Look, I don’t mean to go eight days without a post. I know that my condition, and treatment, and etc. is of interest to a number of you fine folks. You deserve better from me, if for no other reason than that now, or right soon, some of you have been clicking for ten long years. So, I apologize for seeming to vanish for a week or longer. I’ve been in this frame of mind* for a few weeks now:
The fact is, though, there’s not a lot to type about. I’ve finished two sessions of chemo, and the cancer docs want scans. A PET scan, which I had today, and a CT scan, which I had yesterday. Also, in the last two weeks, I’ve had work done on my irradiated & toxicized teefies — two rotten molars are now gone, and one canine has a temporary filling. Neither experience was particularly painful, or noteworthy. Both just seemed to make me tireder than I already am.
That’s what’s bugging me most lately…being tired. I hope (really, Really, REALLY hope) that it’s “just the chemo.” And not, you know, the unspeakable – or spake thus, more cancer. Who knows? Never done this before. That’s what the scans are for…to see what’s the haps. I find out Tuesday, anyway.
This, though, is what gnaws at you: the unknown, the not knowing. The 3AM dark thoughts. Hell, everybody has those, though. I’ve had them for years, that feeling that you’re just about to run out of the time when you can keep everybody fooled, professional-wise. Nowadays, it’s just much more attenuated. It’s kind of easier, too, since this cancer is nothing I can really control or do anything about. Which can make you crazier than hell, when you’ve been independent and self-reliant and go-getting since forever.
Ach. Too much whining. You type it all out like that, and you go, “C’mon, get it together.” So typing it helps. I’m gonna have a tall boy or two, watch some Dallas hockey, if the satellite sports gods will allow such in Spurs territory. If not, I’ll click over to some other non-basketball sporting event. Man, can I just tell you how ready I am for baseball? I’ve had enough of the minor sports.
I am reading a good book, on the advice of my pard, Dick Stanley. Count To A Trillion, by John C. Wright. Really, really excellent book. I’ve had a good run of science fiction lately, and I’ll get a post up soon, for those of you who might be SF buffs.
* I’ve been hearing that song not from Nick Lowe, but from Texas-by-way-of-North-Carolina cat Seth Walker on KNBT, a very lush arrangement, as these things go. That linked video doesn’t do his version justice…go get the MP3 from the moosik vendor of your choice. Anyway, yeah — I’ve let things slide. Don’t much care, except when I do, and then it makes me disgusted for a few minutes. Then I go ahead and crank some more music, and feel better.