Friday, October 11, 2013

I skipped a day, neener

 So I skipped yesterday. It was a frustration day for me. Starting with texting Hospice to get some drugs refilled I needed. I'm setting staring at the bottle of meds in liquid, and being told that they don't come that way, never have, never will. I was nice and didn't say "Look, numb nuts, I'm holding the bottle in my hand, it was delivered last Saturday. So what magic fucking fairy brought that too me? Keebler fucking Elves?". I felt like that, but said instead "Fine, I'm too tired to argue, just send the tabs that I have to crush, that plainly say "do not crush" on the label." Passive aggressive worked. I hate to have to do it like that, but it seems in this day and age people offering a service always seem to know more than their clients.
  Later the Hospice social worker came by. I related my frustration. In two hours the assistant director of the Hospice was on my couch. And the Social Worker just left. I hate to have to be a damn grouch and mean old man to get someone's attention. After all, for shit sake, they offer a service. And it's no different than any other service, except that dying people are kind of hindered for palliative care. So, they will either work to please me, as a service should do, or I'll raise hell all over the damn place until they are so humiliated by their lack of action and help, that they'll wonder why in the name of all things Holy they didn't just do the easy stuff to begin with.  I'm appalled by the lack of civility in all areas of service  these days. From wait staff in restaurants, to oil field services. "The customer is always right" has been replaced with "Oh fuck him, he can wait". A piss poor way to run a service business.  I only require a few things from my services: If something changes, call me. Be polite and don't argue, if I'm wrong I'll be the first to admit it, but you better damn well be ready and have all your T's crossed and I's dotted before you make the attempt to bullshit this old man. Because I do check, and I don't ask for specifics unless I'm looking right at it. That's what was expected of me, even within my own company, and it's not unreasonable to expect other's to be the same way.

  The Hospice Chaplain came by yesterday as well. He's a nice fella, but I believe a bit naive. Unless I just can't read him like I do other people. No, he's naive. Anyway, we are visiting along and he looks at me and says "Gee, Mr Smith, you've really had some changes in the last month haven't you?".
 Well duh. I'm going downhill!! It cracked me up, actually. I mean, damn, if that's a pep talk, I'd hate to see your depressing interpretation. I laughed on the inside and said yes, I'm headed downhill. I know he meant well, but it still came out, to my ears at least, as a bit less than inspiring. I believe it's an anomaly with people who are dying, that others can't find the words they want and in doing their best, sometimes stumble. That's okay as well. In that case it's the idea that counts. Lots of people tell me I look great. They are trying to cheer me up, I'm sure. I know I don't look great. I'm getting baggy eyes, and I feel run down a lot of the time. In fact, today my throat has been bleeding a bit extra, and that makes me tired and a bit cranky. I try not to let that show, though, since the people I see only want the best for me. They should see the best of what I have that particular day.

  Here's how I look at that. I'm dying, fucking slowly, but still. It's getting to where though I still have more good days than bad, the bad days are starting to gather a little steam. One day it'll be 50/50 good and bad days. Then the balance will begin to swing the other way. For people I see and meet, you deserve to see the best of everything I have that particular day. You show your concern, so I can at least be the best that I can be for you and myself. I know I don't look good, but in all honesty it makes me feel better when people say "You look great today". It's a morale boost. It will put a little spring in my step that may not have been there before. And for a while, it often makes me go a bit longer without being so tired so quickly.  If folks are willing to put forth that effort, the least I can do is try and match it. That's the courteous thing to do, and proper. I'm not always the most proper person you'll run into, but if you put out some effort, by God so will I. If you follow this, you've invested a piece of yourself in my life. My honor demands that I give you the same respect and investment in return.
 You all are giving up something to this blog and myself that's far more important than any amount of money. You're giving me some time. And that, girls and boys, is something we can never get back. I owe it to you to give as much back to you as I can. Unless I'm a complete asshole, I'll give back what I can without complaint. Because you honor me with part of your life. That's a heady situation, and deserves a part of me as well. Thank you

  So I set here, typing away, with that coppery blood taste on the back of my tongue. I've been out twice for a couple hours each this morning. It makes it a bit worse simply because I exert a bit extra getting around. And that's something I will not trade away. It's a wonderful morning out. The extra icky shit that goes with getting out is well worth the trouble. It's still a big world out, even though I'm pretty limited in what I can do, you'd be amazed at how nice it is to smell some fresh air, get a little sun, and sit to watch people go about their rat killin. I also find myself getting tired more often and with less effort expended. These are the side effects of a growing cancer. It's feeding itself off what I put in to keep my engine primed and running. It seems he's a relentless bastard, this cancer. He doesn't take rest time, he keeps on doing what's in his nature. That includes wearing me out. I'm not certain where else he's gotten his little shit hooks into, but my suspicion is he's starting to hang out in lymph nodes. I've got a spot on my right jaw that's hard as a rock, and unless I'm mistaken has grown a bit. It feels longer along my jaw that it once did. It could be scar tissue, since I know they grabbed a couple of them during surgery, and I'm not sure how many hang out along your jawline. I will have to check that out.
 I can feel some rough areas inside my mouth and cheeks as well. Different that it was in July, or even last month. My tongue also feels a bit fatter. I don't know if that's from the half that was messed up and gone atrophied from surgery, or if that's part of the cancer.  It just feels bigger and harder to control.
No, I don't mean it's running off at the head on it's own, but rather it's hard to keep in n my mouth.
The overall malaise (college word of the week) I'm sure is cancer related.

 One day, we can talk about dying. Well, we are all dying, I'm just speeding my journey up. Let me work on that a bit, and we'll see what comes up.

 Airshow weekend. I believe I'll go, even if I can't stay long. Jets are all fast and loud and cool.
A 2500 horsepower Radial engine, that is the coolest sound. And the aircraft are all WW2 fighter and bombers. It's my last chance to see them all, and something I wish a lot of you could see with me. Much like me, the old planes are a dying breed. They came from a time when the United States fought to win, not fighting to appease or almost win. They are inspiring. The pilots that flew them in combat didn't have computers for firing solutions from 30 miles away. They had to be up close and personal. They were real warriors in the sky, just as the guys are the ground were warriors. They did what they had to do to survive, and look after their wing man, and foxhole mate.

 Today y'all are supposed to go out and find something out you didn't know previously. Learn something new, even if it's just something tiny. And practice keeping your mind sharp. It'll make you live longer

 Hugs and shit

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