It has been over a week since the radiation treatments stopped. I thought it would settle down and I would start to heal but it has got worse. For some reason I cannot fathom, the rear of my thigh and behind the lump I am really sore. Not a little sore, a lot. I cannot properly sit on my left bum cheek and an angry blue red mottling has risen from within. I am guessing it is something to do with the flesh inside my thigh healing. The advice was to take it easy and I don't think I have taken it as easy as I should have.
Today I had a Thallium scan which tracks a small dose of a radioactive isotope injected into my arm. It shows up cold spots where blood may not be flowing and might therefore be a new tumor.
After that I had a CT scan over my torso as a Myxoid Lycosarcoma, if it is going to get started anywhere else, it's the lungs. I had something to eat and felt really tired at the hospital cafe. I waited a couple of hours and returned to have the Thallium tracked again as it had a good chance to distribute throughout my body. Another spell reading magazines and in for the MRI. That noisy claustrophobic machine took ages and I felt uncomfortable maintaining a stillness within its tunnel. But the photographs it took are good.
I sense at the periphery of all this, the process is changing me. Being in a hospital all day and having visited several times in the last few weeks, one get a sense of people suffering, getting old and the system looking after all of us. God help those in chaotic places like Libya. The process is leading me to a discussion on aging. What is it like, how does it feel? What is the change in words? We all experience it but is it the same for each of us? Does one become weaker and deeper or do layers fall of and slowly we become the essence of our life. Certainly the physical body shows up its weak points.
In the following days, this will be the theme to my experience. As a hint, I like it. Feels like a release from daily distractions.
Peace
Monday, August 29, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Jubilee Park
With a pervasive sense of jubilation I embarked upon my life without being hit in the leg every day. So happy I decided this was the weekend to try out my new shoes. Recently purchased and and never worn outside of the shop I had put them away in anticipation of that special day. On this day the weather was fine and suitable for a first gentle outing. Once on I found them very soft, very strong and immediately understood they would classify as my, 'new dancing shoes'.
I recently resolved that HollyWood movies are horribly compromised works of art and since spring is upon us in Melbourne Australia where the live music scene is fertile, accessible and everywhere, dancing is the rational persons next quick-step.
I stepped out into the beat, such as it was, feeling like a dick being the only soul on the floor but with years of experience I knew they would follow and they did. With joy and energy the space between the drinkers and the musicians was a tidal melody, flooding and ebbing as the beat rose and fell.
After a few well placed drinks and a sleep I woke to my body clock and found messages on the mobile reminding me to take my eldest to his preliminary final footy match at Jubilee Park.
Basking in the sun in the grandstand and recovering I expected a quiet morning but those lads stood up, never lost their composure and won the game on fitness, grit and confidence. God love them, I was jubilant.
I recently resolved that HollyWood movies are horribly compromised works of art and since spring is upon us in Melbourne Australia where the live music scene is fertile, accessible and everywhere, dancing is the rational persons next quick-step.
I stepped out into the beat, such as it was, feeling like a dick being the only soul on the floor but with years of experience I knew they would follow and they did. With joy and energy the space between the drinkers and the musicians was a tidal melody, flooding and ebbing as the beat rose and fell.
After a few well placed drinks and a sleep I woke to my body clock and found messages on the mobile reminding me to take my eldest to his preliminary final footy match at Jubilee Park.
Basking in the sun in the grandstand and recovering I expected a quiet morning but those lads stood up, never lost their composure and won the game on fitness, grit and confidence. God love them, I was jubilant.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Blogger Blogs
And I haven't been.
Eight days ago I saw the end of this.
Like an explorer falling a sleep in a snow storm the fatigue started to get me.
My teeth hurt, I was falling asleep in the train, then I found a thriller.
I was taken in my sleepy couch potato slouch when in the first quarter of the 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' by Steig Larsson, one of the two protagonists, Salander, sets out the boundaries of her personal and professional relationship with her employer Armansky, who is in awe, confused and attracted to her.
The book is behind me now and I have one, yes one-only radiation treatment to go. No more strappers, no more aching thigh. The late afternoon crash, the 10%-flue that has chased me through the days will be history. Like last Saturday, I can recover my vitality.
I'm looking forward to a Thallium and CT scan on the 29th August, then an appointment with the surgeon on the 31st. I'm eager to know when the Potato is to be removed. I want to finish Paul Kelly's omnibus of stories titled, How to Make Gravy. I'm grateful to the song writers, the poets and followers who have watched me through this process. I am in general, really really grateful. Thank you.
Now is the time to let the light shine on my poem from the past,
Who are you in your long white beard,
"Come to beard me",
Come to tell me my romance is dead?
Trotted in have you with your fine white lance,
What in God's name do you hope to do with that?
Don't you know my fine feathered friend,
I have died by your lance a hundred times and still I rise to the occasion.
So put your lance away and raise your spirits high,
Because your only true language is that of love.
Communicate my friend.
What planet are you from?
What have you to say to this old skeleton?
What gifts have you to share with your host?
What respect will you show to the path that you have found,
And will you investigate it's source?
Will you see beyond your dreams?
Will you dare to come near me?
Will you risk your flesh melting from your dreamy bones?
Come to me my child, tell me about your new found love.
Tell me you have found some hope in the beauty of women.
Tell me where your dreams want to take you.
Let me remind you that you travel the same dusty track,
That my bare feet have seared and sealed with pain.
Place your bets my son,
You only have your mind to save you,
Whereas my sex is part of the course.
I do not promote myself.
My death is laced into your dreams.
I am part of your illusion,
The bit you forgot on waking.
I am the water in your whiskey,
I can dilute your spirit.
I stink of sex,
I glow with spirit,
I will not be forgotten.
So give, give me what you hold in your heart.
Do not fear, that which is true will not burn in my company.
Show me your kind words,
Save my soul if you can, but do not deny me,
Some day you will have to face me.
You may be able to kill me,
But you may have already,
And still I stink of the stench of death,
And still I nourish the degenerate Earth.
Put your hands toward my rich soul,
Get me under your fingernails,
For if you don't I shall never again come near you and you shall always wonder,
And what wistful thoughts shall bear seeds of suspicion and doubt.
So do it now if you dare.
Do me the honor of taking me on.
I can but only die...
Eight days ago I saw the end of this.
Like an explorer falling a sleep in a snow storm the fatigue started to get me.
My teeth hurt, I was falling asleep in the train, then I found a thriller.
I was taken in my sleepy couch potato slouch when in the first quarter of the 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' by Steig Larsson, one of the two protagonists, Salander, sets out the boundaries of her personal and professional relationship with her employer Armansky, who is in awe, confused and attracted to her.
The book is behind me now and I have one, yes one-only radiation treatment to go. No more strappers, no more aching thigh. The late afternoon crash, the 10%-flue that has chased me through the days will be history. Like last Saturday, I can recover my vitality.
I'm looking forward to a Thallium and CT scan on the 29th August, then an appointment with the surgeon on the 31st. I'm eager to know when the Potato is to be removed. I want to finish Paul Kelly's omnibus of stories titled, How to Make Gravy. I'm grateful to the song writers, the poets and followers who have watched me through this process. I am in general, really really grateful. Thank you.
Now is the time to let the light shine on my poem from the past,
Who are you in your long white beard,
"Come to beard me",
Come to tell me my romance is dead?
Trotted in have you with your fine white lance,
What in God's name do you hope to do with that?
Don't you know my fine feathered friend,
I have died by your lance a hundred times and still I rise to the occasion.
So put your lance away and raise your spirits high,
Because your only true language is that of love.
Communicate my friend.
What planet are you from?
What have you to say to this old skeleton?
What gifts have you to share with your host?
What respect will you show to the path that you have found,
And will you investigate it's source?
Will you see beyond your dreams?
Will you dare to come near me?
Will you risk your flesh melting from your dreamy bones?
Come to me my child, tell me about your new found love.
Tell me you have found some hope in the beauty of women.
Tell me where your dreams want to take you.
Let me remind you that you travel the same dusty track,
That my bare feet have seared and sealed with pain.
Place your bets my son,
You only have your mind to save you,
Whereas my sex is part of the course.
I do not promote myself.
My death is laced into your dreams.
I am part of your illusion,
The bit you forgot on waking.
I am the water in your whiskey,
I can dilute your spirit.
I stink of sex,
I glow with spirit,
I will not be forgotten.
So give, give me what you hold in your heart.
Do not fear, that which is true will not burn in my company.
Show me your kind words,
Save my soul if you can, but do not deny me,
Some day you will have to face me.
You may be able to kill me,
But you may have already,
And still I stink of the stench of death,
And still I nourish the degenerate Earth.
Put your hands toward my rich soul,
Get me under your fingernails,
For if you don't I shall never again come near you and you shall always wonder,
And what wistful thoughts shall bear seeds of suspicion and doubt.
So do it now if you dare.
Do me the honor of taking me on.
I can but only die...
Monday, August 8, 2011
Big lumps and small ones and metaphorical lumps.
I saw a new Indian radiologist last Friday. The last was Chinese.
He told me the Ray is only really strong enough to kill microscopic lumps.
When the surgeon takes out the big lump it might be a 'dead potato', as he put it, but it could still have living cells. The purpose of radiation is to kill the small lumps. Surgery takes out the big one. The pathologist, after determining the condition of the potato burns it in a fury at the back of the hospital from whence it shall not return for it is a lump not suited to this world. From the ashes it might be told a bird rises in earnest to create a new conflagration. Perhaps a fire in the human heart ?
It would be honest to say my daily experience is getting somewhat lumpy. Like traversing rocky ground. I had forgotten I was told I might feel 5% of flue-like symptoms. Except for early in the day, till around 11.00-am the thought of a couch with blanket or as the day wears on, a bed with doona are very attractive. Maybe its the last throes of winter, or perhaps I'm not as young as I was or is it the Potatoe or the linear accelerator or General Wear? That last ubiquitous media lump is starting to shit me. He is the political bully, the professional who has been in the job so long power has corrupted him absolutely. His character is formed by generations of human conflict and egotistical savagery. I see him on the television, the newspapers, on bill boards, in the street. He, who sometimes goes as a she, has nothing good to offer. And now it seems I feel his presence more not less. His name is General Ennui Wear and his only qualification for the position is that he has been around for a long time. I am worn out by his presence, so shitted upon that I barely know the difference. Those who have not been around for so long seem under the delusion his position is glorious. I wonder where in the world I can escape his stink?
I wonder too, does he have children, who is his spouse, what has he produced? In that I sense hope. It is a thing of beauty that emerges from the tribal myopia just as humanity finds a beach on Mars.
He told me the Ray is only really strong enough to kill microscopic lumps.
When the surgeon takes out the big lump it might be a 'dead potato', as he put it, but it could still have living cells. The purpose of radiation is to kill the small lumps. Surgery takes out the big one. The pathologist, after determining the condition of the potato burns it in a fury at the back of the hospital from whence it shall not return for it is a lump not suited to this world. From the ashes it might be told a bird rises in earnest to create a new conflagration. Perhaps a fire in the human heart ?
It would be honest to say my daily experience is getting somewhat lumpy. Like traversing rocky ground. I had forgotten I was told I might feel 5% of flue-like symptoms. Except for early in the day, till around 11.00-am the thought of a couch with blanket or as the day wears on, a bed with doona are very attractive. Maybe its the last throes of winter, or perhaps I'm not as young as I was or is it the Potatoe or the linear accelerator or General Wear? That last ubiquitous media lump is starting to shit me. He is the political bully, the professional who has been in the job so long power has corrupted him absolutely. His character is formed by generations of human conflict and egotistical savagery. I see him on the television, the newspapers, on bill boards, in the street. He, who sometimes goes as a she, has nothing good to offer. And now it seems I feel his presence more not less. His name is General Ennui Wear and his only qualification for the position is that he has been around for a long time. I am worn out by his presence, so shitted upon that I barely know the difference. Those who have not been around for so long seem under the delusion his position is glorious. I wonder where in the world I can escape his stink?
I wonder too, does he have children, who is his spouse, what has he produced? In that I sense hope. It is a thing of beauty that emerges from the tribal myopia just as humanity finds a beach on Mars.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Geez?
The muscle in my thigh is starting to show signs of being zapped.
Its sore especially when I put a load on it, like cycling.
In the morning I feel strong and get up out of the saddle and power into work but in the afternoon I crash. I haven't cycled to my afternoon appointments as it would sap too much energy so the ride is restricted to mornings. I take the train with my bike in the afternoon.
I nod off with fatigue. Can hardly read a magazine. I get a second wind and a strange attraction to an alcoholic beverage. A couple of beers is a treat. A white wine keeps me off the Shiraz. You know its a mild addiction. Life would seem so plain without the evening sip. Why is that so? And is it the call of the Tumor? Like a beautiful Mermaid calling me to my destruction.
There is no denying the scale of the cancer industry. It is a life and death operation. I see people daily in various stages of recovery. I read other blogs of people going through the challenge of breast removal, chemotherapy and palliative care. The choices we make are significant. From little things other things grow. So my decision to drink a glass of wine or not takes on different proportions. This moment seems significant. I feel different. Less tolerant, less sentimental, less attached. This part of my life looms. How do I navigate the second part of my life. How do I find peace within? My mind has an answer to that question. I have made a habit which I pray I keep to sit quietly with that question and allow my heart an opportunity to respond.
Peace
Its sore especially when I put a load on it, like cycling.
In the morning I feel strong and get up out of the saddle and power into work but in the afternoon I crash. I haven't cycled to my afternoon appointments as it would sap too much energy so the ride is restricted to mornings. I take the train with my bike in the afternoon.
I nod off with fatigue. Can hardly read a magazine. I get a second wind and a strange attraction to an alcoholic beverage. A couple of beers is a treat. A white wine keeps me off the Shiraz. You know its a mild addiction. Life would seem so plain without the evening sip. Why is that so? And is it the call of the Tumor? Like a beautiful Mermaid calling me to my destruction.
There is no denying the scale of the cancer industry. It is a life and death operation. I see people daily in various stages of recovery. I read other blogs of people going through the challenge of breast removal, chemotherapy and palliative care. The choices we make are significant. From little things other things grow. So my decision to drink a glass of wine or not takes on different proportions. This moment seems significant. I feel different. Less tolerant, less sentimental, less attached. This part of my life looms. How do I navigate the second part of my life. How do I find peace within? My mind has an answer to that question. I have made a habit which I pray I keep to sit quietly with that question and allow my heart an opportunity to respond.
Peace
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
There I was Ducks...
Stretched out on the table chatting about movies, action movies, Transformers, Captain America, the Avenger series, Hannah whatever, whilst the Strappers darlings are tenderly flopping and rolling my Crown Jewels away from the death rays all seeing eye.
Mr Minty, might as well call him that as I haven't a clue of his name, nice fella, Clark Gable moustache, very sharp looks; I bet he drives a sport hatch with great stereo and bags of power. He loves a bit of action (I bet he does), thought Transformers 3 was great cos the last hour was all action. I'd love it too sweetie I mean I love a bit action too, don't you know? I thought Mr Minty might have lingered tenderly a nano second longer than Ms Asia. I sensed his eyes caress me sweetly, soft and reassuring whereas Ms Asia gave me a light tap on the knob to make sure the strapping wasn't going to explode with enthusiasm at the wrong moment. And again after the session to make sure it was still there. I mean Ducks they see it every day, you'd get a little fond of it after a while, I mean I would. I'd look forward to an eyeful in an otherwise dreary day on the Gantry. I mean how would you be rolling one old clacker after another over for a better look at his prostrate!
Actually I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I wonder who it will be? Stretched out I'll be. What will I talk about, oh I know I'll find something, probably Art or for a bit of action I might try Tony Abbot. Someone told me he has a cameo in Captain America. I cannot believe it Ducks, he couldn't act himself into a serious dialogue with anything or anybody without wrecking the scene. I hope his budgie smugglers strangle his goolies and he starts to walk like a normal man.
There was an older lady last week and a middle aged lady not long after. We chatted comfortably but you know if you're looking for a bit of culture its the boy Strappers who make the cut.
Mr Minty, might as well call him that as I haven't a clue of his name, nice fella, Clark Gable moustache, very sharp looks; I bet he drives a sport hatch with great stereo and bags of power. He loves a bit of action (I bet he does), thought Transformers 3 was great cos the last hour was all action. I'd love it too sweetie I mean I love a bit action too, don't you know? I thought Mr Minty might have lingered tenderly a nano second longer than Ms Asia. I sensed his eyes caress me sweetly, soft and reassuring whereas Ms Asia gave me a light tap on the knob to make sure the strapping wasn't going to explode with enthusiasm at the wrong moment. And again after the session to make sure it was still there. I mean Ducks they see it every day, you'd get a little fond of it after a while, I mean I would. I'd look forward to an eyeful in an otherwise dreary day on the Gantry. I mean how would you be rolling one old clacker after another over for a better look at his prostrate!
Actually I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I wonder who it will be? Stretched out I'll be. What will I talk about, oh I know I'll find something, probably Art or for a bit of action I might try Tony Abbot. Someone told me he has a cameo in Captain America. I cannot believe it Ducks, he couldn't act himself into a serious dialogue with anything or anybody without wrecking the scene. I hope his budgie smugglers strangle his goolies and he starts to walk like a normal man.
There was an older lady last week and a middle aged lady not long after. We chatted comfortably but you know if you're looking for a bit of culture its the boy Strappers who make the cut.
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