Throw down or sit down. I've said that half a dozen times or so when some peckerwood tried to brace me up in a bar. Most of the time, they were just trying to impress some nice little girl, and didn't really want to brawl, where in my case, I'd rather not as well, but I was always willing. Same thing with the damn cancer. Except this time it chose to throw down. Whipped it twice, but it came back with a roll of nickels in each hand (excellent fist fillers, do not ask how I know that for a fact). The cheating bastard cancer anyway.
Started out a rough morning. I woke up having a hard time breathing. That was around 0100, I got up and huffed and puffed like a worn out steam engine until things kinda ironed out. It wasn't like I was dying or anything from suffocation, it was just hard to pull a good breath. That is fixed now and I'm all aired up like a truck tire. The other thing is my right upper jaw. Like I said earlier, it's either a small fracture, like a crack, been dislocated from the pec in the left side of my face cramping up, pulled muscle from the same reason as the dislocation, or a nerve problem. Either way, it's been a pain in the ass (I know, wrong end) since 0100 this morning. Just to add insult to injury, I forgot to take off my "shuffle shoes" and put on at least my athletic shoes or biker boots. Oh hell yeah!! I want to go out in public like an old man that gives every kid a shiny new penny!….NOT!
Some of the stuff is what I was expecting, maybe a bit faster than I hoped it would, other's are a bit behind where I thought I'd be into the track of Terminal Velocity. It's nice, though, to wake up most mornings with things working in my advantage. You know, hungry, thirsty, full of piss and vinegar. The pisser of that is those type days are coming a bit farther apart, and the days I feel a little less than being able to tear the day down like I used to be able to accomplish. Today is the day, one year ago, I sat down in the chemo infusion room and started the last chemo I'd ever take. If my surgery hadn't been so extensive, and taking away so much of my mouth and throat, I'd more than likely have done the clinical trial chemo regimen. Not now, by God.
So, where does this leave me? Oh you know, about where I was three months ago, only with time and body wearing away. I'm not afraid of the end, but 95% of the time I don't want to rush into getting there. I'll be perfectly honest, there are days when I'm bleeding what seems to be buckets out of my mouth, throat, and trachea, I think "For God's sake, hurry the fuck up will ya? I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I can't even get a damn jalapeño , bacon, and double cheeseburger. That in itself is enough to make me want it to end. No, not really, but I do miss eating. Somehow the PEG line and cans of fucking formula just ain't cuttin it. There's a place on my right side, lower jaw, just a shade back from my chin that doesn't feel like fluid accumulation. It's pretty solid and doesn't hurt to the touch. It is, though, getting slowly larger. I thought they'd taken four lymph glands out of right along that stretch of my right jaw line. I vaguely remember the sutures in that side of my face and neck. I'll have to check with some pictures taken of the right side of my face. In the long run, since I'm already hurtling along at Terminal Velocity, it really makes no difference. It's one of those things that pops up in my head every now and then, but only deserves momentary thought. Not something to dwell upon.
My oldest and I were chatting (okay, she chats, I write it down) about being lost in your own thoughts, and how difficult that is to over come. I was at a loss with her, since I don't do that. It's how I'm wired. Something will pop up there, I'll go over it, and either have a way to fix what ever it's brought to me, so I can fix it, or just let it go into a different spot in my memory so it's waiting on a solution. I'm not sure if the way I'm hard wired is directly from my birth, or something I taught myself. Either way, it's not a bad way to be, at least for myself. I do understand, though, that it can be a crippling problem, and my heart goes out to those that are affected by that kind of thought process. One of my short comings that I am working on is to be more empathetic toward those folks, and others I know as well. It seems like I'm having more fun that one guy with terminal cancer should be allowed to have. But then again, I'm making my own fun now, and that just kind of goes along with how I was when I was healthy and whole. It's nice not to have to change a whole lot to be paraded around with the fun folks, if not in person, then at least online. Technology is amazing, as long as it's used more to augment your free time, not to become the replacement to conversation.
I need to spend some time with everyone in the family, just the two of us. That way, with some one on one face time, maybe I can find their worries and fears. I am not going to say I can fix that, but maybe together we can ease some of that pain off and share that a little. That way, it won't weigh either one of us completely down. I put up the strong face, the stoic, unafraid, father. That, though, isn't far off for myself. I'm not so out of touch that I don't notice that everyone is a bit worried, and afraid, or wondering how I really feel, pain level, mental state and all. If we can put THAT stuff on the table, slap it around a bit, I'm nearly positive we can put most of that to rest. This is something I need to square away ASAP. I will make this happen, for the sake of my family and myself.
Way back in the day, okay not quite 30 years ago, we had a round trip tubing and rod job to work in the EPMG field in the Oklahoma Panhandle. 5100', 5200', not a problem. We were already rigged up on the well, got there around 2030hrs the evening before, and had the horses head already on the ground, all we had to do was start pulling. I crossed my fingers, because they were going to pay us "Stand By" time for when we finished, and 10 hours on Saturday, in case the company had a big producer go down, we would be first out to pull it. So, taking the risk of that, I left my ex a note and see if our friends in OK City, OK wanted to have some company for the the weekend. It was a beautiful late spring day in the Okie Panhandle and SW Kansas, I just knew we'd be finished in nothing flat.
Up in the air I go, (no, I did and if healthy, still wouldn't, ride the blocks up) and out of the hole come the tubing and rods. Seemed like it was pretty quick. About 2 hours and everything was on the bank, awaiting the new insert pump and 2 joints of tubing and some clouds are starting to gather up, really dark clouds, with really tall thunder heads blowing up. We are still on track, only since I can't stop, run in and get my rain suit, I put on the rain suit to start. My old man and little brother are chuckling, little did they know that I was the sharp knife in the drawer that morning.
One sammich, one bottle of Diet Dew, and my ass is back up in the air at the tubing board slinging pipe into the elevators like I had good sense. Got it all in, I climbed down to help get the TAC set and the head back together so when the time comes, all we have to do when we run the rods and pump in, is straighten the pumping tee and turning the damn thing on. Also, bear in mind this is before one too many moron stuck their head with a metal hard hat into a panel box and electrocuted themselves. So yes, I had a turtle top tin hat. In your mind, picture me standing in the rod basket 85' off the ground, with only 15' more derrick above my head. Okay, got that firmly implanted? Cool.
We get the first sinker bar triple and pump going down hole, I hook onto the next sinker bar triple and it starts to rain. The damn thunder heads had scooted past on one side, but had now back tracked and where coming up my back. The wind was getting up, so the Old Man tied the blocks to the ground. (Yes, one day I'll explain how you do that, no companies down here will even try it). Now it's really coming down, Pop hollers up asking if I want to come out of the air. Nay nay say I, lets get this bitch hung on and get the hell out of here. Man, the sky got so dark I could see the light in the main tank battery light itself up. That's dark, baby. Ten or so triples and I can come the hell down, we can hang the well on, put chains on the pick up and rig and head out of this damn slippery loblolly of a field.
BOOOOM!!! Lightning does a ground strike so close to the rig I've got a copper taste in my mouth and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing strait up. About 80 or so feet from the rig, the ground is still smoking where it hit. Okay, I'm not dead. Even if the lightning had hit the rig, as long as no one was one foot on the ground, one on the rig, we'd be okay. Then it struck me funny. I'm 85' up, an open spot between me and the crown of the rig (the rod basket hangs out from the derrick). I'm giggling my ass off now, and it's hard to see with the rain and my own goofy ass laughing at the situation.
Yes, we got the well on in the rain, got the chains on everything and drove out of the field and into Harry's Welding's yard in Elkhart to have some minor stuff fixed. What a hoot baby
Strike while the iron is hot! Opportunity is knocking, answer the door! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!!! Now we're shittin in tall cotton.
Several famous quotes that have nothing to do with the blog what so ever. So there
Hugs and shit
