1st Chemotherapy treatment

OK if you have been following me on Facebook, then you would know about the storm we encountered. If not then no worries, here is a brief description of what happened. We woke up Monday morning to almost a foot of snow. A drive that normally takes minutes, took almost 3 hours. Over 200 accidents that morning in the area. My wife drove or minivan with skill. Proud of her for that. Continue reading 1st Chemotherapy treatment

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The drive home from Port Upgrade…

So here I sit in the passenger seat of the white minivan.  I remember the first trip my wife and I ever took in this MV.  We were heading to Vegas to get married.  I didn’t really care for the MV then and I can say with Judgmental anguish that this white hauler of Asses hasn’t grown on me one bit.  Not in the six years since, and probably not in the next six years either.  I will give it to my wife; the MV has been good to us.  I just don’t care for MV’s.  With that said, I find it kind of weird to be writing this blog while moving at Eighty miles an hour; with my ass about two feet (at most) off of the ground.  I usually take this drive either in the Driver’s seat or over here in the Passenger’s seat half asleep listening to a mix of Metallica and Enya.  That’s right!  I did say a mix between Metallica and Enya.  If you have never heard of either Artist; then my friend you have been missing out on some good tunes.  Metallica is a group of four guys (now in their Fifties) that jam with some heavy riffs.  Enya (not sure on her age) is a Female Vocalist that usually is associated with melodies.  I listen to both artists while writing stories.  Enya’s music is what I listen to when I’m creating characters.  While Metallica’s usually inspires the tone or mood in which the story is heading.  The story that I’m working on lately is a creature feature (if you will) titled “Hawthorne’s Bend”.  If I were to describe the novel, I would tell you that it is probably something that my mother wouldn’t read.  It’s not the thought of most of the characters not surviving at the end, but rather the hell that they witness before the end of the story.  I might find the time to write some of the story while on the road, but then again, I feel like a dip shit if my wife drives the entire way.  She doesn’t mind she tells me.  I sort of believe her, since one of the rules of the road is “The Driver chooses what we listen to” and she has chosen an audiobook that I haven’t paid much attention to since we started to go to Salt Lake City.
Many things have roamed through my mind while taking these trips to Salt Lake City.  Yes I have read up on my type of cancer, since HCI was kind enough to provide a lot of reading material in the binder that they gave me.  The majority of the information is a generalization of the cancer; which doesn’t end up sounding too good.  Now they have added my individual treatment information, which does shed some light on the subject.  No matter which version I have read, I still get frustrated and put it away.  Then I’m left with countless miles of pondering of what I have just read.  It doesn’t make me sad, that would be too easy of a pattern to fall into.  No!  My mind tends to get pissed off, when I can’t make a joke about something or at least attempt to turn a negative into a positive.  So then I try to lighten my mood by playing a game on my cell phone, tablet, or the road trip favorite “I Spy…”  So since I’m trying to use the blogger thing as a therapeutic source of dealing with cancer.  Then I figured I would give it a shot on the boring ass ride that I am now embarked on.
The Port implant procedure went well.  The only thing I don’t like about procedures like that one or the ones for tests; is that you have to fast for several hours.  It does however make that first drink of whatever taste so good, or that first bite so damn wonderful that you just want to jump for joy, break into a musical dance number, or just simply quiver with excitement.  Which reminds me that I should explain just one of the new ordeals that I am forced to undertake.  Eating!  Now I know that I have mentioned eating in a prior post, but I don’t believe that I went into too much detail.  So without further procrastinating, let’s begin.
Eating use to be one of my favorite things to do.  If you have seen the pictures taken of me within the past few years you would have noticed.  Heck, even my nephews would ask me when I was due!  If you saw a picture (which none exists that I know of) of me today, one might think CRACKHEAD!  Trust me, right now I am laughing, hell I think I even got a little snot on my screen.  The diet plan that I am on (as Steven puts it) is doing wonders.  I tell him that getting cancer to lose weight is just as impressive as taking chemo so I wouldn’t have to shave my head.  A joke he doesn’t quite get, but he laughs and says “Awe-Kurf” just the same.  I have lost over seventy pounds in under a year, with most of the weight loss occurring in just a couple of months.  I try to eat like I use to, but it hurts too damn much.  Imagine eating till you can’t stuff anything else into your mouth and it gets backed up!  That is what it feels like with just one tiny bite.  You want to puke, but you can’t.  So you jump up off your ass and start jumping up and down, pounding on your chest.  If someone saw that through my dining room window, they would probably say “WTF!” and wonder why that looney isn’t in the State Hospital.  The food feels like it is stuck, which in truth, it is!  Even though it is only stuck temporarily, it still hurts like a “MF!”  You would think that after a few months of that, one might just try to eat differently.  Well you would be right.  I have changed my eating habits.  Heck I was even on a liquid diet for a while.  It didn’t matter.  Everything just hurt.  Now it’s take a bite, chew or squish, swallow, grab your chest, cringe, drink some water, swallow, cringe, and repeat.  That usually consists of every meal or snack.  Snack!  A sore subject to say and take quite literally, if you catch my meaning.  Finding the strength to chow down on a snack is just as hard as it is for any meal.  I often look through the cupboards and begin to think of what would taste so good that I’m willing to suffer for it.  Now I wish it was the same kind of suffering that a lactose intolerant person felt after a bowl of ice cream, but it’s not even close.  The squirts would be a welcome gesture!  That’s all I’m gonna say about that.

 

Well it’s time for me to go.  The sky is getting dark and I don’t want to bother my wife driving skills with a glare from my seat, maybe a nasty stench or a slap happy comment, I want to get home safely.