Yeah, do not nod off. I started the blog 3 times during the day yesterday. After the third time of having at least two pages of nothing but commas I hung it up. I'd nod off, finger still pressing the last thing I typed and it would just run away with itself until I woke up. So, I gave in to the idea of trying to write while getting the sleep during the day that I didn't get at night. I got antsy Thursday night, when I was supposed to be sleeping. I'd had a couple of coughing fits that came very close to coughing and vomit fits. Not wanting to be caught unaware and being woken within nano seconds of barfing, I chose stay awake. Wise choice, since I did pitch a couple of gigunda coughing spells, and nearly barfed during them both, I counted staying awake a win. And actually, staying awake was a double win, I got to give Liz a hug after she helped me out a little. I love getting and giving a big ole hug to Liz. Even before I got cancer again, it made my day to get a hug from my Sweetheart. With any luck, at the end of the day, we could play Snuggle Bunnies. Yep, I miss that a lot. Over twenty years of going to sleep with the same person, and have them next to you when you wake up, is probably the best feeling I've ever had. On that front, yes, Cancer sucks dick for skittles.
Weird shit is going on. I mean, more weird than the hole in my neck being so infected and draining that infection for almost four straight days. I'm typing away, and I know that with all the swelling and stuff that my neck has been pulled forward, and that makes a lot of different muscles and tendons tighten up. It's a cascading series of bio mechanical failures that add up to extra pain I don't need and probably part and parcel of some of the time I spend fighting to draw enough air to work and walk around with. So I'm working now on trying to get that shoulder and shoulder blade back into neutral where they belong. It's time consuming and somewhat painful, but in the long run it's worth it for the added movement in my neck and head. I was diddling around on the FaceBook the other day, typing in what I hoped would be a witty response to a question (hoping because I was ass deep into a cruise on the SS Morphine), when I feel and "hear" a pop. "Hear" is in quotation marks because our bodies are made up with a lot of water and other liquid in it. A person can "hear" the pop or snap because the liquid is a great conductor of sound, and while no one else heard it, you certainly can. The pop came from a spot close to where they dragged my pec up and shoved it in my mouth. They have to leave it attached to my chest for the blood veins and artery to keep it alive.
So, POP goes the pectoral, and I hop up, yank my shirt off, and start checking for very read spots or worse bruised looking areas. I've torn enough muscle to start looking for a bruise. Just because it's internal doesn't mean that sudden release of blood from a tear won't bruise. In fact they make some lovely purple and blue bruises. No bruising, but Lord that damn spot is tender to the touch. Forty Eight hours until Lymphedema Therapy where I can get the spot looked at from a professional Physical Therapist. Still, no bruising but I'm losing a bit of head and neck movement, and the area is getting more tender than it was the first day out. So, finally at Therapy and my therapist is going over the area and can't find any tears or pulls, or so it seems. What she has found are a couple of places where the muscle is anchored in a couple of spots. It's those two areas that are the most tender. So now I'm looking at the kinesiologist chart and seeing what might have caused this damned ouchie I've got.
Mechanically, I get the idea from just looking at the chart. Therapist confirms my suspicion. Since the surgery my neck and head have pulled almost straight forward and down. That stresses everything along the line. It did pop. but not as in a tear or super pull, it was simply resetting the out of kilter tendons and all. It helped my posture some, and I'm working on fixing it on my end, so I don't have to hear that POP and pee pee my pants just a little because the pain is such a bear.
The other weird thing is using the O2 more than I expected. Okay, okay, I didn't use it first because I thought I didn't need it. Then I go out fiddling around with Liz and end up sounding like a freight train with a bad valve on the steam piston. Lots of chugging but no real Chugging. So yeah, I had to piss the vanity and do what is right. Suddenly, and amazingly, I could breath easier. Along with that went walking better, and having a lot longer fuse. I'd say that was a secret that I had a short fuse, but of course that would be a lie. When I'd get winded, it pissed me off to no end that I couldn't keep up. I know, I know, it's okay to need help. Of course it is, for the rest of the world population, but not myself. I am supposed to be above needing all this silly extra equipment. Which of course makes me a hypocrite. Yes, yes it does, and here is why in one statement: Try taking my Fentanyl patch and Morphine away, shocking things may happen. One scenario is me catching someone taking my patches and Morphine and shoving their OWN boot so far up their ass they have to yawn to tie a knot. Pointing out how the drugs are accepting outside help, and yet seeing the O2 bottle as something to loathe. Hypocrite. I love my wife and kids to death. Enough so that I'd step in and take a bullet. But it bothers me on a personal level to ask them for help, and in all honesty it shouldn't. I'm working on that, in fact I've had the oldest daughter help me with bandages and the like for the big assed hole in my neck that was draining. Oh! The big assed hole had stopped draining late this evening, and now has a bandaid on it instead of the giant 4X4 square of gauze to contain the drainage. Little less freak looking now.
That, kids, is how things have gone the last 3-5 days. But much less than it could be, since I'm seeing lots of moving activity around the neighborhood. That serves as a reminder that if I don't fly right, I could end up at Hope House, patiently awaiting the bottles to talk to her. At any rate, it's time to let doc have some of the decisions like painting the outside, weight training (which I gave up because my Pectoral isn't on my chest anymore. It's inside my mouth. As an added bonus that should crack you up, one of my skin grafs has hair growing on it. Some times any amount sounds gaggy, I know, but this is there to prove it's still alive and not dead and trying to give me a wonderful bacterial infection. Thank you Pectoral muscle for giving us something to do. Namely finding something else to profoundly confuse and not always amuse me. At any rate, this is the end of today's blog. I'm feeling petty chipper this morning, even though I dozed off and I'm missing coffee with the boys.
Now, go forth and multiply! No, too Old Testament. Do to Wango Tango. No, no, too Gonzo. Go forth and make certain the life you're living is full of new and exciting things (ps: every life is full of new and exciting things. you just gotta figure out which ones are most important and the most fun)
Today's blog is brought to you by the letter 16, and a number 2
HAHAHAHAHA The Blog was a failure. I dozed off typing it!!! HAHAHAHA
