Saturday, July 19, 2014
What Makes Me Want To Bounce A Round Thru A Person
Well, several things, actually. But, the two word phrase "I Can't" just makes my blood scream for a fresh hollow point for the hand cannon. Can't, can't, can't. Paralyzed, those folks with birth defects that either keep them physically or mentally from being on top of their game, Can't is acceptable for them. Some diseases, Parkinson, Alzheimer's, those are a couple that come to mind quickly. All those things are outside the person's ability to control that portion of their lives. What I'm talking about is hearing "I Can't" from perfectly healthy people who would rather quit trying, or NEVER try at all. Christ that burns my ass. "I can't!". Why? "I don't know how." That's not a "can't" problem, that's an education problem. Let me explain. It's within a person's ability to learn how to do "X". That puts it within your grasp, so that you CAN. I would rather hear, "Right now, I don't know how. Would you show or teach me?". Well hell yes I'll teach or show you how. That puts it as a learning curve and eliminates "I Can't". IF (huge word for only two letters) it shows that a person doesn't have the physical or mental ability to do said project, it's still no longer an "I Can't". It has become an "Unable". Explanation of why I see it that way. "I am unable to do that job. I've learned and practiced, but it is still beyond my ability." That sucks the life out of "I Can't" like nothing else. Am I able to play football? No. Was I ever able to play? Sure. Since I am unable now, doesn't allow me to say, "I Can't". I've heard "I Can't" so many times in the last two years I've been on disability I've lost track. There is no age limit to the self destructive "I Can't Syndrome", either. Six to Sixty or older. The time is approaching that I will no longer be able to drive. I'll become a hazard to myself, but more importantly to others on the highways. That's frightening to me. It's not an "I Can't", but rather an "Im physically unable any longer". The entire time of one's life should be a learning experience. Something that "I Can't" won't be able to touch. It's an attitude, carried proudly from one end of your life to the end of your life. I hope, almost beyond hope, that young people can change and follow that, instead of quitting before you've even begun.
Boy, that was a self righteous rant, huh? Tough shit, my blog I can be self righteous if I want. Bwaaaahahahahaha. (That's an evil laugh, don't ya know).
I'm counting my days like this, now. One good day, one really bad day, the other five are bad in general. What that means is that taking them as an average, that's how I feel now. Between last week on the tenth, and this week on the seventeenth, my lymphatic system above my collar bones has shut down. For the most part, I really don't know for certain if it's completely shut down, all I can say truthfully is that I don't drain fluid thru my system like I did on the tenth. When we started this Lymphedema Therapy, I told my therapist that I would tell her when we were finished. She didn't trust me then, or on Thursday either, but I fooled her and told it was over before we even got started. She asked if I still wanted a session. I wrote, "Yes, on my right leg. I'm limping again and it's very tender."
She saw it right away, and before I left, I wrote how much I appreciated her help and how we did the best we could. I told her how much she helped my life be more normal than I would have thought possible. There are a couple of factors that happened on Thursday that you all will never see nor will I write about them on Facebook, or in e-mail for that matter. Suffice it to say that what I saw in my mirror told me the time was up. Within five hrs. of waking up, I'd made my mind up that we had come to that intersection of this road that we should quit the therapy. After tears from the nice women and longer than necessary manly hand shakes and slaps upon the back, I hit the road, knowing that for 14 months, my life was better because the therapy was able to help me from swelling so bad I couldn't move my arms. I will work doubly hard at home to help prevent that if it's possible. So far as I can tell, I've got my work cut out for me. I've already got a lymph gland under my left arm that's swollen. Not tender, though, so it may be Baxter showing his face.
Four more days since the Doctor at MD Anderson said, "Mr Smith, Mrs Smith, the cancer has returned. There are no further surgeries we can do for you, as we've taken all the bone and tissue that is safe. The chemo therapy is no cure, and may give you an extra month or two. Radiation, as well, is out of the picture, you've received the maximum dosage in 2007 and 2008. All that's left is palliative care, and that we can set up here. We've made the appointment for as soon as you leave here, if you wish."
Poor Liz, she broke out in tears. The new doc didn't know me well enough to speak up, since I'm hard of hearing. Worse now, by the by, thank you. So I didn't hear "Palliative". What I did hear was "Mr Smith, Mrs Smith, waaa wa waa wa. Wa wa wa, wa wawa wa. Wa wa wa wa, wawa wawa wawa". then tears. No fool am I, I asked Liz to step out so the Quack…ummmm Doc could have a word. So, the word I got was 8-12 months. With Chemo? 8-12 months and being sick. "Would you like to be on a clinical trial for new chemo therapy?" Will it cure me if it works? "No, but it might make you live longer" How long? "Two or three months, but it is very harsh and you'll be ill" Ever throw up without a soft palate to keep it from coming out your nose? "No, I've not" Fuck the Clinical Trial then. Fairly much word for word. My only wish then was, that I had a full voice with which to tell him "Fuck the Clinical Trial, then", darn it. So this has been my last year. Waiting, working on keeping myself as healthy as possible, having fewer and fewer good days, watching my energy level drop off slowly. Bad as it sounds, it's life, isn't it. Some, including myself on really, God awful bad days, say it's not much of a life. That's true, but it's my life, and I've got to live it as fast and far as I can carry it. I'd love the bike, Fat Girl, to be a bigger part of this part too, but alas, for the moment anyway, she's off limits. This I hope to remedy shortly.
Alright, kids and adults, and adults who still think and act like kids (generally we live longer. i'm not the rule, but the exception that proves the rule). Go forth and have as much fun as you can muster.