acquires the conversational agility of a soap dish.
D—: "What did you want?"
jaylake: "Nothing now. We figured it out. the_child doesn't need to call me back."
D—: "What...?"
jaylake: "Everything's ok. I don't need to talk to anyone."
D—: "What...?"
jaylake: "Tell the_child that I don't need her to call back."
D—: "What...?"
A few minutes later, the_child called me back (call 8). We reprised the same conversation, right down to the dull-voiced and uncomprehending refrain of "What...?"
A few minutes later, Mother of the Child called me back (call 9). I carefully explained that I was trying to head off further phone calls by telling people everything was alright, that my initial message no longer applied, and they really, really, really didn't need to call me back any more, really, I swear, everything was fine.
At 1:30 this morning, my cell phone rang, waking me out of a sound sleep (call 10). It was D—'s mother. "From the caller ID, it looks like you called. What's up?"
Aaaauuuuuughhh!!!
10 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
| 2009-12-07 05:28 |
| [cancer] Monday update, and miscellaneous other things |
| Public |
| calendula, california, cancer, child, conventions, health, personal, sale, stories, travel, work |
|
Big day today. calendula_witch and I are off to the hospital shortly for a chest x-ray, followed by a post-operative consultation with the thoracic surgery team. Insofar as I can tell, my recovery is going quite well, but the fluid build-up in my chest continues to be a significant irritation. Right now my chest hurts anew. Yesterday the fluid there found new channels, including one reaching my sternum. To be discussed. I'm also hoping for a return-to-work authorization for 12/14, or possibly even late this week. I'm getting bored enough to miss that, though I'm not ready for it just yet.
After that we see the oncologist to review the pathology reports and prescribe the chemo. Current expectation is that the port will be installed in my chest about a week before Christmas, and that we'll commence the infusion process in early January. When I have confirmed details, I'll lay this out. Frankly, this terrifies me. More to come on all fronts.
Once we're done there, we'll pop downtown and pick up shelly_rae at the train station. Then we'll be planning my next month or so, and locking down life under chemo. At this point, I assume I'll be cancelling all travel, including convention and workshop appearances, through June, but I'd love to be wrong. The only open question is whether the_child and I can still go to California over Christmas.
calendula_witch heads back to San Francisco tomorrow, barring some extremely unusual developments. (ie, something weird popping up in today's oncology consult.) My life might be normal(ish) by next week, if I'm lucky.
Still not able to read complex material, but things are coming back to me. I am starting to randomly fire off story ideas, which is a good sign. Also very much normal behavior for me. In other news, my short story "Permanent Fatal Errors" has been accepted for the anthology Is Anybody Out There?, a Fermi paradox themed book edited by Nick Gevers and Marty Halpern. This is another piece of the Sunspin continuity, and deals with some critical backstory elements connected to a core McGuffin.
5 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
Well, let's see. My mental acuity has returned sufficiently for me to track complex conversations over extended time periods, specifically between one medication cycle and the next. Just today I've begun experimenting with extending (slightly) the time between medication intake, which is the first step in weaning myself off the opiates. I'm starting to be pretty seriously bored, also a good sign. My walking range is beginning to extend now, walking a mile in 25 minutes this morning without ever stopping to breathe. And I can play Sudoku again, which has long been a sort of mental marker for my state of stress and ability to focus.
On the down side, I still can't read worth a damn. Even tracking a decently long article on the Web is tough. I continue to have no interest in picking up books. This is only my second attempt at a blog post since leaving the hospital last Sunday, as even that much narrative awareness is only available to me in fits and starts.
Over the next week or three I'll try to document my hospital experience. We're definitely in the anticlimax right now, that trough between surgery and the pathology report. Next Monday morning, calendula_witch and I go in to see the thoracic surgery team, then the oncologist. We'll have the last stitches on the drain port taken out, followed by a discussion of the chemo path. shelly_rae will be in town Monday midday, and the three of us will spend some time sorting through what it all means.
Right now, I don't know. And I won't even have a glimpse until then. All the grief and terror is still out there. It's just waiting for another turn of the wheel, for the business of the moment to come spilling out like blood on sand.
This has been a tough road, in all the obvious ways and in more than a few non obvious ones as well. I don't suppose it will get any easier, though eventually losing the 'busted ribs' sensation from the chest incision will be helpful. Details to come, as I understand or can recall them. For now, suffice to say my hospital experience was good to excellent, the food wasn't bad, and friends and family really came through.
I swear I'm getting back on this horse. One stirrup at a time. There's just a freaky lot of stirrups here.
I'll leave you with a thought. Not so long ago, the single overriding sensory impression of hospitals, at least in my experience, was the smell. Nothing has an odor quite like the damp, disinfected, bandage reek of a hospital. Lately, though, the quality of the cleansers has improved. Or perhaps my nose has been stunned with age. Because now my single overriding sensory impression of hospitals is the beeping. Literally two or three dozen different alarms which beep in the nurses' stations in the halls outside the rooms. Different volumes, keys, pitches, tempii. It's a symphony for one-note sonics, written large across my waking dreams and sleeping thoughts.
That noise will follow me all my life, I suspect. When the time comes, please don't wire my coffin for it, ok?
Meanwhile, I leave you with ( this cheerful image of me eating in the hospital. )
So far I've come...
18 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
|
|
|
