Who Thought, Part Two

    Yes, there was a post some time back with the "Who Thought" title. It's appropriate this time as well.  Who Thought that after all these years, all the nail gnawing, tense, anxious times a few weeks ahead of each CT, all the surgery, all the time in the hospital, and finding out it would be best to be on palliative care, Who Thought that I'd be nervous and the 23rd of July? Why is that even a problem? That's the day after all the biopsies taken, and a PET scan early that morning, the Dr said I was Shit Outta Luck. I mean damn, why am I anxious about this upcoming day? They gave me a year, that's up on the 23rd. I should call him and say, "Ya missed the date, you rat mother fucker!". Well, that's not going to happen. I am that bad a sport, win or lose, that I would do it if it really would matter or make him feel silly. It doesn't and it wouldn't. Thinking people know without being exact, when the doc said a year, Liz and I both knew it wasn't written in a blood or stone. The timeline wasn't carved out of Mt Ararat, and placed in  the Arc of The Covenant along with the stone tablets. No, none of those things are going to happen. So what will happen? Well, God willing and the river don't rise, I'll wake up sometime, stick two or three cans of that nasty fucking formula down me, and go about my day like I had good sense. Why? Honestly because it's another day I made it in my life. Quite frankly,  as much as I love my family, watching the sunrise, seeing it set, and all the really cool shit I've seen on my trip through the last 53 and some odd years, it's been a great ride, but I just ain't ready to park this particular scooter just yet.                                            I'd like to put straight pipes on Fat Girl, and win the Hooka Hai cross country bike race. Liz would get that money.
   See, it burns my ass to get all wound up and potentially make myself sick over a day we've been doing a  count down  as an object to laugh at and ridicule.  It deserves such treatment, after all, it's not been a fun day to have marked on my my mental calendar. I'm lying here in bed typing this damn blog because the 23rd won't leave me the fuck alone. I've succumbed to an inanimate date in time and am letting it partially control how I feel. That's complete and utter booshit. I'm 40/60 good to bad days now. In all honesty, that's better than I expected this close to my due date. I am really doing pretty well for a guy that runs out of gas in 15 or so yards, that blows snot out of a hole in his neck, feeds himself from a bag into a tube that goes into his stomach. Don't be too smug, dick cheese, you ain't dead yet and there isn't a cure to be found under rock or toadstool (mushroom type of toadstool). Top that with the fact I've got some kind of fucking growth on my lower right neck at the junction of neck and trap. Oh joy! The big assed toadstool growing on the side of my neck has given me something to look at and wonder about other than when Baxter is finally going to get enough nerve to put me down….for good.

   Liz is going to take some time off in a week or ten days. She damn sure needs it. In fact, so do the younger two kids.  Liz is headed to Lost  Wages Nevada to get some much needed alone time. I need to get the two younger kids gone at the same time, that way we all have time alone and can sort out any thing rattling around in our collective noggins. We used to get to do that more often than now. I took several bike trips to Highland Games in Kansas and Texas, generally for two to five days. Liz has gone on trips with her friends, and taken some (with kids when they were little) to her folks without me. I still chuckle over being asked by co-wokers "You let her go to Las  Vegas with her friends and you're not going?".  Good Lord, how insecure do you have to be to say something like that? More importantly, I don't and never have "Let" Liz do anything. We've always said to each other "Go have fun, just tell me where and when". Of course, we both always say "Can I…" which should be "May I…." to save the argument of "Of course you probably can. But are you asking my permission?". There are times it's best not to be a wise ass, I've found.  So yes, she gets to go do her things, I do my things, and we do our things too. Well, now my things are pretty much gone since January 22, 2013. (that's the last day I ate anything through my mouth, and I've only barely spoken since then as well. Can't remember what I sounded like anymore).  But, Liz needs that time away worse than I need her here. Right now anyway. She's always been there, and this struggle has been much harder on the other five people in my immediate family than it has me. I am certain it's been harder for my siblings and some of my friends as well. You all, though, get a break from me. Siblings and friends alike. Liz and the two younger kids, no. They've not had alone time. They've not had a chance to be out there by themselves, thrown a giant hissy fit, be pissed, cry, laugh, call me names, hate me, then be mad about that (fuck I hope anyway, he giggles nervously), or anything  they see fit to do to help themselves out mentally and in the long run physically. I certainly loose ground when I don't have my head in the game. It gets away from me from time to time now. Since it's the largest and heaviest single object on my body any more. It's so dicked up from surgery, that it pulls my head down and forward. Enough so I have this lovely giant knot of neck and spine vertebra at the bottom of my neck, I can't even sit back in a high back chair or car seat without it feeling like someone is hitting it with a hammer. Cie la Vie.

  One last fun thing I've found to do to the people that still stare. One day, when I feel the end is near, I'll tell you all which group of adults stares most frequently, and gets bug eyed if I try to speak. Something that now days is limited to once in a while. I'll try, but most days all I get is a bit of wind whistle and nothing else. Okay, on to the fun.

  It's been a real bitch for me the last two or three weeks. Loads of water, not enough, just right, makes no difference in the production of crap I aspirate and have to ditch through the trach. I've had to hose down the trach with 10-20 ml of saline two or more times a week. I do it myself now. Liz had been, but it was hard for her to look me in the eye and stay focused while she put water directly into my trachea. If that's what it's like to drown, shoot me if I fall overboard. I'd never make a good spy, they bring out the towel and five gallon bucket of water, my mouth would run like a Bluejay's as in berry time. Sorry, making a short story long. Anyway, I'm filling up the Baby Tuesday, and I feel some eyes burning holes in my back. So I turn around and sure enough, there's some guy staring at me. How did you know for certain, Roc? He might have been looking at nothing, or something beyond you.
True, but I've got a test now, I move sideways. If their eyes follow me and they have to turn to keep me in sight, they're staring. He was staring, mid 30's guy, work duds, goofy look. Now, I've been trying to find a place to hack up the shit in my trach since I forgot my towel at home. I have it now. I start huffing a little to build some explosive pressure, and I'm loud about it. The guy gets kinda nervous looking, like he might have to help if I pass out. Nope, HUGE cough! Sent a nice shot about 12' with a tail wind, landed about 4' from him. He jumped, got scared looking, and drove away. I'm still giggling.
I do NOT do that to kids. If they speak English, I'll have someone ask them for me, if they want to know something. I'll happily write it down, and have whoever is helping me read the answer to them. Adults? Naw, tough cookies. Either come ask, or stop staring. One is fine with me, the other, if I get irritated, will be like a camel you've pissed off……."Watch out! He spits!" (paraphrased from Disney's Aladdin)

 Go forth and multiply!!! If you don't want any more children, Go Forth and Practice like Crazy!!!