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                                                                                                

It's True, it seems like a Month of Sunday's Since I've been Here

     Sorry about that. As much as I hate the damned "time to recharge my batteries", that's exactly what I've been doing. Recharging me, just a little. I was completely tired and worn out. I've been falling asleep almost anywhere I sit down. That one bothers me worse than anything other than the cancer itself. At times it makes me absolutely ecstatic that I don't smoke any longer. I can't imagine sitting here with a butt smoldering away and then to have it catch the entire house and burn it to the ground. Like I don't have enough of me to feel bad, that would trump  them all and probably end up killing me. The cancer would love for me to get down so far they had to pump light and air down so I could stay living. Nope, I'll bypass that. I here it's one of two things, or maybe both at once. One could be the lovely drug cocktail I have twice a day, or it's the fact that the cancer is causing it, because it's wearing me out fighting it. I think it's probably both. At any rate, I was woken twice yesterday asking if I needed a blanket or not, or if I was going to sleep. I said "No" to both. Half right. I didn't need the blanket, I was comfortable. Yes, I was going to sleep, because I woke up in the same position I was sitting in the recliner when I was asked if I was going to sleep. Yes I did, dammit, did it look like I wanted to fall asleep? (That makes me laugh at myself, what an 'Ultra Maroon" as Bugs Bunny would say.

   Seriously, though. that's something I never encountered before. Falling asleep like that, so suddenly. It did if I'd been up for hours on end (60 hours straight at the GCDU one time, was so tired I told them to suck my dick and the old douche bag Z can have my fucking job". Yes I said that, damn near verbatim. Luckily I kept my job. As I say, the only time I've dropped off like I do now, I was totally exhausted. Right now, I fall out if I'm exhausted, sitting in my recliner, or trying to find something to watch on the boob tube. (They say boob tube, but I've not seen a boob one, excluding Skinamax, and I don't like to count that, only the stuff my kids could watch or watch with me. If they are asleep, I've got  no problem watching skinamax all by myself. With the falling asleep like I do, I'm afraid that something bad is going to happen. God, I hope not. On the positive side, I can't syphon gasoline any longer, since without a soft palate, having to plug the trach tube, hold my nose, and honestly barely able after all that to even get the gasoline moving. Positive side: I won't be swallowing any gas. Funny how I can find something good in all the shit I can find that's wrong. "What kind of fooooool am " (no, I still can't sing a note, even if my life meant being able to do that. Just shoot me now, rather than have to face the embarrassment.

   I'm going to warn you now, if you're squeamish, don't check this out on Facebook, no way no how. This is the part that shows you on a personal level that I've warned about before. I've mentioned before that sometimes the gross shit will show up. I've been a bit lax in that department so on Facebook I'll play catch up. It's not going to be pretty. We'll go from there. Why do I say "We"? Because I'm in this boat with all of you. Sadly enough, I am forced to see all the fucking nasty, gruesome, shit because I'm living it. Things get tough, I ain't shittin ya, when you have to work around all the crap going on with your own little body. (Or as Jonathan Winters used to say 'Allllllll over my little boooooody'." I see how much I've lost as far as fat and muscle mass I've lost over this gig. I lost, Some of you have asked, and I've said "I'd rather not, it makes me uncomfortable and is embarrassing." Not for me entirely, but for some folks out there in "Never Never Land". But, I had a dream last night that had my old man, his dad, and a couple of other men I respected and always looked to please them. Not because they demanded that I work like that in order to keep them happy. Making certain people have a good day isn't in my "Golly!!! I've got to work harder and better to keep these guys happy! I do it because it pushes me to be a better employee and person." A side bar, if I may. It bothers me so because I've got a point to compare the "Fuck I'm Healthy", to "Fuck me, I'm disappearing". This is where my vanity kicks in, and reality bitch slaps the flying fuck out of me, and what makes me sad on some days.
   The damn mood swings piss me off as well. One minute I'm coasting along feeling damn good, like I did 16 months ago, then quicker than a kick in the nuts, something small, large, or by God just medium will spin my top like there's not freaking tomorrow. Do I feel better inside? Well, frankly, yes I do
it's a HUGE valve that allows me to get that built up anger out, and I can go along being the lovely, sweet, kind hearted man we all have grown to love. (crap, even I giggled over that).

  I've had some extra trouble, at times, of catching my breath so my heart doesn't have a run away. It's not so bad really, to have my heart race. It's not done that in ages. The difference now, it's not followed so closely with an over abundance of Endorphins.  Like getting high without the smoke. This go around it's not that way at all. I don't get the Endorphins that like I did. I do, however, find it relaxing, without the endorphins.  I'm going to close this with a quick story about me, my little brother, and a 1969 Dodge Dart.

  The summer of 1969 was fun. We'd just moved into the ranch, it was rainy so all the ponds were brim full and the fishing was fabulous. My Grandfather Green (my moms dad) was visiting for about a week I believe. Anyway, boys being boys. We got into a real live pissing contest. My little brother won, dammit, and I had to give up my share of the 12 bottles of Orange Crush. In the end, I was devastated. So much so that I dared him to piss on the electric fence. What I did with that (may be I should save this one.   Naw, it belongs).  I dared him, as part of the bet, that he couldn't piss over the entire Dart without getting piss all over it. So, the starts to piss just behind the car, and walks sideways, the entire length of the Dart Coupe, without getting a drop on it anywhere. Now, our Grandfather saw it, called my mom, he was pissed, she was Laughing. Laughing won. While I had to give up 3 Orange Crush sodas (the joke was on him. I saved bottles and pay and put the money back into Grape Crush Neener Neener) it's a sight that will stick with me for the rest of my life.  That was before noon, my dad had hear all about it after he got home. With four out of five laughing so hard, and still not being able to do that, or turn a big caber, doing both are absolutely wonderful memories, along with the four hundred Jazzillion I should have enough to run me, at least for a while
                                                                                  

Back On The Hunt

    Just so everyone knows, yes, the Cancer is getting the best of my body right now. Not gotten  as far as my mind yet (though some would speculate it's been there since 1962) and I am on  the hunt to prevent that. I have the rare chance to have some asked for and been given help. Hopefully they can stand what Baxter dishes out so at least my mind stays clear. Found my Spirit guides again, and since they are all past lives I've led, I had the chance to jump them out. They never left, they were just being quiet, because I had it under control.  All the prayers all of you who follow the blog have put in for me, got the three of them together to help give me strength, which is all I've ever asked to have in the first place. I didn't pray for a cure, nor did I ask any of you all to pray I'd be cured. Held hope for miracles? Of course, but that wasn't the main reason. I've seen many prayers that ask for me to be given some relief from the pain. And that's happened. Liz, who know me better than anyone (sorry, long term friends, she knows things about me I'd never tell even my best friends) seems to become suddenly aware of when I can't hold the pain down, or when I've become anxious (and I hide the signs of that pretty damn well) and she's made the call to my Hospice nurse, and Kent has come by early to check on and take care of me. That doesn't happen by accident, that comes from all of you praying, holding the good thoughts for me, or just plain asking the Karma Police if I can get a break. Liz and I appreciate all that you do for us. We share better now and that in itself was no easy feat, believe me.  So, from the Straight Jacket files, all three of my past lives have come to help again. The way it feels, I think one brought along a trusted friend to help out some one close to me. Anyone not feeling like you're all there, don't panic, it's a trusted friend of one of my past lives. You're fine, and helping out too.

  I am back on the hunt. I've  managed, after a miserable fucking week of either non stop pain, or complete mental exhaustion from sparring with Baxter, to find that place I can go to do the most damage to the cancer, and the most help for my presence of mind. With the head clear, I can work a little biofeed back and fight the cancer without exhausting myself. Your encouragement, and my stubborn attitude have helped the family and I keep me running longer than I had expected. Without you all, my family wouldn't be as effective, I don't think. Not because they didn't and aren't trying, but they are few, but with you all backing them up with prayers and positive thoughts for me to have strength they are successful. This is one of the few occasions where "many hands make light work" fits. In most of my work experience over the last 39 years (yes, I still count this and 2013) the adage is more honest written like this: "Many hands make me want to tell you to get the fuck out of my way so I can work". I do not believe that's how it's meant to work, accurate, but not the intent. It's rough, sometimes, keeping the positive attitude, even knowing full well, if I don't, I'm going to die faster.  The Old Scratch that is cancer can't stand it if your attitude is good. It can't thrive there. Sure, it can continue to grow, but it can't grow as fast as it can if you quit fighting and just let things happen. If I'm being honest with you all and myself, I've knocked months off my life, for just the day or so when I felt like giving in.
I can feel that in my bones. If you're honest with what your body tells you, it will show you where to turn next. Even I do that, "Oh Bull Shit! You can't be right. But it is nearly every time. I like it to throwing the heavy weight over the bar in heavy athletics. My best throws ever, is when I've relaxed and let my body to what it has been taught to do…And on it's way up, that 42# or 56# weight feels like it's weightless. Everything working at once and in harmony. That was worth a foot on the 56# and almost 2 feet, almost a foot with the 56#, all from paying attention. So, I'm back on the hunt, let's see how long I can make this work.

   Once, back in the old days, I was off playing with the guys who's dad owned the Sinclair filling station. In fact, after the offices in front, their house was right out back. In those days, we wore keys, or off brand tennis shoes. None of them were very good at keeping things like nails out of our feet and the like. Anyway, I'm playing away with these guys and step on a board with a hail coming up. Right into my foot is went. I was only about 5 so yeah, I cried my ass off all the time I was pulling that piece of board off my foot. Bear in mind, there were 3 of those Irwin (knew I'd remember it LOL), me and two kids I didn't recognize. Only one Irwin kid was my age, the rest of that guy were 9 or ten. Anyway, I'm boo hoping taking the nail and board off my shoot with tone of those Irwin boys said "If you don't want that to happen,  wear boots, piss pants. So I drilled the loud mouth. Ohhhh what a mistake that was!! I got dog piled, then 9 or 10 year old grabbed my left arm and bit the piss out of it. Black blue teeth marks and blood running out of some of those. "Go tell your daddy cry baby! My dad isn't afraid of yours!" Turned out they were wrong. I rode back up there with me dad. He showed the Irwin's dad my arm, then said a bunch of stuff really fast ( I think one of them was "I won't bite your arm, I'll pull the mother fucker off and shove it up your ass". We went out back. I went first and all those kids were laughing their asses off, until my dad came our with Mr. Irwin. He was pretty pale if I remember correctly. We stood there while he tanned everyone's ass, doubled down on the biter. I did have to have a tetanus  shot, and had to carry my arm in a sling for a month from all the surface damage from the biting.

  Later on, if First grade, one of the Irwin boys was in third grade in my room with me. He made fun of me for the first two weeks of school. He never could explain how my spit his lips on the leg of the slipper slide, but I knew. No, I didn't blind side him, I was just so mad there wasn't shit he could do about running, fighting back, or keeping me from bouncing his mouth along that post until I got tired. Only 5 or 6 times, I think. None of the former Parochial School kids messed with me after that. It was a quiet ride, up to 5th grade when we moved and I had to go to school in Russell Kansas. It seemed like a metropolis to me, being so small and all.

Hugs and french kiss all day LOL                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

 

Wow, Time Got Away From Me

  It's gotten to the point, or damn close to it, that I count "Good Hours" instead of "Good Days" versus "Bad Days".   It's been a couple of weeks since I had a complete Good or Bad Day. The Bad Days overtook the Good Days about ten days back. I didn't let on so much because I wasn't entirely certain myself. I mean, geez, I didn't keep a record of Good Vs. Bad Days. Too much like Mad's "Spy Vs Spy", and we can't have that at all. I've had the damn Anxiety mixed in with Restless Leg Syndrome. I tried to tell them it was just my feet wanting to see how far up someone's ass I could shove a boot, even as poorly as I feel. They did not buy that. Now the swapped Xanax for Diazepam (Valium) but they won't let me mix the two. Must be some problem there I don't see, and I didn't ask, which is odd in itself. Damn Valium knocks my pee pistol in the dirt. Not that that is such a bad thing, and I don't set around with my feet and legs flopping like a fish out of water, and that's a good thing.  The Jaw, well that's another story. Still get hit HARD with that bone pain, just not as often, and the tendon pain is getting a bit better. Both of those are good things. The sad thing about this list of good things is how quickly they get separated from the rest of me. Apparently my individual body parts don't have a GPS.
  The crux of all this is that once I'm up, if the day looks good, and I feel fine, chances are now that failure to maintain that is coming up. Had a bit of that this morning. I hated it, but I did get some steam blown off, and I got to spend a pretty darn enjoyable time with Liz. Which later on went sideways for that as well. So you see. One minute I'm hunky dory and the next my everything hurts and I can't get shit right with an adding machine and someone using it for me. Which makes it hard for me to be lovable, which I am, really. And why is that? It's because I'm losing ground, and I've lost my spirit guides. The three past lives that I've had. I can't find them anymore. I don't know what's become of them.

  A couple of weeks ago my sister Kathy mentioned she's seen me as a Highlander, Templar Knight, and a Viking.  Cool stuff by golly. I think she's correct. When I was in Houston, I refused 99.9% of the pain killers they gave me, because quite frankly I didn't need them. So I worked on my self hypnosis to help me sleep. It worked alright, but also cranked up my mind for some other things. I don't know what  came first for Kathy, but I saw the Templar Knight. He was off his horse, praying. I hope he was praying for strength as he guides me through my pain, and later the near fear and debilitating news that there was no more they could do for me, surgery, chemo, radiation damn sure out. That'd kill me. So, he was there, then a few nights later, I'm  doing the same thing. I find it easier to get to the "relaxation" areas of my brain when it's a little more quite. Like a hospital ward offers. So out I go and the Viking shows up, he too is looking for strength for an upcoming battle, and he asks the Hammer of The Gods to help him be brave and steadfast. From what I saw, he was. I got close, asked for some guidance, he laughed and walked away. Well, he didn't need me for a ride, so that didn't bother me. Two weeks later, we are close to going home. Seriously leaving Houston and only coming back for check ups. That's when I saw the Highlander. Same thing, asking for help to be brave and strong, no matter what happens. I can relate, I do that myself. I did have a ride, and he did accept it. He was meeting with two other men that he said I'd already met.
  Sure enough, the Templar and the Viking were there. We stopped, they talked about helping guide me  in my quest for relaxation and pain. And which is better for right now. I mentioned the woman and how she wouldn't sell, loan, or just give me a bite. The said that was okay. I'll have other choices down the stretch. Then it dawned on me, these guys are my guides. General Patton believed in reincarnation, why shouldn't I? They all have different attributes. The Viking is relentless in his quest to wipe my cancer out, with my help. We fight, laugh, have a couple of huge drinks, and go back at it. The Templar, he's God's right hand. He won't fight unless you feel the person he's fighting isn't from God. Then there's a problem, they Templar will hill them. The Highlander, he's honorable, brave, and a fierce fighter. He has no problem with killing what ever is killing me. So he doesn't like cancer either. He was glad that the fight was at his front door this time. I've got to find the hole it went with, go in, kill  what's there, then come out the other  Side. I'm a bit torn. Let him take the turn he wasn't going to take, or follow him a bit to see what I'm supposed to do, or if I'm to help him. It'll come to me.

  I'd shoved all this to the back of my mind. And, foolishly, torn out the pages of Lortab schedule of which I'd been keeping track. Then thinking about what I'd written down about the three past lives of mine, I thought it best to ditch that shit too. So I did. After Kathy mentioned it a week or so back, it had been killin me trying to figure out who these guys were. Mental imagery, wishful thinking, or spot on. I chose spot on as the winner. Not because there's more to this world or the next than the eye can see, or is able to see. But because the places we've traveled, folks and I, Liz, kids, and I, me by my lonesome. At one time or another I'd catch a glimpse of one helping me look out for the stupid shit I have nearly stepped in. Sometimes two or all three, when things were going really well. But, I've lost them. The stuff I used to do to find them, finds empty space.

  Liz believes they have brought me along as far as they can, that they are waiting for me. That's a possibility I can see. Since they are essentially me, at different lives I've been given, at different times in History, certainly they would be waiting. I do hope I am slated for at least one more life. And that somewhere, Liz is going to share THAT life with me as well. The really cool thing might be that Liz and I have always been together, although that's not what I picked up from the Templar or the Viking. Neither one of those lives had "wife" written in for any reason I can find. Although, the Viking was way into North America before he had to go at it alone.

 Time to close this out, before the Loony Squad gets me fixed up with one of those extra long sleeved shirts with now end in them at all.