Crap, What A Fouled Up Couple of Weeks

  Good fuckin gosh how about  just a full week of not being either too awake, too asleep or too hurting to do a damn thing! Monday: Pretty decent day, until noon. Big time flare up of sudden bone pain and swelling even after lymphedema therapy. Swelling went down around 2200 hrs, which made it a bit more tolerable. Tuesday, sorta like a continuation of Monday afternoon, but with the kick of my right leg aching like there was no tomorrow. Although, in Tuesday's favor, I was awake all day, and slept really well all night. Wednesday, complete downer. Pain, aches, and riding the edge of another anxiety attack. Didn't sleep well during the day or night. Sucked major  ass. Thursday went really well, until about until about 1630. Liz had somewhat of a windfall, so we agreed she buys something she wants for herself. Or something that she would like to have that the family can enjoy with her. She bout a 60" smart TV and new stand to put it on. Very cool, I like it. There is a story that goes along with that, from ohhh, 3 years ago. I mentioned to Liz, "We have this huge tax refund, I'll skip a Highland Game, and we'll buy a 60 or 70" HD tv. Put it in the living room, put the 50" in our room, and give Declan the 42" from the bedroom". Seemed good to me but I got this: "No, we are NOT putting a huge tv in the living room and definitely not putting that big assed TV from the living in our room!!" Well I'll be darned, that's pretty close to what happened. I had a bit of a laugh on Thursday. Anyway, around 1630, I got to feeling about 30 shades of icky. Helped Liz just a little on the building of the new stand, since she did most of it by herself. It's a very nice job that she did, and the TV looks fabulous. I can even read the crawler without having to squint (eyes are getting weaker, one of the reasons I'm going to have to give up driving).  Friday started out great! Had good coffee with the boys, came home, slept, ingested lunch, slept. Went to get a massage at 1100 hrs, that was wonderful. Came home napped for certain after that, because every massage I've ever gotten just knocks me out. So I slept. I slept so much from 0600-2100 that I wasn't going to sleep Friday night at all. Turns out that was correct. I didn't sleep. Maybe a bit between 0730-1100. I also got sick and threw up Saturday around 1300. No reason was given, I started coughing, and about half way to stopping I just exploded. I'd not vomited like that in a quite a while. It really sucked the life out of me, all the way around. I got chills, stomach cramps, nausea. A decent fever for a while. Nearly had a panic attack, but got that kicked to the curb with the help of my daughter Addison. Creative, sharp, funny, and took care of dad. I love her to death.

  So, things are just not going my way on Saturday at all. I'm dehydrated, but had taken in enough water to start getting over that. I've not coughed a lot, but what I am bringing up is pretty well blood filled, and has been for a couple of weeks. So, I get my second set set of formula in and cough once. It gives me that vurp taste, and just as I grab the suction to clear out my mouth, I explode. I've had some attacks of vomit before, but this one even surprised the shit out of me. The grandson didn't bat an eye though, he jumped up went and gathered his mom up "Pops threw up a lot and it's disgusting". He was right on both counts. I thought it was cool he didn't panic. Unlike my other trips to Rock's World of Throwing Up and Shaking I only tossed up this one time. I guess it figured if every thing in my stomach plus my socks and a pair of underwear was enough throwing up for one day.

  So I stop being a high pressure internal cleaning machine and settle in for a warm shower, some ice water and a nap. Two out of three ain't bad. The shower and ice water were refreshing, but it seemed the nap just wasn't going to come along like I'd like. Most of that was from running a fever. I never took my temperature, but I think it got dang high a couple of times. I'd burn up for an hour or two, the beak out in a sweat and freeze for an hour or so. I kept adding water, and I kept getting a little better but never quite over it completely. I did finally nap a little, but I didn't try to get anymore formula in to me at all. My stomach was still too hinky for that. Addison rounded me up some Adivan and Pepto-Dismal and in an hour or so that had settled down. Still not food worthy but not doing full 360's either. That was a nice break. Not all that's left is shaky from my hands and legs. Which, in my case, normally says an anxiety thing. I couldn't take any more Ativan for another 5 hours, so I concentrated on keeping my breathing even and not being so leg achey and busy. This time I really do believe it was a dehydration thing making my legs want to wiggle like jello on acid.

  Well that was my Saturday. I think it was some kind of bug, because I feel better at this time of the morning than I had for the last couple of days at the same time. I don't want to push it, so I'm going to get my day started with an infusion of my morning drugs and a good long nap.

  Everyone take care, enjoy your day. Make it special, we are all only given a finite amount of days 

Hugs and shit

There Will Come a Time I Can't Drive

  The shits of this entire gig is that I'm losing more and more of my independence. Everything seems to be affected by the cancer. I tried working out, but that caused a lot of pain, and took away all the gains I'd made with my bio-mechanics. Well, that and the surgeries that I would have had to correct it all, but won't happen because the cancer came back, there's nothing left to do to kill it, so further surgery is a waste of my insurance and, more importantly, my plastic surgeons time. As my time grows shorter, it's just the opposite of what's going to come along in the months that will lead up to my demise.  All the bad stuff that's been off and on, or not even on the radar yet,  is starting to show up bigger, faster, stronger, and more ruthless. While my body gets weaker and my ability to live more or less independent is going out the window faster with every week I'm alive. Those weeks I'm alive though, I can give the cancer the Single Finger Salute every day, all day, if I so choose.
  Those weeks that I stay alive all seem to be wonderful. At least that's what one would think, and in part, that's true. It's the constant adapting to new issues, and to things that wouldn't have even given me the least amount of reason to be bothered by them, that are hardest to deal with. Probably since they are so small that my psyche doesn't like dealing with them. But, though they be tiny, together, they be fierce! That's why they are so hard to deal with at all. Drives me bat shit trying to keep all the little fires knocked down that once in a while a big fire over runs my ass.

  The time that I'm most dreading will come when I have to give the truck keys to Liz. I've heard that is one of the most difficult things for men to do, surrender the keys to the vehicles. I know I'm going to have to do that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it at all. I can see some of my skills slide a little bit, nothing that I can't compensate for now, but in a month or less, I'm not so sure whether I can keep that up.  I'll know when, by a combination of things. I've asked my son to be honest, and when I start to scare him, I'll quit. On top of that, the things I notice now, when they get larger and easier for me to see that I'm not doing them right, I'll quit. To rely on others (something new and still a little bothersome to me) is the tough move. I don't want to sit by and watch life go past, I get enough of that during the day. Watching people move about their daily life is good, but it's a little saddening as well. Knowing that I can't do all those things any longer, and that one day, I'm just not going to wake up. It's a bit tiring. The doc's said anywhere from 6 months to a year. I'm crowding the heck out of a year now, and I'm wondering if they weren't right. I am starting to drag down quicker. It's more difficult for me to stay hydrated. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to want to ingest all the liquids I was even 3 weeks ago. I do that knowing full well it's not going to help me, and does more harm than good. I will work on fixing that little problem.

This is going to be a darn short one, since I've started, deleted all the text, and restarted at least a dozen times in the last week or so. Crazy man, but nothing seemed right. I'm not sure that it does now, but this is what I could put together.

Love ya

Oh Geez

  I swear that I can't get what I want to write about lined up and finished. I've headed off in 5 bazillion directions with this blog. It's  nothing unusual even. It was going to be something we all could relate to on a daily basis, but even those have fallen through. That just frustrates the pee pee out of me. There are a couple of things that I think all of us get from time to time, that are beginning to get to be a larger issue with me. I think I've got 30 to 60 days of driving left, then I will have to gather up a driver to take me all the fun places I like to go. I have no idea how I'm going to get to coffee. If my vision is so bad that I can't drive, and it's a struggle to walk much of any distance, I'm not so sure I could make the three mile round trip. Here's the rub. Have any of you had to flat tell the parent/s that they couldn't drive any longer and you were taking their keys? I'm propped up here all lipping off about how I'll just shut it down myself and not grouch about it later? That kind of made me laugh a bit as well. Yeah, the no driving thing is libel to make me a really mean assed old bastard before this is all said and done with.

   Further more, I've got it in the back of my mind that I might not be able to bath myself, coming up.  Yes, yes I know that's part of the business, but for Pete's sake. really? I've been bathing myself for as long as I remember. Even with full casts on my arms and a couple (four to be honest) on my ankles, and I could STILL bath myself. It's going to boil down to upper body strength and balance. I can tell you right now, I'm losing upper body strength every day, and the damn cancer is banging around my inner ear. They ring far more loudly and are noticeable to me any time I wake. Even for a quick piss in the middle of the night. So, looking at this like I probably should, I'm gonna need someone to help stay clean. This is the part of cancer, and any number other diseases out there, that probably hurts the worst. It strips away your independence and dignity. It's not enough for it to kill you, it's got to drag your way into the next level of existence (yes, life after death) by stripping even more of what you are or could have been. Break time. I've gotta med up, change tubes, and drive myself in my little hoopty to get that cup of joe and read some of the paper. Back before you can memorize and replay word for word "King Lear".

   Okay, I'm back from my fun and games. The great thing: I spent some nice hours with Liz eating (I watched) and shopping with her for dark colored sheets and blankets, in case I bleed out at night, or am bleeding so bad she can't stop it. The dark sheets and blanket will at least mask some of the problem. (I also Torpedo Ran some unsuspecting shoppers at Kohl's. The expressions? Priceless). Suddenly, as is its want, I ran out of steam. No warning, no slow down, nope, none of that. Just an  utter and all at once  loss of any get up and go. In an hour and a 1/4 I get to eat again. Boy, that sounds almost exciting!!!   Almost is right. Which leads right into the other "rub". Seldom is it a complete day for me any longer on "Good" versus "Bad" Days. What I'm settling for are "Mostly Good Days", or "Mostly Bad Days". Damn near "The Princess Bride" line   "No, see? He was only MOOSTLY dead". Boy, that does fit my situation some days. It's partly funny and partly maddening that the speed at which the change for good to bad occurs. Sometimes it's hours to make the change, and like today, it was only a matter of minutes. I'm walkin along paying attention to just me and the next thing I know I'm starting to feel wrung out and need a nap. Or a sleep for the rest of the day. It's all together frustrating. Then it's like I shoulda just shut my dick in the dresser drawer, because it couldn't make me feel any worse.

  It's the days like that that make doing the blog more difficult. They start out great, and I don't want to sit down and blog away and not use those hours for something that is good for me mentally. So I wait, and if I still feel pretty decent before I go to bed, I'll write a bit. If not, I'll hold off a bit. The blog is supposed to help all of us out. Me, therapeutically, and other's in the manner that it works best. Remaining calm, holding your head up, how to make each day more valuable, those kind of things. I hope that I'm hitting the mark with all that. Then, when I feel really poorly and try to write anything it comes off as being a whiney little bitch, and as a rule I'm not. At least I don't think I am. I do have honest enough friends that when I get whiney they say so in no uncertain terms. Those are the type friends everyone needs, to be honest. They may piss you off, but they only do it because they love you enough to know you need your shit straightened out. Good bunch of folks they are. Those are the kind of friends everyone should have. They not only keep me lined out, the buddies that live here are like gold. They do more than their share, they are helping Liz, which in the long run helps me, I don't have to worry about Liz. She's going to have more people looking after her than  The President of the United States. I feel a bit better now, knowing that the family is going to have plenty of support.


  For God's sake I've restarted, rewritten, and changed topic 6 to 8 times. Insane, man. But, the problem lies within myself and my day to day ability to balance my good days and times against my not so good, all the way down to plain fucking bad days. There's a huge difference in "not so good" and "fucking bad". Not so good is defined by myself as plain old lethargy. Fucking Bad is pain regardless of what I'm taking, covered up with the inability to clear my trach tube of my own secretions.

   So this is honestly the end of this blog. Three days in the making, three days of looking for the right combination of words and times. I've gone over why they differ. I think that's pretty well covered the topic of "Why Is Rocky Always So Damned Inconsistent With Running His Blog".
  Fair warning. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long time between LOL

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Who Thought

  I talked with my Hospice Nurse yesterday, went over the sleepless nights and sleep all day stuff. Then the sleep all day, up part of the night, gig. And finally, that I have to drag myself to anything I like.
There were also the "Not Wanting to Do Anything" crowds. That pissed me off to no end, because I sort of had an idea as to what it was that was bothering me. Then you read that you're 90% of the way to getting it taken care of because you admit it.
  I am mildly depressed. I'm not o certain why that is, since I told people and reduced my "edgy" work with folk. I was denying the fact that I needed something to do about the depression. Well, I got that this afternoon. I looked at the label…same old warnings there, but I've not read the inside literature to see what the exact side effects are, or what I can and can't do using it. Warning on the bottle says "Do Not Consume Alcohol While Taking This Drug", "You may becoming sleepy", duh. I just took the fun  stuff today. I'd say sleepy don't cover it. For me it should have read: "Sleep Like Sleeping Beauty". The standard warnings of operation machinery are included on the bottle. The Nurse said you should have your energy back in 4-7 days and feel much better. That will be nice, for sure. I've known for a couple of months this is what it was. But, because I'm strong willed, I'd wear it down and it would just go away. Nope, that didn't happen. Then I was perplexed at myself. "What do I mean telling Me about the depression, and the drugs without letting me tell some one?". Well, it wouldn't have hurt me an iota to come out and say "I'm mildly depressed, I think I'll get some help with that before this turns into a huge problem.". Which, by putting it off in one more week, did. It got a nice grip on me so I have to beat it away with drugs, chemicals, and probably some counseling. Drugs ok…..Counseling not so much. On the one hand it will help to get my shit out in the open. But I've got my blog to help with that.
  Look closely. I just did exaction what I tell people NOT to do. Don't say "Hell, I can fix it just like Rock. And if you think you can, give it a very short whirl. Not weeks on end, like I did, trying to fix it all by ourselves. It may or may not happen. I'm missing the boat if you all think I'm endorsing going cold turkey.  I am saying, get help. I feel like I blew off a couple of weeks that probably wouldn't have been lost if I'd nosy, and asked for help both times. I ended up settling for the best help. Isn't that
a damn waste of what time I've got left? Hell yes it is.
 So I'm getting the help I need and feeling better about being out in public, already and I've not take a dose yet. I may be jumping the shark a bit, but it's good to get a strong response for help when in need of help. Mostly, I just wanted to sit and do nothing. I didn't want to go get coffee with the buds. No running around for therapy or anything else. We'd go to a movie, and because I just didn't give a shit, I'd fall asleep. I forced myself to eat and drink (talked about dehydrating didn't we). So, first dose in, and I'm going to wait until damn near bed time to take the dose tomorrow and every day following. It'd be nice to be able to stay awake and watch one of the TV shows I like, rather than fall asleep and have have missed more than half out of the middle. I'm optimistic about the drug doing it's thing. This cracks my Hospice Nurse up. He says, after we talk, that I'm going to get an anti-depressant. I stopped him before he could finish his sentence and wrote out, "It's going to take seven to ten days for the drug to really start showing any signs of helping.". He thinks I looked it up online. Naw, I've had friends have to take the meds, I know how they work, at least at the "loading" stage goes. I put it akin to Kreotine mix I used for a couple of months trying to build muscle faster. List of bad side effects was staggering.
Sleepless, Anger, the shits, achy joints, just to name a few. I got angry, wide awake, and sore knees, the list of stuff both on the bottle info and in me ran the same. I got over those, simply because it wasn't worth the hassle I was causing at home.

  About time to fold the tent up, and move into the Land of True Enchantment, Dream Land. Here's to hoping that dreams appear after I've cast off these mortal coils.

  Be good, have fun, honestly stop and smell the roses once in a while. Once that time has passed, and you're unable to do that any more, it gets a bit more frantic looking for (What Haven't I Done?). No Bucket List for me. It'd be full except for a couple of items. So I call that a pretty damn good run at life.

Damn, Time and Energy Are Getting Away From Me

   Holy Smoke!!! Three days since I last blogged? Okay, I stayed up 29 hrs from Friday morning at 0300 until I hit the sack at 0800 or so on Saturday, after I fixed Liz her breakfast. I slept nearly all through the day, and most of the day Sunday, or I would have if I hadn't forced myself to stay awake. Now I feel wide awake. I know that's not the case. I'm just sooo damn tired all the time anymore. I have hours of go get em energy, but not in a row. I'm tired far more than I'm not these days. Friday, though, damn that was a good day! I felt like getting out and doing things. I didn't blog then because I was having too much fun just being awake and feeling like I could do something. Those days are so far and few between now, I revel in them. I was showered, drugged, and eaten before I got Addison up to take her to breakfast. We don't talk much, we never have, about the only thing I regret. But, she's one of the rare people I can be near, and be relaxed and not feel like I have to converse. It's a good thing. But the time, man it's beginning to go, I fear. I am probably depressed, and that's probably more than half the reason I'm so tired. Fuck I hope so, I can get stronger "Be Happy, Dickhead" meds but nothing is going to stop the cancer. We have, though, hit the right spot with the pain meds, they work like a charm.

    So, what's the gig? The sudden shot of being tired all the time. I mean fuck, I am tired all the time, have been for a couple of months, but not to the point the only thing that mattered was sleeping. I didn't care whether I ate or not. The lovely wife fixed my Meds Saturday night, and gave me a full dose of Phillips Cherry Flavored Milk of Make a Poo. I go half doses. Does the same thing, more of a little at a time rather than "RUN!!! IT'S GONNA BLOW!!!!". I do know now, how a Saturn rocket felt. Fast ignition, quick burn out!  I understand that taking "Go Lightly" does the same thing. That's been that way for a year, so that's nothing new. Feeling so tired all the so fast, that's not. I've had time by simple slower moving toward the end, when a new effect just gets really noticeable. You know, time to adapt how I do things. But this seemed to hit really hard and fast. Or it's been doing that and I've pushed it toward the back burner. I feel though, that my time is moving closer at a rate faster than I like. You know, like pre-November 2012 until now. That certainly put a damper on my game. I did something unusual for me as well, these past two days. I didn't start looking for a direction around that. That is off kilter for me. There's a really good chance it's from dehydration. I don't recall how much I drank, but I know I've added more fluid today, and I do feel more active. I'm going to keep that up. Perhaps that's part of the answer.
  I've also let my mind wander into areas I'd sworn to myself I'd not let it go. I was thinking of how the house would be a year after I'm gone. What the fuck good is that? No fucking good is what that is aiming toward. Those kind of things will wear you out faster than trying to run with all my joints aching, my trach full of secretions, and up hill. That's detrimental, and over thinking my situation. I DO NOT want to help myself become unable to help myself any faster than is necessary. Instead of thinking about what happens with the body shuts down, I should be focused on what happens the moments I'm awake, not what's coming when the lights go out for the final time. Have I caused some of this by not doing the blog, along with some other of the things I'd like to complete? Possibly. I feel, this evening, that I've gone from being a strong supporter of myself and others, to some whiny sack of jello that's too confused to even figure out how to make my day the best it can possibly become. From morning until evening, that's how I should operate.
   So, let me explore that just a little, since my mind is actually more clear than it's been since 0800 Saturday. My aim, when I went into this blog, was to try and help people understand, maybe be a bit less afraid, because a little less afraid is a HUGE accomplishment. I've learned what it's like to be afraid. It fucking sucks. It brings down you're ability to think straight, to work on a solution, to come to grips with what's happening and either fix it, or learn a new way to work around that problem. Be it through self hypnosis (I learned that thirty-mumble years ago for insomnia)  to a new or different dosage of drug. Some of it there is now way to get around, it's going to be a scary situation for me every time it comes around. It's coming around for more often than it used to come about. That sucks. It sucks in the manner that it's something I have to do to myself, far more frequently than I used to have to do it. It's deep lavage of my trach. It involves using a bolus of saline and a thin trach hose to suck out the hardening secretions. Even with Mucinex, they are thicker and harder to clear than ever. I believe I got this way last year, but it's difficult to say. I know that I did it a couple of times is all, because it could have been wet concrete and I could have blown it through the trach. Not now, simply because I don't have the sauce to drive that stuff out like I was used to doing. All this is adding up to the two big things that I believe are sapping my energy. Advancing Cancer and depression. Mild or moderate, I'm not certain which, but I'm almost positive I'm some form of depressed. I don't think that'd be possible to avoid. It's something I'm going to talk with my nurse about tomorrow, or Tuesday, depending on which day he is able to come around. They are short handed because of illness. Just like everyone else is around here. The boom is on, but beginning to flatten out a bit. The edges have been found, I would imagine, and filling in the areas inside the edges is always slower. They have the fields defined, now it's making the production stay consistent or grow more slowly. You're always looking to improve reserves, it's just slower now.


  I'm still concerned more about my family and how hey are going to get along, than I am with myself. I know what my end will be, but they are my concern now. I suppose that's how it would be with me if I weren't dying. Probably not, but it's something to think about, but not over think it so far as to make it a depression aiding event.  They will, like everyone else, do as well as they can manage. I would, however, love to hit a couple or fifty million dollar lottery before I expire.

   The problem with wondering why I got tired so quickly had almost become a problem within itself. I could not come to grips with the fact that I hadn't gotten enough fluid and let myself dehydrate. It wasn't that big a deal, really, if I'd stopped being so damned stubborn about only ONE reason I was tired all the time, I'd seen I wasn't getting enough fluids. Dick. Well, it happens, and there's  no reason to sit here and dwell upon it. It's what dehydration can do, clog up your ability to see things clearly, or at least objectively so that you can fix it. If Liz hadn't asked about fluids today, I'd probably not take them in then, either. In fact, I went to a couple of places I sat Friday into very early Saturday morning. They all had nothing but melted ice in them. I'd not taken a drink of anything I'd wanted to drink. No signs of Gatorade, nothing. I kept blowing it off and in turn simply got more and more tired as time moved on.  Foolish behavior. I have, however, come to realize why I didn't. Before Jan 22, 2013, I could grab a water, soda pop, tea, anything to drink, and just slam it down. It's work now. I may have gotten lazier simply because it's a near pain in the ass to ingest fluids.

  Okay, that's enough of the "Rocky figures it out".  Today's blog is brought to you by the number "M" and the letter 14.

My Blog, By Any Other Name...

Wouldn't be my blog now would it? I gotta have things spelled out, no hints of innuendo.  I don't like guessing. On the other hand, I do love a good surprise party. Does this make me out of the main stream? For men, I'd say no, but probably odd for women, yes. I figured this out since bring married. Liz would hint until her face turned blue. Damned if I knew what she wanted. Then, one Saturday when I had off, the "Hint Mobile" pulled up to the drive, I missed every hint. "Jesus Christ! Do I have to spell it out for you?" I respond "Yes, you damn sure do" We no longer hint at our house. It makes me smile thinking of that, because there have been times we've yelled at each other for the dumbest fucking shit and then turned around and laughed at each other. Does that make for a perfect marriage? In my case, I believe it did and still does.

   The first cut is the deepest. I've said things that I wish I could take back and learn to shut my mouth over. With in the last three weeks for certain. It wasn't necessary, nor was it truly intentional. I let my mouth over run my good sense. I've bombed feelings, made the woman I love feel small. I'll tell ya, that's the worst damn thing I've ever done, and I've done it twice. The anger at the cancer, and the inability to express myself so people know what I'm saying got to me. So did the fact that folks would do or get the neighbors to do things for the family without asking me if I thought I could or not. There's the rub, aye?  It made me feel small and useless. Stupid of me, yes? Fuck yes it was stupid of me. I knew and know, deep in my heart there are a lot of things I just can't do around the house any longer. Sadly, that list gets longer every day. I just thought I was getting exhausted, nawwww, that was just getting tired. Exhausted is now. I get tired taking a shower and moving around the house. I get exhausted by the end of the day. It runs me down just thinking about it. Be cognizant of what's going on around me and not having the energy to do anything about it. That's not just dying from a disease, that's fucking punishment. It's gotta be. The Karma Police have handed out my punishment for the things I swore to other people I'd never talk about. I told folks I wasn't always so sweet. Me and my Maker know about it, we've talked about it, so on that front I'm squared away.  I hope I've made amends and apologies as the years have rolled along.

   This Cancer, this bane to my life.What's it doing this time? Well, lets say that if a little bleeding was okay, a lot is a whole lot better. I'm not nervous about it, or even scared of the bleeding any longer. Although Sunday night, Early Monday Morning was startling to say the least. I'd coughed. With my compromised esophageal sphincter I some times get stuff up with a cough or burp that should remain hidden until potty time. So, knowing that this could turn in to a heaving the night away, I booked it for the bathroom, got the toilet all set up and me sat down on the edge of the tub, I was ready. Except for looking at my runway from the bed to the bathroom. Blood drops along the floor, all the way into the can where there are 4 or so on the throw rug. Hmmmm. My mouth felt full, and I've learned from experience I can lean over and just let gravity do it's job and end up in less trouble than  if I force things along. I shoulda forced things along. I got all set up like one should, I suppose, then opened my mouth. It was full alright. Of Blood. Looked like a vampire convention had spilled a little. It really was quite a lot, in my mind anyway. So, I decide I need Liz. That way she can help me determine if I need to run up to the hospital, and have her call Hospice. I flushed the pot.  What???? You damn fool. That was what you were going to use as a gauge for Liz. So I wake her up anyway. By now it's all but stopped, and I even warfed up a huge blood clot we named "Giganto". Felt like the size of a quarter, but was more like a dime. HA! Three months ago that would have made me shit my pants. Now it's merely a curiosity. Like how the hell did that get in there and still let me breath. Crazy shit that goes on with the human body.

    What else is it doing? Not much, but I feel and see some reasons I think it's moving along. General Malaise (can not be bought in the condiment section of your local grocery store), mixed in with occasional mild depression. The latter I poo poo'ed because "I've never been depressed a day in my life". Surprise, Dickhead, you never had Terminal Cancer either. Known prior to this, my personal case name of "Terminal Velocity".  So, for today, that's it. The end of today's saga. Which ended (nearly anyway) at 0345 when my wife said my alarm was going off, shortly after it scared the wild shit out of me and I dumped the computer off my lap onto the floor. Thank God it still works.

  My memory isn't what it was in the short term, so if I've told this, be sure and let me know. I don't want people to think I'd run out of good material.

   I'd gotten my right arm out of a sling two weeks before, the after effect of tearing my biceps tendon (including a tiny piece of bone) off my right arm and was working on rehab for it on my own. Things I'd gotten from Ed Cosner. With doing my rehab at home (ahead of when the Dr said) I was healing up very quickly according to my Dr.  I rode Fat Girl to Arlington for the Texas Scottish Festival the first weekend of June. Fuck me it was HOT!. Fat Girl said 122 on the concrete next to the ticket both. I was judging the Master's Division. Something I damn sure didn't want to fuck up since I throw with the guys. I told them, "You guys got my Judge cherry, don't think it's going to bother me if you stop and tell me I've done something wrong".  I was either so lenient or was at least consistent enough that no one said a word.
 Around lunch Bull (the AD) said they had us in the wrong place and to go get the 56, 42, and 28# weights from the far south end of the field. No sweat, another guy and I went. I told him to get the light stuff and haul ass with it since they needed them ASAP and I'd struggle along with the 56#.
As I walk around three people, one of which is drunker than a waltzing piss ant I hear, "Nice legs under the skirt, pussy". Yep, I ignored it. He kept it up, laughing once in a while about how I looked good enough to kiss (It's true, ladies, I did look good enough to kiss) in my skirt. Finally, I stopped, sat the weight down and asked if he ever picked up a first grader and threw him? No, huh? See, that's what that weight I'm carrying weighs. I picked it up, left handed, and held it straight out in front of me, then slowly set it on the ground. "It's a little heavy, but not so heavy some big strong man like you can't do what I just did on a bet. Say, an extra large lemonade from the vendor with the little John Deere motor?" He said if I could hold it out there, so could he. Here goes my judging job if Bull hears about this.
  So, I picked it up and told him to "Fetch the Bitch from me, it's heavy". I was looking down, and when his right foot ended up where the dust pattern for the weight showed, I turned it loose. Wow. He yelled loud. He even had a couple of toes that looked funny, and they didn't even fit his flip flop anymore. "Dammit!!!! I lose!! I'll be right back". I went and bought his lemonade. The vendor was kind of chuckling, so were a couple of other vendors. It was really crowded that year with food and drink people.
 I went ahead and judged. And had a great time doing that. And now, this sees the light of day. Aaron "Bull" Woods, don't hold it against me, brother. I'd had all that peckerwood's gas I could stand.
He did come set in the bleachers, he watched the Master's throw the 42#. Never said a word. He was drinking that lemonade. I waved really big, and got a great big wave back from his two friends (did I mention one of his friends had a HUGE rack?) That's what the Highland Games are all about, making people happy and having a good time.

Be careful out there, and shit                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Short and Sweet, I Hope.

   Yes, it's that time of the month for me. I want a damned cigarette. I cranked the computer  up and while it was loading I had already reached form one and thought "You ignorant  fuck, you have smoked in over a year, pull up your big time panties". Today's blog will probably be short. I hope anyway..

  Let' start with Sunday night. Sunday was a good day, I had plenty of get go, sat down an watched it go! I'd nap out if I didn't keep moving (that seems to be status quo) so I tried to keep moving. Any way, Liz is in the sack cutting logs already, I'm getting ready to do that myself. I get all situated in the sack, and cough once, but get that waring that it's not going to be just a cough. I jump up and (yeah, right, Jump..hahahahaha) and beat feet toward the toilet. I make it, gag once, but it's not vomit, it's blood. A pretty decent amount as well. Beautiful, bright red……I gotta get a break so I can wake Liz up (I hate waking her up on a work night) and see what she thinks. God, it finally quits (truth be told, it was the longest 2-3 minutes, and I foolishly flush the head. Now she has nothing more to go on than my own word and the towel I've used to keep my mouth wiped dry. It was probably the most I'd bled at one time since all this cancer bullshit started up again. So yeah, it's sucked mule asses. And, to top that off, when we went to see the new 300 Movie, I fell asleep. Dammit. Liz says I didn't miss much. I say if I fall asleep when I'm with her or one of the kids, I've missed a LOT.

  I took everything I was supposed to on Saturday, and still had some hellacious pain. Liz bought me this damn cool Journal, and she and Addison wrote some lovely things in it. I, however, have tried to keep a journal before and I'm worse about keeping a journal than I am this blog. That's pretty bad.  I am assured that no one will read a thing until after I'm taking the eternal celestial nap. I'll be open and honest, but (of course there's a caveat) somethings no one but I will remember. Either because of a promise, and my word given. Or because it's one of those things that even good men won't talk about.

 I break here to give Rosanne Green Arnold her props for giving me a day of Mass Prayer Saturday Morning in her church. Rosanne, thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart. And as the weekend comes around, tell the parish how much I truly appreciate them taking the time out of their day to pray for an old sinner like me.

   The bleeding has stepped up, always nice when things that are supposed to happen only improve with time. Unlike shooting, this cancer thing is NOT a deteriorating skill. Damn thing gets better at it's appointed duty all the time. Such as wine, in most cases, the damn cancer is getting better with age. It works when you are sleeping, it works when your awake, it works if you were bad or good, so damn it for damn it's sake. I get sleepy for no reason. Worse, I fall asleep while sitting. Or working on something, like the blog or my journal. The Blog is pretty funny, it usually looks something like this: "kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk", along those lines. One time it was half a page on "dash" so you could practice your Morse code. The journal or writing  notes shows up when I start writing tiny, and then there is the line dragging down the page where instead of just falling asleep I fight it until the bitter end and the mouth breathing begins.

  In truth, the biggest and most bothersome is the direct and escalating lack of energy that is coming. I still like getting out and going places. I could make use of the walker or a cane and get along better, but no, not yet. I only used the damn walker a total of ten or 15 days. Most of those in Houston. It's alright, but, fuck me, I'm only 53 years old! I may not make 54, but that's still too young for a walker. So far anyway. Lack of energy really wasn't a problem very often before the first time I'd been diagnosed with fucking cancer. I got healed up, and lack of energy was only a problem occasionally. Even within the first 5 months after surgery (that would be mid June) Even with the "all clear" CT and visual reports in May and June, the way my energy level was dropping, I should have guessed the cancer had come back. That could be the reason in July when Dr Yu (only Yu can make, your face look right). Yeah, yeah, I know. Bad reference and parody of a song. Certainly not my best work, that's for certain. After that diagnosis, and already knowing what my first surgeon told me about there not being any thing else to be done other than die if it came back after this trip in, since it had grown so well in so many places, and hearing the same thing from my Chemo Doc and the Radiation Doc, I knew my chances were zero to none. Emotionally, I'm damn sure that had a lot to do with it. Surprisingly, or not, it's somewhat of a conundrum. I'm given a terminally ill notice, but my energy level came up. I suppose if I go back and go through all the stuff I can remember, I'll find that it went up because I felt a sense of urgency to get things set up so Liz wouldn't have to face that along with me dying.

  Like I said, it's fairly short, but it took forever to get onto the page. Geez Louise!, it took me for ever to finish. I fell asleep, Hospice came by (wow, Shari is cute…and tiny) and it's time to finish

   I was reminded today how funny people can get if something makes them uneasy.  It's fine, I get that way myself even though I try not. I find if I ask (fucked if that wasn't easier 18 months ago) most people are happy to explain their issues rather than be stared at. Then there's this kind. To this day I find them funnier than a sack full of drunken squirrels.

  My company work truck got a leak under the front end. I was just 3 weeks or so from finishing my treatment for the first cancer I got, so this would have been, uhhhhhh,  2009. I run it up to Midas and write a note for the guy at the counter. "Sir, I can hear you just fine, I just can't talk from the radiation therapy I'm taking at present. My truck, parked out side, has a small leak by the front inboard CV Joint." No problem, I figure I'll hear "Pull it around to the inspection lift and we'll see." No, nope, not even close. He grabs the pad out of my hand and starts to write, but before he can get anything down I was moving in on him. I got my hand on the page first (secretly, I'm about to die laughing) and write, "No, really, I can hear every word you say. Just look at me when you talk." So, now his head is bobbin up and down like a 50 year old Chihuahua doll in the back window of a Chevy Impala. I think "fuck in A!!! All he's gotta do is tell me to come around back with the truck". Yes he did, but not like I expected. "MR SMITH!! IF YOU'LL WAIT ABOUT 15 MINUTES WE WILL SHOW YOU WHERE TO GO!!!" All I can see now is Garret Morris doing the news for the Hearing Impaired on Saturday Night Live. The only down side is, I'm cracking clear the fuck up now, since the guy went back inside, but that makes my throat so raw it bleeds. And not just a little. But I couldn't help it. A nice lady stopped to ask if I needed help, and I wrote her a nice note explaining what went on. The next person up didn't stop. He saw me bleeding and damn near killed himself getting in to the building and tell the guy. He felt like shit. I told him it wasn't any big deal at all, really. And said now, stop for a minute, and put yourself in my shoes. I explained to him it's not the first time and it makes me laugh instead of mad. We talked about it and in the end, we were both laughing our ass off. I just took at extra rag with me.


  Y'all have fun and laugh. Especially where they don't expect laughter. People will think you're bat shit                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Slowing Down

 
   Yes, I'm slowing down. Not because I want to slow down, I'm being forced that direction from the fucking cancer. As I found out today, it's getting more and more difficult to skip things like pain patches. Just two short months ago, I forgot to put on the pain I was wearing at that time. Hell, no big deal, I ached a bit more, but a half dose of morphine and even that quit. I figured it out after counting half doses of morphine I'd take that day and thought "Oh Shit! That's three times what I normally take!!". Well, I went to checking allllllll over my little baaaaaawdy and couldn't find a Fentanyl patches anywhere. Whoops. So I stacked on the proper number and laid waste to the pain with simple patches. Oh the wonderful thing about drugs, they do their number, by cracky! So, today I took off the ones that were due to be changed, only spaced it out because I was far more thirsty and hungry. Besides, Liz likes to help with that and it was only an hour or so until she walked in the door. Did we change then? Why hell no, I had to feed and Liz had a couple of errands to run so I skipped it again. Long story short, I was getting some real live bone pain in my upper and lower jaw. There was a time, after ten to fifteen hours I'd have had to take a dose of meds to slow it down enough to sleep. I hit the recliner, Liz went to get the patches and a little tegaderm to help hold it in place, and I'd already gone out. I took some of the meds I'm supposed to and they knocked me flat on my back. I vaguely remember showing her where I'd like them, then her putting them on me. After that, I don't remember dick. I was told that they tried to wake me up a couple of times, but I'd say something stupid, never open my eyes, and out I did stay.  That's more than a little bothersome to me. There's nothing I can do about it. It's my body reacting to the combination of some pain that was getting higher I could handle, drugs, and lack of sleep the night before. Nothing associated with bedtime at my house, I just didn't sleep well. It happens, and it's going on right now as I work on todays offering. We file this under "Shit I Can't Control That Really Pisses Me Off".

      I can tell I'm slowing down mentally as well. It's the little stuff, things that happened before I got cancer. Now, though, it's more an annoyance than anything, but it's getting worse. I'm going out on a limb and say that part of that is (maybe even a large part of that) is drug induced. I'll go even farther out on that same limb and add that it's the combination of the drugs, cancer, and more than likely at least a mild depression. Oh My God!!! I said the "D" word! Yeah, well don't go corn flakes on me out there, hear? I'm fairly certain, at least in my own mind, (find the funny in that and I'll share my jaw breaker) that a mild to deep depression is pretty common among cancer patients, and more so with us poor fuckers who are out of medical options and are "Terminal". I'm gonna do this, because it made me chuckle. Lack of sleep and some good chemicals may be the cause of my chuckle. "Terminal parking is limited to section 8 of your ailment map". I wonder what kind of brakes you'd need to go from Terminal Velocity to Terminal Parking and at your perfect spot? After all, the Terminal Parking stops pretty rapidly after Critical Mass has been achieved.
  I've just reread the previous paragraph. If that isn't proof I'm slowing down mentally, I'm not certain there can be more proof. Not crazy or ultimately eccentric, just slower. Part of that, I think, is the frustration I feel, as well as others, that I have to write everything down now to just join a conversation. As an example, Thursday the regular Morning "Mud Men" (that's an oil field job as well, hence the quotation marks) were having a talk about how we probably need to quit constantly electing incumbents. Toss that into the whole salad bowl with other political ideologies and we come up with what I was saying ten years ago. They were also acting like this was some kind of brand fucking new idea that's never been dreamed up before. I am so pissed off that if I could have, I'd shot at them with lung oysters fresh out of the trach tube. No, that's not how you do things anyway. You say something along the lines of "Oh my gosh! We talked about this for the last ten years and you said I was a fucking idiot! Now you're puking back what I've said, and you're a genius! Fuck me with a cactus, it finally soaked in, but give your mentor in this case his props, it wasn't all your "New Fangled" idea.".
So what I wrote to be read for me was this "After ten good years of thought, a little introspection of your own, some extra reading, I'm glad you've found a way to say 'Thank you, Rock. I should have been paying more attention then.' You're welcome, by the way. Over the next month we have to muster having an original thought. You'll have to learn that one at an accelerated  pace. I'm running short of time, darn it".  Yep, the old mind is slowing down. Trust me, if you get the chance, drop by the Starbuck's on North Midkiff. It's the south east side of the HEB parking lot. Go in at, oh say 0520. Ask those guys that take up the nice chairs, and at least 3-4 double tables about me. They'll tell you straight, no bullshit, about any topic you care to discuss with them. The group consists of an attorney, a heart specialist who got his degree via the Navy for "X" number of years in service after he graduated, a petroleum engineer from the Colorado School Of Mines, a well educated Land Man who has carved out a spot for himself by being frugal (no, he's not cheap, he's frugal. He thinks before jumping) a man who works for a company that builds and installs natural gas meters and meter runs, and myself. Good men, bright.

   There are a lot of things about me slowing down. I work at it, and my stamina is still slowing down. I'm going to take a guess and say that's because my cancer is taking so much energy, I run out of gas pretty quickly. I hate to show it, but I can't help doing so from time to time. I'm going to have to get a cane, at least for a bit. That, too, goes into the file "Shit That Pisses Me Off That I Can't Change". The cane will go right beneath the "walker". Yeah, I have a walker as well. It stays in the hall where I can see it every day, just to keep my pissed off level at the proper position.

  Okay, I'm about finished with today's doings. Let me see if I have something fun stacked away inside my noggin that is just screaming to come forward.

  There were times when I was younger that I wasn't always being as careful as I probably should have been. I know, I know hard as hell to believe, but it's true.

   Friends of my parents had a trampoline in the back yard of their house, near the pool, but sadly not close enough for a good jump to even get close to hitting anything but cement. We were told, as well, that we could play on the trampoline as long as it was one at a time. You could get really hurt if you did doubles. It was okay as long as there was an adult around, because they could yell, and if you ignored them you got your upper lip thumped. Sweet Jesus that HURT!
  So, I'm bouncing away and my little brother gets pissy about wanting to jump on it as well. Okay, shit, hop on. Boink, about two feet, boink, about two feet. I say, let me on and I'll rocket your little ass WAY high. OOOOOO he liked that!
  So I hop on, got the timing right on the first one, he did go WAY the fuck up there. Missed a bit on the second. The third one was the killer. Completely out of synch now, I was coming down as he was headed up. We were too close together. BOOOOOOM!! Good lord that hurt!!! I'd hit the point of my chin squarely on the top of his head. It didn't knock me out, but for a solid minute (there's a bit more, but I had to get this out of the way first), I was working on gettin my wobbly ass off the trampoline and onto the grass so I could at least sit down. It hit hard enough it felt like I had "sugar sand" (really fine grains) in my mouth that were a few teeth that ground down. So, there I sit, spitting up blood, and made the damn fool remark "Hey Clay, are you okay? That was a pretty hard bump." He's checking himself out and I hear as he rubs his hand over the top of his head "yeah, I'm…(looks at his hand) buuulEEEEEEEEEEEDIIIIIIIIINGGGG!!!!" sounded like a fucking air raid siren. Or at least a klaxon dive signal from a WW2 submarine movie. Well, because I was older and supposed to know better, I'm getting my ass reamed while Clay gets ice cream because he has a bump on the head and a itty bitty cut.

   Here's one for some of you. Did anyone ever have a Peter Pan Ice Cream parlor before DQ went "Brazier"?

  All righty, then children. The bare bones, honest truth is I'm slowing down because the cancer is killing me. I see it more, not only because it's inside me, but because of the little things that are becoming more difficult. 99.9% of the time I'm solid on my walking and all. Lately I feel a bit less confident in my footing in some places. Alleyways, uneven parking lots, that kind of stuff. While I'm losing it in my own eyes, I try not to let people see. I try to walk at a slower, but measured pace. All that's getting harder to do.

 I thank all of you who follow this from the bottom of my heart. You all, at times when I'm not my strongest for that day, are the buffer between my family and myself. If I get angry there you are, giving me the space and time I need before I say something hurtful. Bless all of you. Now it's time for that surprise, pre-cooked, heat it up and chow down breakfast I'm going to fix the family.

Give someone a hug. Might change both of you, if even for just a second.

I Feel Like Time is Slipping Away

  My time is slipping away. There are things that happen now (some for longer but I blew them off as "Big Deal" things), for instance, the fact that I have to force myself to east, and that I've put on weight, a couple of pounds is really good, by the way. I'm constantly tired. Not just "Fuck me! That was a long day at work!" tired, but worn out tired. I believe Baxter's activities are at the point they wear me out, morning through evening. I can drop off at any time, anywhere. All right, not when I'm driving. But, oh say Starbuck's. It was nice to have a local EMT to check on me. Embarrassing but nice. It's annoying. But at least I've a reason. I could say drugs, but I don't believe that's completely the problem.
  The other problem seems to be tying my restless leg syndrome into the start of an anxiety attack. That's what the Xanax, Valium, and now this other stuff is supposed to take care of.
Sunday, I let myself get so wound up, looking at the Hospice nurse and Liz faces, and seeing the absolute and honest concern for me, I said yes. Lovely place but I didn't like it there. It's sorta lonely for those of us having someone around nearly all day. And it's also very close to a nicely decorated hospital. That's why I like home best. It's not. My family are here. Even the damn dog was glad to see me. Liz and I figured out a way for me to sleep in our bed without choking to death on my own secretions. My 40 day run at bleeding out of the mouth have stopped for a time being. I don't mind that at all.

  So, why else do I feel like my life span is slipping away from me. Tiredness and anxiety shit isn't enough. Noooooo, I couldn't just settle for something easy like those two things. I see things in a different light now, that worries me some. As in "I've driven down this section of road for twenty years, seen it change. Anytime now could be the last time." and that fucks with me all day! Seriously, that's fucking weird. When I lose my temper, I look at the person I was angry with, realize it's not them, and then wonder how in the hell I'm going to fix that with what ever time I've got left to live? Those are the a couple of the weird shittin mental things that are getting to me. I don't get why, but they seem to bother me to no end. It's probably  that the emotional end of the bargain was something I had shoved into a very deep hole in the back of my mind. It's how I deal with a lot of things. When it's time, and I see that I can move along with thinking about them, I take em out, one at a time, mull it over, and if it's bad, I chunk that fucker. Not like a "bad memory" but "bad" in the sense of there's  no lesson to be learned from it at all. I believe these "end of time" things are from the place I stored all of the emotions that go with being terminal. I'm not certain, but I believe I'd been better off if I'd faced those live instead of memorex. But, that's not my style. I take the things that happen as they come, usually wipe out the bad shit, take what I can from it first, then burn it down and put it in the "This Was A Mistake" column and go from there.

s    Mostly, though, I see things as a circle. Death and dying isn't what is bothering me at all. Dying is what we all do. I just get my shot at it a damn sight earlier than I would have wanted. What could I have done in the next twenty or so years? Who knows! I do know I'd live that to the fullest. As I've always done. I do have the Amour De La Vie. Why would I change that now? No, the dying part isn't what bothers me, it's just another step to get to where I wanted to be in that long journey we all must take. Some folks claim death is it, that there is nothing else. No, they are wrong. There are thousands of other things up coming that your spirit is going to be around for and deal with. Reincarnation, that's one. We are made up of water and electrical charges, the stuff that makes it possible to type are the electrical shots into our nerves from out brains to our hands. That much juice running around, and people think it just stops? No, it changes, it becomes something else. Why not another person, or simply an entity to hang with. An occupant of Heaven. All good and reasonable choices. I know I have three warriors looking at me. I don't think any of them are here to change me. They may be here to guide me when the time comes. But, they are comforting. I dreamed about all three of them together the other night. Weird, too.  It was in Hospice House, actually right before I woke up to hit the head and rehydrate. Noticing that I was drier than a pop corn fart. But I digress.
  I walked past them all. Slowly too, because I can't get along very fast. I tend to get out of balance hauling ass. Something I have to bring up to my nurse.  Anyway, as I walked toward them the turned to face me, and as I past they lowered their heads and said "Not yet, closer, but not yet". From the Highlander, The Templar, The Viking, that's what each one said. I stopped and they gathered around in a circle with me as the center. It's not your time. Why!! I feel ready!. "No, not quite, but closer. We three with take you there, you'll see all, know all, and in the end, join us as warrior guides for another of yourself". Now I'm cracking up. "I can't be a warrior. I've never done battle, or sent people off. Nothing that makes a warrior!" Then they all three laughed "you'll see, there are warrior ways without fighting. You'll see, but not yet". Other than "Not time, but close" means. I don't understand. I hope when that time comes, I see my families in Valhalla, my brother Templars, my clan. And I hope I can find a spot where we all four can look down and I can say "Those, all those people you see that have lights on them? Those are my friends. We need to watch  over them as well". Don't sweat it, I believe that's already being done for you all. There's a chance that whatever I was supposed to get finished in this life, it coming to an end. I don't know what that is, or how to finish it, but I'm fairly certain I know what the outcome of finishing will be for me. Terminal Velocity, with rapid Critical Mass.

  I hope I've helped some of you all. It's been at times pretty silly, and other times fairly funny, and a lot of the time a cross between both of those things. As I've said, I'll go with this as long as I'm able. You'll notice HUGE gaps between blogs. Those are days I stay in the recliner and just couldn't do much but make my formula cans go into the pouch and then into me. Days I didn't move much. I apologize for those. I should have come on and said "Well, this is what happens. I get too tired to do anything but each, shit, piss and sleep. Much more than that is just too much work." That's true, it would have. I'll work on that.

Love to all of you. I hope, in the next couple of days…….Oh what the hell

  When I was in third grade, we lived across the street from the Hermann's. You all know this from an earlier blogs. Anyway, Chris, who was my age were out scrounging bottles to swap for a fresh bag of peanuts and one of those tiny cokes. Not the big tall bottle, the short bottle. You could get two of those for what a regular coke cost. Fewer bottles to gather up. Anyway, we are out looking, Chris is docking off, and we already said the cash would be split with the majority of it going to the person who found the most bottles. Chris kept finding beer bottles. No deposit no return on those. I told him 6 or 8 times about that and finally called him a dumb ass for picking any of them up. I had 12 bottles to turn in, one more and I've have 26 cents and could get my soda and peanuts. Chris had four, 8 cents. So we sold em, I gave him his cut. He pissed and moaned, threatened to tell his mom. Oh woo, scare me please. Anyway, the little dick, picked up a beer bottle, broke it, cut my right arm, and tried to get all the change. Needless to say that's not what happened. His big brother Billy did catch up with me at Wiegels gas station (my sisters BF worked there and had a motorcycle). Asked me why I gave his baby brother a black eye. I showed him my arm, told him what happened and that was that. Except Chris couldn't come across the street for two weeks Neener neeener neener

Blog TIme, Where The Hell Have I Been?

  That, girls and boys is a damn good question.  I've been being a fabulous human being one minute, and the next being an asshole such as the world would not waste the twenty-five cents for a .22 round to end my life. Why has this been the case? Fucked if I know. I do know that if I EVER let myself slip into that sack of shit, self pitying, complete and inexcusable asshole that I was behaving like, I'll give the round to end it all right then and there. No, terminally ill is no fucking excuse. We let people get by with that because they are terminal, they are under undo amounts of stress that none of us short of soldiers in a fire fight ever even experience. True or not, that does not give us leave to be hurtful to people trying their best to help us. Those people, who have to watch us die, their loved ones. The person the longed for, who they wanted to see the sunset of their lives together is breaking that vow far to early. We, the terminal, have no fucking right to be hurtful. None. We are dying. These people who have dedicated their lives to us are the only thing we have no fucking right to be hurtful. We can be angry and mean to every other one of the over six billion people on this planet, but NEVER to the ones who are watching us waste away. Hoping beyond hope that some how, the doctors were all wrong, it's be a terrible mistake and in a short time we will be up and around doing things just like we had prior. That ain't gonna happen. Be kind to these people, if we are not, we deserve a lot worse after life than even hell can provide. Why? you ask. Because they truly are sent by God to help us along this last step.

   This past week had a lot of good hours with it, and one full day that was shittin near perfect. I dicked the next day up like you would not believe. The Love of My Life and I made a fantastic breakfast. Pretty damn involved from start to finish. It came of perfect. To me it smelled just a little like heaven. To the family it tasted great!!!! Not much better than that, right? Shouldn't have been. She offered to clean the kitchen, I offered to help, she said no, you did nearly all the cooking, I'll clean. Seemed like a fair trade, right? I thought so when I sat down into the recliner, and I dozed off. When I woke up, I jumped her for absolutely not fucking reason. Pitched a fit worthy or a five year old, stomped, yelled when the voice would allow it. Steamed. Burned. Blew Gaskets. For what? I fell asleep and hadn't reminded her that I wanted to go see the new Indian Motorcycles at Odessa. I made her cry. I made her feel like something, was her fault. Nothing was her fault, there was no call for me to act that way, none at all. We went. The bikes are nice, although they need to make the farings look a hell of a less cheap. My God what a good sounding motorcycle. In fact, Liz said she liked the Indian Chief Classic. The one that looks closest to the last year Indian produced.
  What we did later, when we got home (you know, once a feeling is wounded it never completely heals, I knew that, and yet I proceeded earlier in the day to do just that) we took some time to write out the things that we loved about each other, and the things that we didn't love about each other. The times we'd let one another down, without really knowing we'd done that. Thankfully, it wasn't very often for either one of us, and we got that worked out. But, I'm here to tell you, those things leave scar tissue and you never lose it. EVER. Sure, the scars soften, and they fade, but they are there, and they are there forever. You young men, mind your shit. If you truly love the woman you're with, as much or more than I do my own heart and soul, don't hurt them, please. Not only do they feel bad, they feel worse, then as you look at her, you'll feel worse. It's worth none of that. Ever.

   So, Sunday rolls along. I take my baby girl to breakfast at IHOP, I'm not the best company because for a change I'm actually tired, and I doze on and off and watched her draw people while she noshed away at her breakfast. She amazes me with her talent, and that something I need to tell her more often.
Anyway, we get home and I'm so stoked that I think "Ya know, I'm gonna skip my anxiety drug this morning, and just see how long it goes until I think I need it". We have now entered the "Can You Possibly Be Anymore Stupid" realm of life. It turned out yes, I could get possibly more stupid. Not only did I wait way to fucking long. I didn't take into account that the leg soreness and restlessness could more than likely be the walking around the new bikes, the cleaning of some of the junk from my garage, and moving stuff around the house. Oh no, it's because I was having an anxiety attack. No, I drove myself into that state and managed to drive at an even higher rate to "Oh fuck, I really think I'm dying". This Men and Women, was the second or third time I've ever been really and honestly frightened. Liz called the Hospice and they sent the very attractive, kind, weekend nurse. Who, by the time Liz called her, became worried as well. I'd had some time with coughing, vomiting, hyperventilation (also a first) and whether I needed to go off to Hospice House in Odessa until we sorted out what the hell. I looked at the woman I love, and have loved for what has become the greatest part of my life. Her face was wracked with worry and fear, she had done all she knew to do for and with me (we'd waited so long to try the valium it didn't work well until way after we got to Hospice House and another drug was applied. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I took the evening drugs, discovered my BP was crazy high, but everything was beginning to iron out. I slept a good long while. Took in 1800 ML about 60 ounces of nice cool water at 3 AM before I needed to use the restroom. I waited, watched the boob took. Took in more water. In the time between 3 AM and 6AM I had a lot of time to go over what was important to me. Liz, first and foremost is important to me. Sorry my lovely children, you are all a close second. Home. But it's not a home without Liz and the children. They are the reasons that I've done what I've done in the past. I've tried to make my decisions based on what would be best for them. So I decided to come home. We've made some changes in sleeping arrangements. Some with hanging out in the living room.
  In the last bit of time I've got left, I've have the chance to possibly make up to Liz the times I've made her feel less of herself than she ever will be.
  My Warning: Mind Your P's and Q's fuckers. The Woman you may be taking for granted, may be the best thing that's ever happened to your. Do it right, every time, every chance you get.


    Elizabeth Ann Cook: The woman who makes me a better man, every day. Found in the least likely place under some stupid assed conditions. Oh yeah, there truly is Karma, and I'm more than pleased they were on my side that day

Love all of you.
 The Friends I've made leave me in awe