It took the Mac Store a while to put all the contents of this eight year old machine onto Liz's brand spankin new Mac. Why a Mac? Because I'm not smart enough to use a Windows based machine, that's why. I missed a couple of days waiting for the computer geeks to get finished. No biggy, but every service these days seem to take forever to do any damn thing. So I hung around on FB. We chatted about the Apple judgement and how each of the winners get $6500 and the attorney's get $7,000,000. That brought to mind a class action suit over in Odessa several years ago. The plaintiff's won the case, but out on the front lawn of the courthouse you could see who really scored. Yep, the barrister. It was a substantial win, but there were so many plaintiff's that the checks were $1.98 each. You'll never catch me in a class action suit. Oop, hahahahaah!! I forgot that I ain't gonna be alive long enough to start one, let alone long enough to win.
I realized something in the last couple of days as well. I found that I was getting goofy. I worried about this blog. Or, when I do write upon it, that I might embarrass someone. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I'd let myself go, in so much that I started to watch what I wrote, making dead certain I wasn't intentionally hurting someone's feelings. Well, that's gonna stop right damn here, right damn now. I have a ton of friends and they all understand me and where I come from. Sometimes they even forgive my short comings, and they are great support. It's up to me to make sure that I keep my promise to be open and honest with everyone. That includes the folks that get offended. If that's happening, here's the advise I have for you, either read it, be steamed and offended, but keep that to yourself. If that's not an option, stop reading the damn blog! It's like folks that complain about violence and sex on TV. It has a power switch, turn the damn thing off.
So, what's been going on with me the last couple of days? Some strange shit, that's what. I've discovered that I've put some weight back on. That's nice, but it's the first time I've put it right across my middle. Yes, I look fat. To me anyway. I've either got a huge coincidence or there's a correlation with my mouth and throat bleeding and the amount of mucus and/or saliva. The past couple of weeks I've been watching to see if that's true. It is. It seems that if I bleeding, even without the buzzards circling, the less saliva and mucus I produce, that's just hinky. This morning is sort of bearing that out for me. I wasn't bleeding, and sure enough, my damn mouth is like a swamp. It's wet enough to float a twelve person party barge, and trap some alligators while we are at it. The bleeding is getting worse, again. If it follows my trend, and since I didn't wake up bleeding this morning, I'll stop for a day or two, then bleed for six or eight straight. It's not like pints, quarts, or gallons, but it looks like it. I posted a picture on FaceBook of my suction line. It was completely red. Deceptive too. The line isn't very big, and it is just coated a little bit from top to bottom. So, no worries, FB buddies, I wasn't going to pass out. I don't think.
Another nifty deal that's finally gotten to the point I could no longer ignore the pain. My right side, upper and lower mandible. In fact, right before my Hospice nurse showed up Wednesday, I'd had a spell that the bone pain was so bad I almost threw up. I just thought the drug that induces white blood cells to duplicate faster caused bone and joint pain. Compared to this, Neulestra is a whiny, little girl, of a pussy assed cry baby. I mean, I've broken a few bones in my life, and in some cases I've reset them myself (fingers and toes), or had the doctor set them in his office without anesthetic. No biggy, especially now that I have some deep bone pain it wasn't as bad as I thought when I was a kid.
Random memory: Dad and I went to Russell KS to pick up parts for the rig. Stuff they hadn't heard of in SW Kansas. And I'm certain they would have shipped it and we'd have it before we got home. Anyway, we went to the Elks Club in Russell. They were having a Nut Fry. Calf fries with all the trimmings and one drink or beer included. They also had turkey fries. Beside that piece of info was this "Fowl Balls!!". That cracked me up. Back to the blog, thank you for your consideration.
They (hospice) upped my morphine from 20 mg/ 1ml, to 40mg/1ml. It turns out, that's a big jump. The first prescription, 1/4 didn't do much. After a week, I could take a complete dose of it, and it made me numb. That's fine, as long as I sleep well and I had been. I found 1/2-1/3 dose was on the old scrip, compared to the new. That's like taking aspirin to stop the pain during an amputation. Just doesn't work. Now, the new scrip, that's good shit Maynard. A dose of 1/4, moderately controls the pain. 1/2 dose is getting closer. 3/4 dose makes me drowsy. A full 1ml dose will put my dick in the dirt faster than NyQuil can put me in bed. It's pretty stout. On the plus side of that, if I do a full dose, then the next day when I wake up and into the afternoon, I don't need anymore pain killer. That's a little deceptive. Along with the morphine my patches have been upped as well. So it's a combination, I believe, increased Fentanyl and morphine. Whatever the cause and effect, I''ll go with the docs and say "okay, it's working. Thanks". That combination is working so well, that I fell asleep way early this morning trying to have a Big Red soda pop. Somehow managing to get the plunger out of the syringe, and ended up sitting in a puddle of Big Red. When I first woke up, though, I was one pissed off Terminally ill boy. I swore I'd pissed my pants and was gonna call hospice to come get my O2 generator and all the other toys.Then, when I realized what it was, I was cracking up I'd paid money to see the expression on my face when I first woke up. God, brother, I'll bet that was a hoot!
Okay, I missed a couple of days, and this is count down week. John Moye drove to Houston from El Paso to keep me company. Liz and I both decided there was no need in her missing work to sit on our asses in Houston and stare at each other. And to be frank, I think we both needed a damn break from each other. It had been a long fucking month and a half for both of us, we both needed some "me" time to recharge and get ready for what turned out to be an incredibly long stay in the hospital. But John coming to visit, man I'll tell ya, that was one of the best presents anyone has ever given me. The greatest present is Liz. My anchor and guiding star. John and I can drink, act like we are 15 again, and actually just enjoy each others company without having to say a word. He shares my warped assed sense of humor. We ate like hogs, had more than a couple of beers. Just a shade more than a good stiff drink, and shot the breeze. All without me hearing, how ya feeling? (i finally started answering that with "Fucking dying. How you?") We went shooting, at a range, not at people. He left on Sunday morning, and left me very much recharged. Between Sunday January 13, 2012 to Thursday January 17, 2012, I'd eaten two boxes of cereal, corn flakes and Grape Nuts, and gone through 2 gallons of milk, 1 1/2 cases of pop of several different varieties (diet dew, diet coke, and a six pack of Fanta Orange. passable if no orange crush can be found). As is our want, John and I ate one meal that we normally can't easily get at home, like Joe's Crab Shack. We chowed down there. We each got the huge bucket things, along with a couple of cold brews each, with some desert. Ran us $75 bucks. Liz and I topped that Sunday night!!! One more Dr appointment with my chemo oncologist. She is a very nice women and was very kind in telling me that if the surgery wouldn't get it, neither would any of the chemo treatments. I had figured that, but it's always nice to get confirmation from a Dr that's fairly tall, is well proportioned, and wears Fish Net Hose. I cannot not spell or pronounce her name, and was told Dr. Poppa would do. I'm hear to tell you, no it won't. So, being the incredibly non PC, I called her, in e-mail, IM, or text message, Dr Papalicksapoodlepussy. She is a good Doctor. And I know this, because she was straight forward with me, explaining the pain and or sickness that might occur. Even though in a hospital that large, and the number of times she's seen people die, that she still had trouble talking about it. Good person, good Doc. That takes us up to Sunday morning.
Back in 1965 Mountain Dew, the soda pop, had a promotional one ton Dodge pick up that they dressed up with a hillbilly shack looking camper. It stopped in Gorham Ks, population 275 (I looked it up on google) at a beer joint/burger joint called Betty's Place. (I ate burgers there and Mrs Irwin's cafe, until we moved to just west of russell to a farm/ranch) The burgers were great there, but it was still cooler seeing the Mountain Dew guys! I swear they looked so real to a four year old kid, that I thought they'd come a long way just to have a burger and what the old guys called a beer. Then, while I'm watching from the fence at my house, they ran outside and yelled " YAHOOO! Mountain Dew!!!" shot their shot guns off into the air. Oh fuck yeah, I'm gonna cross the busy highway and see these guys up close! I looked and looked and looked again, both directions for traffic. That little town got a lot of traffic. Interstate 70 stopped and what would become the Gorham exit, so anyone going west HAD to get off the interstate at go through Gorham, Walker (pop. 15), Victoria (home of The Cathedral of The Plains, a beautiful catholic church built out of limestone blocks). So yes, Hillbilly express stopped in Gorham. I hauled ass as fast as my little red tennis shoes would carry my ass, and being four, I thought it was close to eighty-five miles an hour. My sister Kathy was watching me that morning. Mom and Clay went to do something in town, Clay was only about a month old when this all took place.
I told the guys I liked Mountain Dew, they gave me a six pack of those old green bottles that had the white label with the Mt Dew, the hillbilly, the camper, and his gun. SWEEEEEET!!!. Back home I ran, to get Kathy. I wanted to show her my six pack of soda, and take me back so maybe I could get another one. Something about her four year old brother barging in on her while she was taking a bath.
sudden side bar: as was the norm, dad had a "safety razor" that only cut the piss out of your fifty times before you got the hang of using it. I also had a pack of "play" cardboard Safety Razor Blades. One night when I was just turning 5, I was using dad's razor and my cardboard blades. I climbed up onto the sink, sat on the edge of the sink, and was shaving away just like Daddy. Daddy saw me, and I remember "Oh Jesus Christ". He took me down from the sink, calmly took the razor, and unclenched his ass cheeks when he saw it was my cardboard blades.
Back to it, but there's not much left to tell. I bugged Kathy long enough that she took me across the highway, mad as a wet hen. Looking back, she only took me so that when Mom or Dad asked about the six pack of Mt Dew, Kathy could say she took me across the highway. She was supposed to be watching me, and I assume not to let me cross the highway alone. Had I known all this, I'd have ammo for keeping out of my hair, crew cut on me and all. I didn't, but one time she had been nasty too me, or so I thought, that I cut all the hair off all her Barbary Barbies
Hugs and Shit, kids. Have fun this weekend