Just dammit

I'd better get my ass back into the gym soon. Regardless of what my PT says, I'm getting weaker. I've got to get this slowed down or stopped. Yes, it's going to be a hassle, but I've got to do it, or I won't be worth shooting in 4-6 months. The damn cancer is eventually going to do that for me without my inactivity helping it along. So, finding the motivation is the problem. I've got to get up way earlier than I have been. Which means crashing out way earlier. Which means fixing my sleep patterns. Again. Okay, that's enough of excuses. I've got to get started, and I hate going in this late in the day even on a holiday.

 Lifting and training was a part of my life for a long time. I put it on hold when I got married the first time. Started again when I was in Elkhart. Put that on hold while I was moving to Midland. Got started again and unless I was too sick, or really hurt, or on vacation, I didn't miss any days. I went while I was on Chemo, both times. I went infrequently while I did radiation. This is the longest stretch of time I've been without.  It's disheartening to see how much strength I've lost. It makes it difficult to get wound up and dive in when it seems the harder I try, the more ground I loose. I also know that sounds foolish, since I've got a limited amount of time left. But that's part of why I'm determined to get back in and do something, even if it's with piss poor results. I used to pride myself in being able to out work and out last the guys half my age. Boy, that's turned around a bunch. I can barely walk a quarter mile without being winded or having to suction myself. Pain in the ass. 

  I've had so much surgery that nothing from my neck to my shoulder blades work right. Before I'm headed to the old urn, I'd like to try and fix some of that. Somewhere out there is my way to get that done before things take that southern turn and I can't do diddly shit for myself. Finding that within myself has gotten a bit more difficult the last few months. I'm not sure why, exactly. Yeah, it makes me hurt like nothing I've ever had hurt before. If I'm not careful, it makes my pectoral muscle squeeze down enough to make me dribble in my gym pants. That's not the problem, those are things that everyone who trains runs into from time to time. Nothing unusual there. I don't think I'm depressed. Not enough to just quit, at any rate. I am sure there's probably a bit of that going on, I figure to not believe that is probably like pissing up a rope. Impressive until it starts running back down. So, somewhere I've got to rat out where that bit of determination went. It's there, it's just hiding out for the time being. Or maybe it's tired too. I am. This has been a long haul. It's gonna get longer. Maybe Determination can't do both. That is help me fight the cancer for as long as I can, as well as get me to drag my ass into the gym.  We'll see, starting tomorrow. Now I've got to figure out how to not go at it so fast I really wear myself out.

  I am losing more and more of my ability to speak well. That's going to be a pain in the ass for me. I was getting used to the family being able to understand 90% of what I said. That's sliding. I see it everyday if they don't. The SLP is helping hold it where it is for now. But I'm not sure how much longer I can justify using her time on a losing game. Non communication other than the damn board sucks ass. It's hard to keep up with conversations. I can't write fast enough to keep up with what's going on. Sucks. I've got 10 bazillion wise ass remarks that just lose something on the board, 5 minutes after they should have been tossed in. I may go back and find my old double sided board I carried to work with me before my voice came back from the radiation frying me. One side was "Fuck You", the other was "Kiss My Ass". In the oil field those are two of the most common responses you need to most chatter. It's not quite like being trapped within your own head, because I can still make my thoughts known, but it's still disconcerting. I used to think that nothing would be worse than not being able to walk or something else more obviously physical, but I was wrong. Not being able to communicate is worse than any of that. It leaves you basically at the whim of what ever is going on around you, with no way to input what kind of help you need. And not even help, just simple conversation. I like the quiet, but I also enjoy being able to talk to people. This is the not so fun part. The rest of it is going to come as it will, not talking is the hard one.

 I miss cooking. I can't taste food well enough to feel comfy cooking. I've tried it a few times, and aroma memory helps some, but it's hard to beat tasting as you go along to know what the chow needs. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't a chef by any stretch of the imagination. I did, however, like to tinker. Like putting pineapple and raspberry in stuffed, bacon wrapped, jalapeños. Hot and sweet is always good. Putting cajun sausage and some chopped blackened shrimp in a damn old meatloaf isn't too shabby either. So, what do I do. I OD on the FoodNetwork. I live vicariously through other people's cooking. Shoddy and not as good as the real thing, but it'll have to do. The family won't eat in front of me. Makes em feel guilty. Even when I've said "NO!!! I like how it smells! It's great!". Actually they are getting better. They'll have snacks and stuff. I love the smell of popcorn. That's a good snack. I also don't remember Doritos smelling so strong. They smell strong enough that I can almost taste them. Almost. The smell of ribs on the grill, heavenly. I've not eaten in so long that I can smell the blood on a medium rare steak, it's fabulous. Still, hands on is best. I've tried wooling around a chunk of food so I can taste it, then letting it fall out. That sucks. All the taste, none of the fun. There's a line in there I'm gonna skip. Because I've gotten nicer. 

All right, girls and boys!! Throw a hot dog on the grill (is there any better way for hot dog?) and have a cold beer for me today! 

 Enjoy yourselves, and take a second to relish that taste, smell, and conversation. Losing any one of those is horrid thing.

Hugs bitches

It's all about.....whatever

I've got a whole slew of songs stuck in my head this morning. Not just one. Three or five. It's not like I don't have a lot of room for things to rattle around in. But it's annoying, because it's not the same songs going through the entire song, the repeating. No, oh no, that would be great. This is one line, or on one of the darn things three words and a couple beats of music, THEN repeat. Come on, really? I've got "Jumpin Jack Flash it's a gas, gas, gas" memorized already. Let's move on the the next line please?

My sleep patterns are still jacked up. Maybe that's why the music is stuck. When I am on my regular sleep, though, I still wake up two or three times during the night to clear the trach tube. So it's never really a complete nights sleep, just more hours in a row than I'm getting now. I feel pretty rested, I just have to have a nap. Part and parcel of the cancer getting bigger? Good question, if I find an answer I'll let ya know.

 "What's it all about, Alfie". Like Alfie was a staggering genius. I don't think any one knows what it's all about. It's the act of finding out what pieces of the puzzle are that's the fun part. It we knew what it was all about, the mystery and fun would run out of life, wouldn't it? Back in the 1800's science was just absolutely sure that a human body couldn't stand the force of going Forty MPH for an extended period of time. It would drive the mind insane and cause the body to shut down. Ooops, bad math. There was some of that same thought into the late 30's about the sound barrier and beyond. Once again, bad math apparently. Since I work in the oil field, I suppose you all should know that it's been predicted the earth would run out of oil in 1935. No, 1956. Damn, 1977. Dammit! 1992. Well, you can see that it's not all about running out after all, is it? Like we were supposed to be in an ice age at this point. Then, in the 1980's when that didn't happen, suddenly we are in a warming trend. Unprecedented in world history. Bullshit, at one point Alaska was mostly vast field of tall grass, there were ferns in Colorado. It's been far hotter and far colder in the history of the world, according to science. It seems like they don't know any more of what it's all about than I do. I know, I know, where would we be without science. Pitifully miserable is where. I wouldn't have lived through the first cancer round without it. We wouldn't live as comfortably or eat as well as we do without it either. It's a good thing. Not the end all cure all. But a very good thing none the less.

 So I sit here, without a lot to do, hoping the wrinkles in the gray matter don't smooth over watching the drivel on the tube and wonder what it's all about. How the hell would I know! I'm not a genius! HA!

I think we all wonder that from time to time. I also think each answer is dependent upon the person's experience, beliefs, and general out look on their life. The less pleasant any of those are for them, the more their thought of what it's all about is going to be darkened. The better their experience, the better their thoughts of what it's all about are going to form. 

 I'm so easy to please, What it's all about is pretty simple for me. If you're happy, that's what it's about. The act of getting from Point A to Point B, even if you have to go through Z, M and O first is just part of the adventure. I have an "Oh hell, it could be worse" attitude, because in almost all cases, it could be worse. I'm terminal, no two ways about it, I'm gonna die. But it could be worse. I could have not had the time to get things in the works to be settled for the family. I could have just keeled over in the waiting room. I could have had way more of me carved off. The list goes on and on. For me, What It's All About is easy to find. I like stuff. Almost anything. I'm not afraid to try something new. I'm not fearful of any man on two feet because the worst they can do is kill me. I find a lot of things fun to do. From riding the Fat Girl, to sitting alone in the early morning. I like to work. I enjoyed doing my job, and that made it fulfilling. I can't imagine working someplace that made me a miserable bastard all the time, without finding something or someplace better and quitting. Bitching about a job is about a waste of time and energy. Don't like it, find something and go do that. If you hate your job your making someone else miserable who may find they really like what they are doing. Now you've become a damn drag and no one likes that.

   It's not all about cash or material things either. Oh yeah, I've got some toys, and there aren't any of them I wouldn't sell in a heart beat. I was making pretty good money. We used that to have fun with the family and ourselves, Liz and I. We worked so we could. I used my Anadarko retirement to pay some bills and go to Scotland with the two youngest kids. Some people thought I was crazy. "What will you do when your old and have to retire?".  Oh, work until I can't and not say "Well, fuck, I should have gone to Scotland instead of saving this retirement". I've not been very frugal, but I also don't have a lot of "Dammit!! Why didn't I....." moments either. A day or so ago I'd mentioned I'd never been to a Pro Football game. True, I've not. It'd be neat once, maybe. But not all that neat. I'm not a fan of crowds at all. Never have been. In the long run, I'm not missing much personally. I've never been to a strip club either. Seen one boob you've seen em both. Eventually they just start to look like boobs, and I've seen a lot of boobs. Not to say I wouldn't like to see more. I just hate to pay to see em.  It's pretty rough not to laugh when a baby laughs, isn't it? I've almost choked to death when a well dressed lady was lecturing me on wearing a helmet and yada yada yada, then in the middle of her rant farts. Gotta love that stuff

  

 HA!!! I lied! I DO know "What it's all about". It's about whatever. Whatever makes you happy. That's what it's all about. If being an asshole makes you happy (and I think it does some people) then be one. Don't expect a lot of people to hang around, but by all means be an assshole. If helping others makes you happy, do that. Some folks are only happy when they are bitching about something. Go ahead with that, I don't have to listen to you. Same thing with downer people. You've got to live your life in the manner that best suits you. Just remember, I don't have to put up with anything I don't like. Mostly because I don't wanna. If you're easily offended, don't hang around me. Free speech is just that. I temper mine to suit me and me alone, I won't apologize for anything I say, so don't ask. I don't recall any of us having the right to be free from offending remarks. 

 So there, that's it. Once you decide to live as you want to live, life gets really simple. People of a like mind will become your friends. You'll settle in with a partner that thinks as you do, and that's a wonderful thing to have. Even when you disagree, it's a good thing, you've found someone that thinks.

 Have fun today in whatever it is you're planning. Makes no difference what that is. If it's not fun, find a way to make it fun. (Who hasn't driven a riding mower thinking they were at Indy?)

 

Back on the Chain Gang

Things had been jumping along pretty well up until the bug struck me earlier in the week. Now I'm still fighting with the side effects of that. About half boo boo tummy and an over production of everything mouth. Saliva, mucus.....swear words. All of it. Is it a set back? Yeah, most likely a small one. I'm hoping it's a short lived mucus factory. If not I'll have to take the damn suction with me everywhere, even for short errands. The little nasty vurp yesterday didn't help. All that acid makes my throat raw, which makes more mucus, which I can't swallow or spit, which makes me suction, which makes me have to hack up the gunk, which can make me vurp,  ei ei o. Tis a vicious circle that for a time is inescapable. But this like other things shall pass. I hope

 I'm back on the chain gang. For a bit I had a touch more freedom of getting out and moving around. The damn bug stopped that, and if this mucus thing doesn't settle down, I will have that sliced down some as well. Good taste, courtesy, and just plain being polite, I'm not going to vacuum the crap out of my mouth in a restaurant. That's not only gross, it's uncalled for. Same thing with a movie theater. I'll have to head to the car or the can. It's the only sensible thing to do, but it cuts into my fun time, and that chaps my white Irish ass just a bit. It takes part of my life on my terms out of my hands. That REALLY pisses me off. Having to alter what I do simply because I refuse to choke on something that's out of my control. Strange, you say, that something I can't control chaps my ass. It does, simply because it's my body. The damn thing is revolting (well, yeah, but that's from surgery) and I can't get an upper hand on it yet. I know the cancer is going to keep me from gaining control over things. But snot? Bullshit. I'll find something that works. Part of it is allowing the PA that hasn't so much as taken my BP to dictate what I know works for me. The set back is something of my own creation. I should paddle myself, but that's a bit on the kinky side even for me. But, alas, it is what it is and there's nothing for it but looking for a way to make it better. We are, however, heading closer and closer to cotton cutting. If there's a crop out there that may have something to do with my snotty self. There are a few things that get me good. Mesquite when it's setting pods, cotton when it flowers and when it starts to head, and milo when it heads up. Whew, plugged and snotty head for all three of those, and since I'm not in milo country, it's got to be the cotton. Yeah, that's the ticket, it's the coootttttoon.  Yeah

 Back on the chain gang too, because like all humans, I'm a creature of habit. As abhorrent as that seems to me I find it to be true. Looking back I railed against my habits, but I couldn't help it anymore than I could stop breathing. I'd try to break my routine, but it jacked the way the rest of my day went I just gave up and sighed. Now, like any rule there are exceptions. When I travelled, bike or car, the only habit I kept was the "Let's get up early, lazy", because face it, the best part of the day is before sunrise. There are two places where being up before 0500 is just a labor of Sisyphus for finding anything to do. Metropolitan areas, or small town. I've driven all over the place in Fort Worth at 0430-0530, looking for either coffee or donuts, or both. Well, not all over, but I've been more than a few miles on the scooter. None of my friends knew of any place, because they were never up that early, and I didn't know any locals to ask if there was such a place in existence. It seems coffee and donuts are elusive. The same thing with small towns. The LK has convenience stores, but their coffee sucks. And I don't want to go eat at a 24 hr diner. Even though I'm a pig and can do it, it's better if I don't eat two full breakfasts within three hours of each other.
Part of the reason I have these habits is efficiency. I'd get up, go lift and cardio for an hour to an hour and a half, shower, get into the work duds, go to the coffee shop early to make sure the girls weren't jumped while opening up, have a cup, read the paper, head to work. Once at work it was check well status on the computer program that had all the wells on pump off controllers, so I had an idea where to go look for trouble first. Check production. Make sure it looked reasonable, and try to find why it didn't if it looked jacked up. Check with the pumpers to make sure they had no issues, or to fix the issues they had or find someone that could if I couldn't do what they needed. Build well bore diagrams and pull history for the guys that chase the rigs. Put out new rod/unit designs on the new wells to make sure we got all the good out of both without causing surface or downhole failures. Work on the failure report on wells we had pulled the month before. Hit the field be no later than 0900, do field work until 15-1600. Finish daily reports, hit the highway home buy 17-1800. Dinner and in bed by no later than 2200, up at 0200-0230. Weekends I slept until 0430. Routine, but I got more done on my own than the two guys they hired to fill my spot. I had to, there was only one of me.
 

  Since November of last year, there hasn't been much routine at all. Other than visit the docs, ride around and stare at people working, or watch the boob tube. After January 22 the only routine was PEG tube feedings and meds. swell, that's not true. I spent time with my wife and kids. She argued for me until they started some PT, which got some gym time back and that greatly improves my attitude. I've also become a Facebook junkie. It's inconvenient  for and a bother for me to get out and around now, so I go walk and do my best to see some sunlight and other people, but really I'm kind of pinned to the house. I do not like this at all, but it is what it is, and I get out when I can for as long as I can every day. Even if it's just a drive across town or to a movie with the family. I've become a dang junkie though, to the things people post on news and other sites. It's addicting to me. I'm amazed, frankly at the lack of knowledge of how local and state governments work. Even more amazed at how much people think they deserve from their respective governments. I for one have never expected anything but a pain in the ass from any of them. I bitch about taxes, it's true. Federal, local, and state. Mostly local, because those boys can piss off more of my hard earned money per capita than the Fed. Shocking. But, I digress, this is about the Chain Gang.
 So yeah, I'm on this cancer chain gang that frankly pisses me off and wears me out more than my 18-20 hr days when I was working. The difference is, this chain gang changes from day to day. Yesterday I felt damn perky, didn't need to suction a lot (which is a God send). This morning it's been nothing but suction, cough until my sides hurt, feed, drug, suction again and in between suction some more. This is eating into my plans to at least get Liz out for a ride with the top down while it was still about half cool out. THAT pisses me off. Maybe I can con her into helping me sort out the brake issue on the bike. I've been putting that off, and I think it's because when I do, I can get her oil changed, checked up, inspected and then sold. Subconsciously I probably don't want to sell Fat Girl. I know I've got to, she's sitting in the garage looking 40 kinds of forlorn. She's supposed to have had at least 7,000 more miles on her this summer and I've let her down. She knows this, it upsets her. So, either I get her fixed, or I sell her to the dealer for less than I can get out of her to someone I know will ride her like she should be ridden.
  Back to family time. Today will be a suck ass  as far as family time goes, I'll take what I can get. Daughter and grandson are here, that's pretty cool. I'll see if he wont read me something. And there's always a chance the coughing and other stuff with calm down shortly and the day is salvageable for part anyway. I can grab Liz and we can head to the Farmer's Market, which around here is like a small craft sale rather than a big market like we were used to in farm country up north. I can taunt the dog with Milk Bones, but that's only good for a minute, HA! I'll suck it up, Buttercup and take the portable suction with us, and go somewhere. As long as it's not an eating establishment, the folks can pogue may hoane as far as it grossing them out. I'm not fond of having to do it either, dick heads. Or perhaps you think I enjoy drooling I can't control or hacking that I can't clear out. Bite me.

 OOOOOOO!!!! I'm already feeling more like the old me, it's already a good day. It's good because Baxter III hasn't beaten me yet. I CAN still get around. I don't HAVE to talk well to make myself understood, that's what middle fingers are for.
 Actually, yeah, I'm still doing things on my terms. I'm looking at the blog now and think it comes off a bit whiny. And if it does, tough shit, whiny was how I was feeling when I started it. I don't feel like that now at all. Now I feel tired! I'm still hacking and all, but it's not as bad as it was and that's a good thing. The family is up, and banging around. That's the best thing. Probably my greatest joy right now is sitting and listening. Really listening, as they go about their morning constitutionals. Right now they are holed up in my bedroom talking to Liz. I can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. My daughter and grandson getting him dressed. Her very familiar voice, his not so familiar but getting more so voice. He's pretty cool. Giving mom a bit of a hard time with school right now, but I understand why and so does she. He made a deal with YaYa Liz last night about school. I think it'll be a turning point.
 Liz is getting to be their "Go To" guy. She always was for me, but it's different having the kids go to her instead of me. It's heartening in the fact that they trust her and more so that she is willing to take on that job of listener and aid de camp. Sure, it bothers me a bit. I was getting used to being the "Go To" guy. I always hoped I didn't foul up too badly. They are good kids and adults. They don't need much from my other than a "yes, that's good" or "have you thought about" from me in the last few years. But every day slides me a bit closer to Critical Mass, and it's damn cool they will be left in strong, wise hands.
 Yes, I'll still be checking on them, make no mistake. And  until then, I'll move along and let them do what they want to do to help me out. They are all going to get see this to the end. I've got to make that part as big a help as I can for them. And, even though it cuts against my grain, I'm giving up a bit of my home independence to allow that. I've done so many things on my own in my life, maybe it's time to share some of the dying part. I'm beginning  to think that is where the true strength lies, knowing when to say, "I need help", not just going until you drop. I did that at work, why should home be any different? (because I never had to ask before, is why)

 Alright, that's enough blathering for one day.
 All y'all pull up your socks and grab......No, that's not appropriate. CARPE OMNIA!! And never turn loose

Back on schedule, kinda

Well, I'm back up at the proper time, now getting all the sleep at the same time would be wonderful. I slept a lot yesterday morning, then when  I went to bed at about 2230 or so, I was wide assed awake at 0145. Hmmmm, I'll try and stay awake longer today and maybe get all my sleep in one fell swoop. Part of it maybe from a damn nightmare. Well, it was either a nightmare or something bad came for me and a guardian angel and I kicked it's ass. I'm voting nightmare for now, unless it continues when I've not take ZQuil to help me sleep. Nyquil used to give me some fouled up dreams, no reason ZQuil wouldn't as well. Depending on what one believes, I won my fight against the bad guys last night. I know I sure woke up ready to knock some one on their ass, but felt like I'd already done it as well.

  Back to doing shit my way. I took this mucus thinning crap the PA and Dr with Hospice wanted me to take to make sure my gunk would cough up okay. After my protestations that I wasn't having any trouble keeping my throat and trach clear. I knew better, because I'd had bad experiences with Mucinex in the past. As in, yes, it thinned my mucus, but I can't swallow so what it did was make it hard to hack up to suction out. So I threw it up instead. Oh the joy of a good barf when there's nothing to keep it from going out your nose. Happened this morning at 0315. The best part of waking up is not throwing up, believe me. Soooooo, when the nurse comes to visit today I'm going to ask if she wants the rest of my OTC mucus thinner, because I'm not using it any more. I'll be back on the Sudafed/Benadryl bandwagon. Works best for me, and if I don't barf using it, all is well in my Kingdom. I'm sure there will be protests about that. Then again I'm dying, they aren't. If it becomes their turn to need Hospice, and I hope they don't have to use them ever, then they can decide what's best for them. Until then, if they get too snotty, I've got "Pogue" next to and "X" on my right but cheek. "Pogue" is kiss in Gaelic, "X" of course marks the spot.

  I get asked about how I'm feeling. That's kind of hard to pin down for me, actually. I ache a lot, but that was nothing new before I had cancer. I have broken bone issues, and I abused my body (damn near put abused myself, what a horrid mistake that would of been with this crowd) working like I did in the field. Some days are worse than others, but mostly with the pain patch and a dab here and there of Lortab, it's no big deal. Mentally? That's different as well. Hospice keeps asking me if I sleep at night, or during the day, or at all. Well yes I do. I know they are looking for signs of depression, and I'd bet my last buck that I probably am depressed to some extent, but not to the point that depression is what's keeping me from getting a full night's sleep. That's from waking up to hack my trach clear so I can breathe all that much better. I can breathe through my mouth and nose, but it's getting more difficult. Partly, I think, because of the time of the year. Partly because that's some of where Baxter is building his condo. My voice is getting gravely, so I know he's getting a but bigger. The positive side of that is I'm not sweating swallowing like I did before Chemo last December. That was a bitch to have to fight to get chow down. Now, of course, as long as the tube is clear, I get to eat. So yeah, I probably am depressed on some level. More frustrated that depressed, I believe. I was watching the Texans a bit last night and it dawned on me I've never been to a pro football game. OMG!!! Not that important, but ya know, I was in Houston when they played last fall. Coulda gone to a game. Didn't think I'd half to sweat it, figured "oh shit, next fall I'll arrange a check up and catch a home game the day before". Oops, miscalculation. On the other hand, I save myself a chunk of money not going! So, yeah, coulda been worse.
  The physical thing is what gets me, a lot. I know I can't do as much as I could. I don't have the muscle mechanics to over ride what's been moved around. I find too, if I flex my pecs, the one in my mouth flexes some as well. Funny, that's a pec in my mouth, no wonder it wants to tighten up. Bad thing is, when it does, it pulls on what's left of my jaw. A couple of times it's cramped hard enough to pop my jaw out for a second, then releases and snaps back in. That'll put the curds in your cottage cheese by gosh. What's happened as well is that it's tightened my neck up to the point it pulls my entire head forward. Makes my back and shoulders scream and me after a while and tell me I'm an ass and to get them some support before they make my pee pee in my pants just a little. Definitely not a positive side to that side effect at all. Now, on the plus end just a bit, they did release that some, so my posture improved almost immediately. It also made a series of muscles and tendons that hadn't worked since late January rediscover they have a job to do, and THEY get all angry with me if I'm not careful. Overall, though, that last surgery helped. And it's the last I'll ever have to do. When it came to a list of surgeries, my Dr at MDA said "That's enough, we're not sure you can stand another, because we can't fix the cancer. No use in putting you through more pain for zero gain". I like that attitude. I can continue to do what I can to help all this out, but I don't have to be sawn upon any more. I'm tellin ya that's a huge relief. I had a feeling something wasn't right, and while I like my plastic surgeon and his assistant, I didn't like being operated on, even if it was to help fix my face and neck. I always felt like I lost ground somehow. It just took a huge toll on me that I didn't let on about. Everyone was pleased, myself included, by the results. And when he came in, sat on the edge of my bed and said "Mr Smith, we found a spot and biopsied it. It looks cancerous". And even though I looked at him and said "Well, maybe it's a localized spot and that was all of it", I knew better.  Hearing that, though, a week later was a stunner for certain.

 Today I'm going to take some of the medical supply stuff I don't need anymore. I'm taking it to Gifts of Hope, Hope House. They provide a place for out of town cancer patients to stay free of charge. Eight private rooms, a kitchen, each room with a private shower. Gifts of Hope also helps those without or who are underinsured, monetarily or with direct purchase of some chemo drugs. I'm sure they can use some of the basic essentials for drain care and the like. They are a good bunch. I have been able to do much for them this year, darn it. I like the operation and the people that run it.

 What I've come to the conclusion at the end of this particular edition is this: "It coulda been worse". I say that a lot, whether I'm  healthy, sick, wealthy or broke. Because in all honesty it COULD have been worse. No matter what you're going through, it coulda been worse than it is. Hell's bells, I coulda dropped dead with they said "Palliative Care".  That also means I'd be missing out on some really cool time released addictive drugs.
 SIDETRACK!!!  Why on God's little green earth do they bother to tell a terminal cancer patient they might get addicted to their pain meds? Is it gonna matter? HA!! I think not! My Grandfather Green got entirely pissed off because they DID give my Grandmother Green Laudanum for her pain. "Why that stuff is opium and that's addictive!". Yes, Dell, it is and it is. On the other hand, ole Ruthie had a lot more good days than bad taking the stuff, and she was for certain going to die. Maybe they say that so the family members can blurt that out, then come to the realization that it's not going to matter in the long run. I don't think I'll be Jonesin' for a fix while I'm on the slab. Maybe it is for the family to come to that point where they can't deny what the inevitable is going to be. Which I suppose is better than just blurting out "Well, Rock, your ass is basically done for! Let's get stoned and enjoy it, whadya say?!"
 Wow, I'm harsh LOL!!
 Take care all you fine and amazing people. Watch yourselves, and for each other too, hear?

Up all night, Sleep all day

Damn, I can't sleep. I've fallen asleep for 20 or 30 minutes, but right back awake like I'd been asleep for 8 hours. Weird. I used to get insomnia on a regular basis when I was in my early 20's. Went about 6 weeks on 3 hrs sleep a night. Makes for a weird experiences believe me. Four to six hours used to do me pretty well, but I need more than that now. I think it's because I slept probably 18 total hours the day before when I was sick. Sadly, I don't feel too whippy right now, but that's because I can't sleep. What a vicious circle.

 So, what shall I talk about since I can't sleep? History? Sure, why not.
I was born in Russell Kansas October 26 1960. That was back in the day when they kept mom and baby for 5 days in the hospital. Ma said it snowed that Halloween when they brought me home. My earliest memory, I suppose, is standing in the living room watching the TV and seeing Pres Kennedy get shot. I was just 3, and not much past that. But I remember my mom coming in and not believing what was going on. Strange how you'll remember that kind of stuff. It was a big 2 story house that set in the middle of town. At the time, there was only one other house on that entire city block, and they moved it across town. Basically I had and entire city block for a yard. Pretty cool stuff for a little feller.
I did get in trouble for crawling down into the old foundation of the house they moved and coming out with a flattened kitty as a door prize. I also remember getting scrubbed nearly raw. Mothers are so picky. Notable things that happened. I got shot with a BB gun above my left eye. The kid that shot me squeezed it out like a zit. He was afraid his dad would beat him senseless, and I think he would, so we hitched up a story about me falling out of the tree. Ma and Pa didn't buy it, but squared it so the kid didn't get beaten blind. I broke an arm in first grade. Simple fracture. The Doc set it in his office without anesthetic. It only hurt for a couple of seconds, but I threw up all over him while he was casting me up.
Broke the other arm in second grade. Compound fracture. Did an overnight in the hospital. At the time you could buy school health insurance for a $1 a year. Covered anything that happened on school premises. Pretty nifty. We bought that until you couldn't anymore.
 I went to school in a 3 room school house. Grades 1,2, and 3 in one room. 4 and 5 in another, and 6 graders got their own room. 7 to 12 went to the High School. I think, in some respects that was a good thing. While we were learning one thing, the other kids were on something else, and by osmosis I think you pick that up. I know that when I went to 5th grade at a bigger school, I could read far better than the other kids in my class. Between fourth and fifth grade we moved out to a farm. A full section with a limestone house and barn. One stone had the date 1868 carved into it. The walls were 18 or so inches thick. Cool old house. We had 2 acres of yard and surrounding area that I mowed with a 20" wide mower. Pop taught me how to start it, took me 3 days to mow it all. Wait 3 days, then start over again, because it was wet that summer. I watched a horse and 40 head of registered Angus cattle for $3 a month. Learned to ride. Didn't have to rope, but the horse and I moved cattle from pasture to wheat, to pasture and back to wheat that summer. The summer was wet, but by September it'd stopped raining and the ponds were drying up. It snowed. A lot. The cattle couldn't get water, so I saddled the horse and moved them off the wheat into the pasture, and chopped a hole in the ice. Got extra sick after that, and the rancher still lost 6 calves to the cold.
 Moved to Great Bend Ks in time for 6th grade to start. Right along the Arkansas river. It flowed all the time then. I enjoyed school there. Wrestled, played basketball, ran track. We were on the not so wealthy side of town. Made some good friends there though. A bunch of us ran the heck out of the river, played like mad men for certain. Tough, man a couple of those guys were tough. One of em ran 4 older kids out of seats at a movie my mom paid for us to go see. Cracked on the head told them to move, because he'd told them the seats were saved. They didn't even blink. Just got up and left.
  Got the livin piss beaten out of me there too. A 16 year old 7th grader, with the help of 2 kids my age, just tuned my ass up big time. I ran home bawling. Dad thought it was just one of the little punk assed kids from up the street, and told me to quit cryin or go finish it. I bailed back into the 16 year old. Got some good licks in before the 2 ass weeds with them ganged in. 2 ass whippins in one day, from the same guy. My old man never forgave himself for sending me out there I don't think. At any rate, one of the river buddies older USMC brother tuned that kid and his older brother up a few months later.
 Moved from Great Bend to Liberal in time to miss 8 weeks of school there. I already discussed that in another blog. Liberal was a good place to live at the time. I wrestled one year, tore the piss out of a shoulder and hung up the wrestling shoes for good. I decided to work and play instead of organized sports at school. The work certainly wasn't at school, nooooo. If I cracked open 2 books in 5 years of school I'm sure it was a mistake. I didn't know how to study because I didn't have to study, not to get by in HS. That's both a good and bad thing. I didn't know how to study when I went off to college. And you really need to know how to study if that's what you want to do.
 Nope, I worked. Mowed lawns to start. Worked at the mobile home park we lived in until July 1, 1975. Dad had a hand twist off in the middle of a work over. At 0430 my bed room light comes on and dad threw me a pair of gloves and said "Hang these on your shit hooks, we have work to do". First day in the oil field. Finished that work over. Then the rest of the summer we did a minimum of 2 pump changes a day up to 4 a day, depending on depth and distance between. My ass dragged all summer long. Made enough that summer that I could have cruised through school without a job, but that didn't seem right. Got my learners permit and went to work cleaning the shop and helping with inventory at the International Harvester dealer. Worked at least 2 school vacations for dad, since hands would cut out during holidays. The IH dealer closed and I went to work for Yankee Clipper. Like Long John Silver's only I thought better. It gave me a healthy respect for people in food service. It's also the first job I told a boss and manager that someone needs to decide who makes the rules, because I wasn't going to get my ass chewed out twice trying to please both people, and quit. It's the only job I quit out of anger without anything to go to first.
 Worked at OTASCO changing tires and delivering furniture and appliances. L Frank Osborn and I made a pretty decent team. Wendall Wilke, the manager was somethin else. He and the assistant manager Roy Arnold used to take me with them on repossessions. No fun that, believe me. It only got hairy once. Roy and I went to Hugoton to get a freezer, the guy bowed up, Roy stepped into a stance, I picked up a board. And that's as far as it went, thank gosh. Frank and I delivered stuff in two of the worst pick up trucks you've ever seen. POS has those trucks pictures under it in the Encyclopedia.
 High lights is all this is. And there may be more farther down the road.

 My buds and I did some crazy shit. But that's going to be up to them to tell those tales. I don't wanna come off as big headed! HA!

 Although, even the highlights are part of what makes me who I am, and why I do what I do. It was never so bad that I couldn't find some bright spot somewhere. It's still that way. Funny shit happens everywhere, you just gotta look for it. Otherwise the dark side of things is all you'll find, and that's a piss poor place to put yourself.

I feel better

SORRY THIS IS LATE!! I SLEPT IN!!
The sad thing about having cancer is that it takes longer for me to do everything. Even heal up from a dang 24 or so hour bug. My entire system is a bit compromised and it's something I don't think I'll ever get used to having be so slow. The surgery did a lot of mechanical damage, making is harder for me to get around. It's amazing that cutting on your mouth, neck and taking things out of your chest can screw up your entire mobility. It's true. I can't lie flat, my equilibrium is jacked up and I have limited motion. Although the motion gets better as I stretch. I want to still drive and go places on my own, so I work on range of motion a lot. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep taking myself places, but I am going to do that as long as it's possible. My voice sounds more gravelly to me now too. I don't know if that's from the virus and it being irritated or if it's the cancer slopping around down in there someplace. Either way I'm sure it's moving along at it's own "giddy up go" pace and there's nothing that will stop it.
 Of all the things that's not working right with me, the darn cancer is working just fine. That's the damnable shame of it ain't it? While bits and pieces of me start to fail, ole Baxter Jr just keeps chugging along. While I knew this was going to be the case, it's still a bit to wrap my head around. I get tired faster, which makes it harder to do the exercises that will keep me healthier longer. If that's not the shits, right? My repaired spots start to cramp more frequently, I'm not sure if that's the cancer or something mechanical within the muscles themselves, but it's weird. But, the things that are working fine still are a nice thing to have. I'm getting some strength back and better motion out of both arms, which is a good thing. Unless I'm tired and sick, like yesterday, the old noodle still works fairly well too. I'm hoping that's the one part of me Baxter can't touch. How awful it must be to lose yourself as a cancer chews away your mind. Sad really.
 I get asked some about a bucket list. What's a bucket list? If I've tried  and succeeded in doing most of the things I've really wanted to do, why do I need a bucket list? Seriously, your life should be a bucket list. You see something you want to do, arrange to get it done now, while you're young and healthy enough to get away with doing it. Farting around until your old and facing death is silly as hell. Trust me, you'll be too tired, too sick and could actually care less about jumping out of a plane (I really could care less about jumping out of a plane, but I know people that love it). Let's see, what have I done that could be bucket list material.
I drove a friend in his Dad's Sunbeam Tiger flat on the floor, because he liked it. I've no idea how fast we went. Over 150 I'm sure.
I've ridden motorcycles in 10 states, the other 40 would have been cool, but shipping to Hawaii would have been bat shit. The others...well, it'd been nice, but some never get that feeling at all, right?
I've ridden rollercoasters
Been to Las Vegas and never come back with less that we went with. Not too shabby breaking even
Been in love, had beautiful babies that are growing up into great adults
I got custody of my kids when only 1% of fathers who tried got custody
I've laughed, been mad, then laughed at being mad
Worked at the job I always enjoyed and wanted to work, even if I didn't see it at the time
I've fought and won and fought and lost. Generally lost HUGE!! HA
Played pool for money.
Pushed a guy down a flight of stairs for wanting to fight because I wear a kilt. (He bounced quite well, thank you, and never came back upstairs)
I laid out our back patio stuff.
I've taken some medals in Scottish Heavy Athletics. I'm proud of those, being a mediocre athlete that was some of the best throws I'd done
  In short, I've done just about everything I wanted to and gotten everything I really wanted. The only thing I'm not going to get that I honestly really want is cured of this cancer and go back to my life. That's just not going to happen this time.
Sure, I've done things I'm not proud of, but I'd do them again. If nothing else to prove that I was right in feeling wrong about doing it, and strive to never do that shit again. I've tried to do what the right thing is, and often I've missed the mark. I still try to do what's right ahead of anything else. In some cases that's made me popular with some, unpopular with others. Those are opinions and have little bearing on me personally. If someone tells me I screwed up, and I have, I'll accept that and move on.
 My life has been my bucket list. To try and find anything else that I'd like to do with all my heart is just not going to happen.

  Maybe we should all strive to do that. I've had a lot more fun that some folks, maybe less than others, but I've always done what I damn well pleased. That's the true bucket list, ain't it

A Damned bug, that's what I've got, a bug

Crap, shit, dammit, rats. I'm sick. And yes I already know I've got cancer, and that makes me sick. This is the low back pain, chills, burn up, freeze, more low back pain, chills, burn up, vicious cycle of some kind of damed bug. Normally I wouldn't say anything to the wife other than "I've got a bug, leave me the hell alone". That way I can sleep, let the aspirin do it's thing for he fever, and eat a bite when I'm sweating or freezing to death. The dang cancer even took the fun out of lying around on the couch watching "Match Game" reruns on the Game Show Network. Oh, and Hollywood Squares. Why? you ask, since I can do that anyway. Welly well, let's explore a bit, shall we?
 All that stuff I'd get when I was a kid? Yeah, I can't eat or swallow any of that. The chicken noodle soup (I liked the stuff that came out of the pouches better than the canned), a little grape juice, some 7-UP, I can't get any of that in and swallow it. Depressing. I can get a taste of it and then go to the PEG Line in my stomach. Oh Joy!!!  not so much. I mean damn, right?  I loved to let a saltine cracker just kind of dissolve in my mouth. Until I was in Jr High School, mom was home and would wait on me. Actually, that was only cool for a couple of hours, then I'd rather be left alone to sleep and all. Here we are back to touch again, though. Remember how nice it was for your mom to come in, set on the couch and rub your feet or stroke your hair? Does it get much better than that? That feeling of being loved and secure, knowing full well it's like that every day, but being sick just brought that out for you to see.
   Now I have this "vanity" issue, and it's a shame I can't see to get around that personally. They butchered the hell out of me getting rid of Baxter Jr. Left my face swollen and cut and scarred. I can't control most of my drool issue, and that's only going to get worse. I'm way less self conscious now than I was say 3 months ago. I'm just not as sensitive about going out in public to be stared at by dolts who don't know how fucking lucky they are to have all their parts and pieces. At first I only went out late at night or way early in the morning, just so I wouldn't be seen. I blew that off as just liking to get up really early. And I still do, but that wasn't why. I was ashamed of my looks. Odd, how now that I'm croaking, I am to the point I don't care if they stare or not. I'll write a nasty message on my board hand hold it for them to see. One feller took umbrage to that and called me all kinds of names. Which I thought was funny, since he ended up looking stupid, not I. Which leads me to this: I don't want to be screwed with right now. I know my wife and kids love me, they show me that hundreds of times a day. I also know that I'm being foolish. But I don't want them to feel pity for me. I don't think they do, but I don't want that at all. I'm going to have to look at this silly feeling again, and get rid of it. What a waste of my time, wondering if the fan gets grossed out or not. I'm sure they do sometimes. (I can freak the oldest out just by taking the whole tracy tube out and showing her the hole in my throat). The fact of the matter is, I'm shutting off a part of the fam that I really need and want. Why YES!!! I am a goober.
 I don't like to be a burden on anyone, ever. But the facts are that I'm going to become a burden, and I'd better get to making all I can of this time before I get really bad and I start to wear thin on everyone. See, this is what pisses me off worst about this go around. Last time I still took the kids to school, I drove myself around (which I do now as well) and knew I was going to get back to near top form. I managed to make that. Right now is as good as I'm going to feel over the coming months. Now, that doesn't scare me, but it pisses me off to have to rely on someone else to help take care of me. That's a sad state of affairs for me to be in. I love the family and friends, but I feel like I'm making them go that extra mile that shouldn't have to go. I'm not quite sure how to get rid of that, but it's gotta go.
   So, I've got this damn but, and I'm sitting here bathed in sweat, nodding off at the laptop. Honestly feel really bad. I was hurt, and sore from the 3 surgeries, but that I expected. And it was a different kind of sore.  This is achy feel like poo sore. I'm beginning to turn into a whiny little shit. I hate whiny little shits. So, I'm going to try and make do with this as best I can. As soon as the oldest gets up and gets her kid off to school, I'm going to teach her how to fill the gravity bag so I can take in more water and lemonade. For some reason my body really likes Country Time lemonade. I don't know what it is about it, but it sure makes me feel better all over. I'm going to set with her and go over some of the things that are coming down the road that I'm going to need help with (that just frosts my cupcakes), and maybe while we are at it, I can explain to her why I'm so very proud of her. And the youngest daughter too. I know it's not easy for either one of them. The youngest is getting better at hangin around with me, and I like that. She's sharp and has a wonderful sense of humor. More people need to be like my daughters.
My sons are both creative. Turns out Declan gets bored and writes. He writes well too. I'm pleasantly surprised. I even catch him reading from time to time. That's cool. Chance, he's a creative chef. His plating work is without rival, I think. He combines flavors better than anyone I've ever met, and is driven like I never was. That's pretty cool.
 So, I'm going to let it go at this. I'm sick, I'm whiny, and I really don't care. It could be worse, I could be looking out of a marble box wondering why I'm all powdery.

 Until next time! Major Astro, OUT