What Makes Me Want To Bounce A Round Thru A Person

 

  Well, several things, actually. But, the two word phrase "I Can't" just makes my blood scream for a fresh hollow point for the hand cannon. Can't, can't, can't. Paralyzed, those folks with birth defects that either keep them physically or mentally from being on top of their game, Can't is acceptable for them. Some diseases, Parkinson, Alzheimer's, those are a couple that come to mind quickly. All those things are outside the person's ability to control that portion of their lives. What I'm talking about is hearing "I Can't" from perfectly healthy people who would rather quit trying, or NEVER try at all. Christ that burns my ass. "I can't!".  Why? "I don't know how." That's not a "can't" problem, that's an education problem. Let me explain. It's within a person's ability to learn how to do "X". That puts it within your grasp, so that you CAN. I would rather hear, "Right now, I don't know how. Would you show or teach me?".  Well hell yes I'll teach or show you how. That puts it as a learning curve and eliminates "I Can't". IF (huge word for only two letters) it shows that a person doesn't have the physical or mental ability to do said project, it's still no longer an "I Can't". It has become an "Unable".  Explanation of why I see it that way. "I am unable to do that job. I've learned and practiced, but it is still beyond my ability." That sucks the life out of "I Can't" like nothing else. Am I able to play football? No. Was I ever able to play? Sure. Since I am unable now, doesn't allow me to say, "I Can't".   I've heard "I Can't" so many times in the last two years I've been on disability I've lost track.  There is no age limit to the self destructive "I Can't Syndrome", either. Six to Sixty or older. The time is approaching that I will no longer be able to drive. I'll become a hazard to myself, but more importantly to others on the highways. That's frightening to me. It's not an "I Can't", but rather an "Im physically unable any longer".  The entire time of one's life should be a learning experience. Something that "I Can't" won't be able to touch. It's an attitude, carried proudly from one end of your life to the end of your life. I hope, almost beyond hope, that young people can change and follow that, instead of quitting before you've even begun.

  Boy, that was a self righteous rant, huh? Tough shit, my blog I can be self righteous if I want. Bwaaaahahahahaha. (That's an evil laugh, don't ya know).

    I'm counting my days like this, now. One good day, one really bad day, the other five are bad in general. What that means is that taking them as an average, that's how I feel now. Between last week on the tenth, and this week on the seventeenth, my lymphatic system above my collar bones has shut down. For the most part, I really don't know for certain if it's completely shut down, all I can say truthfully is that I don't drain fluid thru my system like I did on the tenth. When we started this Lymphedema Therapy, I told my therapist that I would tell her when we were finished. She didn't trust me then, or on Thursday either, but I fooled her and told it was over before we even got started. She asked if I still wanted a session. I wrote, "Yes, on my right leg. I'm limping again and it's very tender."
She saw it right away, and before I left, I wrote how much I appreciated her help and how we did the best we could. I told her how much she helped my life be more normal than I would have thought possible. There are a couple of factors that happened on Thursday that you all will never see nor will I write about them on Facebook, or in e-mail for that matter. Suffice it to say that what I saw in my mirror told me the time was up. Within five hrs. of waking up, I'd made my mind up that we had come to that intersection of this road that we should quit the therapy.  After tears from the nice women and longer than necessary manly hand shakes and slaps upon the back, I hit the road, knowing that for 14 months, my life was better because the therapy was able to help me from swelling so bad I couldn't move my arms. I will work doubly hard at home to help prevent that if it's possible. So far as I can tell, I've got my work cut out for me. I've already got a lymph gland under my left arm that's swollen. Not tender, though, so it may be Baxter showing his face.

     Four more days since the Doctor at MD Anderson said, "Mr Smith, Mrs Smith, the cancer has returned. There are no further surgeries we can do for you, as we've taken all the bone and tissue that is safe. The chemo therapy is no cure, and may give you an extra month or two. Radiation, as well, is out of the picture, you've received the maximum dosage in 2007 and 2008. All that's left is palliative care, and that we can set up here. We've made the appointment for as soon as you leave here, if you wish."
  Poor Liz, she broke out in tears. The new doc didn't know me well enough to speak up, since I'm hard of hearing. Worse now, by the by, thank you. So I didn't hear "Palliative". What I did hear was "Mr Smith, Mrs Smith, waaa wa waa wa. Wa wa wa, wa wawa wa. Wa wa wa wa, wawa wawa wawa". then tears. No fool am I, I asked Liz to step out so the Quack…ummmm Doc could have a word. So, the word I got was 8-12 months. With Chemo? 8-12 months and being sick. "Would you like to be on a clinical trial for new chemo therapy?" Will it cure me if it works? "No, but it might make you live longer" How long? "Two or three months, but it is very harsh and you'll be ill" Ever throw up without a soft palate to keep it from coming out your nose? "No, I've not" Fuck the Clinical Trial then. Fairly much word for word. My only wish then was, that I had a full voice with which to tell him "Fuck the Clinical Trial, then", darn it.  So this has been my last year. Waiting, working on keeping myself as healthy as possible, having fewer and fewer good days, watching my energy level drop off slowly. Bad as it sounds, it's life, isn't it. Some, including myself on really, God awful bad days, say it's not much of a life. That's true, but it's my life, and I've got to live it as fast and far as I can carry it. I'd love the bike, Fat Girl, to be a bigger part of this part too, but alas, for the moment anyway, she's off limits. This I hope to remedy shortly.

  Alright, kids and adults, and adults who still think and act like kids (generally we live longer. i'm not the rule, but the exception that proves the rule). Go forth and have as much fun as you can muster.

The Weekend, Take a Beating, and Keep Ticking…Mostly

   Liz landed into her second Highland Games like a trouper! I am so proud of her I could burst a seam. If I had any left that hadn't already burst that is. She is amazing. I kid you not, amazing. Several of her distance throws were over a foot farther, one was just over 3' farther. You've no idea how big that is, in terms of improving, without having the time to practice, nor most of the implements. Somewhere along the line I've gotta scrounge some equipment for her. Some I can make, others, well, that's gonna be more difficult. She is going to be a great athlete, shit, she is ALREADY a damn good athlete, and better than I think I ever was. She has determination cut from solid steel. She knows how, almost intuitively, and has muscle memory from high school from track and field then. She takes direction well from a woman I think is one of the best coaches around. She's quiet, to the point, and will tell you exactly at what point you are screwing the pooch. I could feel it, and she could see and tell me,  but I never seemed to be able to connect the two pieces. Shamefully I say, but she'd tell you I was just hard headed. Anyway, if Liz keeps this cooking along, and uses the very nice woman for a coach, she'll be very good. Liz put up very good numbers, and took I believe a very respectable third place.

  All of my wishing and wanting isn't changing the fact that I'm no longer the big dog distance and time rider/driver that I was two years ago. Hell, lets make it simple, even six months ago I could drive longer and farther without feeling like someone has pounded the piss out of me all the way around. Now, yeah, it's a bit like that. So, Liz and I leave about four hours later on Friday than I intended because I'd been about half woozy and somewhat unsteady that morning. From 0300 until just after noon. Unsteady enough that I didn't trust myself driving even the short distance to pick up stuff I wanted, but didn't need, really. So I rushed around, sliced up the bread I baked to share with the other athletes, and whipped up a little honey butter, and off we went. At 1400 instead of 11 or 1200 like I was really wanting to hit the road. Off to Pflugerville (pronounced Fluegerville, for those unaccustomed to german spelling) we go. For crying out loud, some friction electrical thing has knocked the vents for the A/C into some kind of fouled up Purgatory. Yeah, yeah, sitting for two years I know didn't help. The sad thing is, I think it needs an entire new set of switches for the fan, heat, a/c, defrost stuff. I mean, it's eleven years old, and still a good truck, but electrical has been hitting the skids in American cars and trucks for some time now. We struggle along into Eden, where we pick up some other stuff we needed and didn't need, but that's okay too. Get into the truck, crank baby up and the fan and A/C are perfect!! Right down to frost bite cold. Where, in my opinion, all a/c in cars and trucks should be to begin with.
A short spat, something that is going to happen because I can't speak, and the range of motion in my neck  sucks mule penis. Shortly we land in Lampassas!
  I write furiously as we fuel Baby up. "Look, we are an hour out of Pflugerville, if we crash here, since it's late, it's likely to be less expensive, you can eat, I can feed, we both get a nice hot shower. Get up early in the morning, get into town, find the field, get you fed a HUGE Bfast and get set up". She liked that idea. I am not without my moments. We bot got showered, I shoved a couple of cans of uber disgusting formula in, and realize it's damn near 2200! Taco Bell it is. Liz had a pretty healthy sized meal, and we both enjoyed watching what I consider the most accurate living specimen of a human pear I've ever encountered. He even puffed up a bit when he thought I was dissing him at the soda fountain. Okay, yes, I did, but I was just too tired to give a shit while a walking pear couldn't make up his mind over Root Beer, two kinds of tea, Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, and some other kind of nasty looking poo. So I got my tea and sat down. The hell of this is, I'm out with the one true love, she's doing something with her athletics that so few people do, and she's doing it well, and it's a bitch to have a conversation because I have to write every fucking thing down. Try that, for giggles. Try having a conversation where you must write down your thoughts, beliefs, silly answers and fun questions. You know, the stuff you spend time talking about with your number one heart carrier. I'd be interested in what all y'all think about that. It could be I'm just cryin like a bitch.
  Now I can't sleep. I'm a bit jazzed from the drive, and I can't stop from wondering if Liz got enough to eat. Did she hydrate okay? Is she sleeping well? Of course she is, I'm not. Now my trach plugged, minor emergency since my nose is so plugged I can't get a breath, and this evening (friday) my throat is also  shut off. Do I panic? Almost, HA!  I contemplate hiking across the highway and getting a little Nyquil. I mean, realistically that's not a bad idea. It clears up my head, I get some sleep. Yes, I get sleep, alright. I wake up on October 27 2060, a day after my 100th birthday. Nyquil not only knocks me out, it's gets Baxter as well. They ship me off to MD Anderson, where my insurance expires. Somewhere around my 60th birthday the family somehow gets me declared legally dead, which is okay, I mean, I'm in a Nyquil induced coma, and donate me to MD Anderson for experimental drugs. On my 85th birthday, the find a cure and Baxter and his minions are finally and permanently gone. On my 90th birthday, or there about the moral quandary of using my own genome to regrow parts I'm missing is attempted, and is a rousing success. With new types of electrically induced exercise developed for the first space shot to Mars (also a rousing success. turns out it's made of red sauce that covers a massive meatball. who knew?) I am toned, stronger and faster than I was at my peak strength. Simply by being in a Nyquil induced coma since July 11, 2012. Forty- eight years in my past. None of my kids remember me, although they are still alive. Kinda hip. But I have to say, who wants that? And WTF are you thinking you crazy bastard!! Shit, it's 0100. Damn, only two more hours and I have to be awake to start my daily constitutional. Okay, I'll hit a good two hour power nap. That's six times what a good power nap used to take me, but that's okay. Eyes close, I'm out. I have a short dream about a beer? Okay, that's not so bad. Beats having a dream about being trapped in a VW Micro-bus with 35 rabid or zombie midgets. (yes, that was a real dream from  around 3 weeks ago. odd, but funny as hell). Lets see when my alarm is supposed to go off. Hmmmm, it's 0135. Nice a twenty minute power nap after all.  I dropped off again and was actually out for close to an hour. It was enough to get me to town for the games. Total sleep on Friday night into Saturday morning: 45 minutes, I dropped off and the alarm did wake me up.

  So, here we are. Liz got a decent carb/protein Bfast from Mickey D's (yes, it's possible). I fed, got water for the portable mist makers I got to go with the screen tent and new ice chest, which by the way got cold enough to make your joints ache, and the stuff we put in it get so cold it made my eyes water. So, I'm all set up in my hut, watching Liz throw her first set, relaxing under the cool mist….and dozed off. Seemed like a couple of days, but Liz came back in and it was only half an hour or so. There's one thing I don't do when I go with Liz to the games now, and maybe after the next one or two I can change that. I don't go sit close and watch her. I don't want her to feel….oh geez, what's the word I'm looking for? Not intimidated…self conscious, that's it. I don't know that she would be, but I'm not risking that, not one iota. These are her games now, not mine. She owns them, and should have the right to sort out her technique without wondering what I think of it. Am I certain that's how it would go? Why no, I'm not certain, but I'm also not going to run that chance. I'd like to set up there, where ever "there" is and watch her throw in a Women's Master's World Championship. I think she has that kind of talent. Barring injury or burn out, I think so. She has a woman who is an excellent Highland Athlete that will help coach her along, I need to get a video set up so we can practice, and I can send that off to the wonderful woman that can help her. I need to do this quickly. I've made a couple of new goals for myself. One, to help Liz out as much as I can. She's been the big cahuna here for a long time now, covering my ass and watching over me. She and Dec are taking vacations starting next Sunday, and when they get back, I hope they feel more like themselves before this fucking thing came back and tried to destroy my family, something I  can't abide, nor will I let it, if I'm able.
  All day, I drift in and out of sleep, they turned the caber in front of me, so that was damn cool. I got to be out and about in the fresh air and a touch of sun. Heat of course, but it didn't break 100, which is nice. Still, seems darn humid to me after all the time I've lived here in the semi arid desert. Oddly enough, I was able to share a pretty decent if not fairly strong hops beer called Victory. The label even looks a bit like the bike logo, which I thought was neat. It's called Victory HopDragon Indian Pale Ale. So, it's got this bite to it, with a little sweet of an ale. Not bad, from what I could get on my tongue with the syringe without choking myself to death. I shared. I went for more ice, water, and beer. I put a quart of Gatorade in me between feedings. As well as 120 ounces of water. I was sweating perhaps more than I thought. I shared again. My bread I baked disappeared, which is good, I hope they liked it. I know some of the folks didn't. Come Kerrville, I'll get a better athlete count and maybe bake six or eight loaves if it goes over well. Okay, back to the fun. Watching Liz, talking to…writing to the folks. Walked around a bit, discovering as I did, that I didn't come well prepared for sharing suds that weren't twist off caps. Two things I never went without back in the day. A decent skinning knife, and a church key bottle/can opener. Back when I was in my twenties, there were still a few imported beers that hadn't gone pull tab yet, or that silly experiment of Coors with the two  spots to tap in on the top of the can. Had to have a church key opener, or the skinning knife to get those babies open. Anyway, Liz was slammin the hell out of the heavy shit, I was napping in a mist that kept me soaked most of the day, and napping so much that both of my legs went sleep at one point. I did, though, get so sore that I had to grab a dose of morphine. Kinda burnt my ass a little, since I've not had to take another pain killers other than the fentanyl in over two weeks. Oh well, that's how she bounces sometimes. We got everything torn down, hugs, handshakes, and man hugs and we were off. I felt like I would melt, but I wanted to bring some of that brewski home with, so we stopped one last time in Pflugervill, and hauled balls for Lampassas and home. We split the driving up, I had to stop and piss in Eden. I sat in the truck, I don't know how long, Liz was texting or something. I'd written her earlier, that I'd give myself three strikes. If I felt like I was going to doze off three times during my drive, I'd pull over ASAP and let her drive, no questions asked. I dozed off three times in that parking lot, and Liz drove us home.

  Settled in Saturday night. I don't know what time I fell asleep, well after Liz did, I think. I know, though, that I spent nearly all day asleep. Long enough that I almost didn't get the daily drugs, or the all the feedings that I needed. Almost, not quite. Same thing with today, although I did make it to therapy okay. Things change fast with me, man. Four days ago my lymphatic system could build different directions for fluid to drain away. Today, no chance of that, for some reason. If it goes that way Thursday, that will be about it for Lymphedema Therapy. A shame as well. But I knew the time was going to come it's just a sad moment for me. Proving out my theory that Baxter had little minions heading into my lymph glands, since that's where he liked to play so well the last time, and this time as well

 So, in a recap. Good God I had a good time, even if I spent so much time sleeping Saturday that I didn't get around as well as I'd liked. I gotta tell ya though. Being out, being able to drive without getting us both killed is a huge plus. In the end, I was totally wasted and washed out, in a bit of pain and swelling up like a toad. If Liz walked in today and said, "There's a game in blah blah, wanna go?", I'd be packing the truck up right now. For what I've got going on, my life is absolutely wonderful. Yeah, it's a bitch to be dying. To watch my upper lip fly out there worse than Joan Rivers, and seeing me waste away to pretty much nothing, in my eyes at least. But it's a bigger world than I think most people see. I have always tried to see it all, and now, I get a chance, with some better eyes than I would have thought.

Who Thought, Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, That's Odd. Then Again

 
   Well, yeah, it was odd, but then again what's not been a little odd the last couple of years, right? This is one, that for me kinda tops the flippin list….sorta. Okay, so here's the set up. I wasn't going to sleep last night anyway. None of that "Oh My God!! You need your rest!" poop, if you please. I needed my rest when I was healthy and had worked 85 or 90 hours in an eight day work week. THAT'S when I needed my rest. By the by, I could get that on call by being in the field for a couple of 30 hour days. Haven't had to do that in around 4 years before that fucker Baxter showed up and spoiled my plans. Dammit! Sorry, I digress almost diagonally. I wasn't going to sleep because I've had a real mess today with my super excessive mucus production, also known as "Baxter Tried To Drown Me Today".  So I'm up, watching the Walking Dead, (yeah, odd) and I doze off. Wasn't more than twenty minutes tops. Woke up, had to go to the head, and discovered I was bleeding from a spot that wasn't anyway near my throat or mouth. Seemed like it was really a cooker too, fouling up what looked like quite a bit of clothing in the immediate area of the nice stream. That's not nearly as squirrelly as this….I woke up with "The Night Chicago Died" rattling around in my head. My God, it was awful when it was on the radio twenty or thirty times a day when I was a kid. Signs that I'm losing it, that isn't only a sign, it's a Dive Klaxon on a submarine. Wow.

    It's not like this entire twenty months hasn't been odd, for gosh sake. It's been extra odd. I never had the symptoms of a freakin mouth and throat cancer, not one. No sore throat, no trouble swallowing. My voice didn't get gravely. What I did feel was slow and off my step just a hair. I first noticed that I lost something the first weekend in May. I couldn't find my second turn with the heavy or light weights either one at the Texas Celt Fest in Arlington, Tx. Gone, vamoosed, split, hit the road Jack. I asked the Judge, he thought I was starting okay, but he wasn't sure what came next. Neither did a couple of other guys. That was my fifth of six total throws. I asked a guy in the stands if he'd video my next throw (I went to one turn the second throw of this series and got decent light weight distance). To my surprise he said sure. He videoed, I looked. Boom, there it was plain as my broken nose. I didn't seem to know where I was in the trig. It wasn't like you could see me stop and look, but my feet and hips did. Okay, bad day. Everyone has them.
  Then I was wearing out quickly in the gym. It was summer, I was working my ass off. The boss and I were working on producing even better reports for the pumpers and himself. The more information we had, the better we make our field, the better and more efficient the wells pumped, the more efficient the wells pump, means more or at least stable production. We were also drilling. You drill, after it's all frac'd and ready to go, I ordered sucker rods so we could get the oil out of the ground. That requires a rod design that won't over tax the gearbox on the pumping unit. Not wanting to spend the time, every time we got a new well, I set a basic rod design that one could use, then tweak it to match the specific well, we were rocking. In June the man in charge of our maintenance, took fourteen days to have a huge bike ride. I got the honor of rebuilding a tank battery that had ten, 4 X 20 heater treaters that were in pretty crappy shape. The rest wasn't too whippy either. I had ten days to get it up in shape and ready for at least 4 or 6 new wells. First week, seven days straight, close to being finished. Every day a 12 hr day. The next 3 days, two 14 hr, and the last was only 6 hrs. We did it. Three gangs and myself, much gnashing of teeth and rending of cloth, but finished and some nice work on the floor. Granted I was 51, the oldest guy on the location, the next oldest was 42. So I wrote off being tired at the gym because I was busting hump.
  Anyway, short story long, I was checked and CT'd in May on my regular schedule. Cleared that fine, and they slipped me to once a year instead of twice. August, Radiation Oncologist date. Checked fine, looks good. Up to once a year with that Doc as well. I was stoked like a Mo-Fo. It was so nice to have two more check ups in the next two years and have it completely over with I could have danced a jig on TV. Wow, That's Odd. It got me this time. Baxter the Bastard Cancer, poster boy for perseverance, ya got me.

Wow, that's odd. I started this at 0530, it's almost 1100 now. There's something said for cleaning the kitchen, fixing the gang some breakfast, and of course, cleaning the kitchen again. Now it's time to get my ass outta bed and meet the world. Crossing my fingers of course, that I don't blow out another unexplainable bleeder. Sheesh

One More Fourth Of July

   Fourth Of July, Independence Day. The day Thirteen men pledged …."Our lives, freedom, and sacred honor.." to this idea of a country run not by the inbred insanity of a Monarchy, but to the sanctity of a nation run by free men, and charted to give certain inalienable rights to each man. Where errors made at that time? Certainly, because MEN (not a disrespect toward women at all) put the documents together and attempted to do the right thing by it's people. George Washington, first in war, first in peace, first person in the Colonies to "vaccinate" everyone on his plantations. Vaccinate you say? Why yes. There was an idea that if you scratched a person with a needle dipped in Small pox sores, they'd not catch the disease. I don't remember when they captured the virus from the infected, but not a soul that was vaccinated on his plantation caught the smallpox, while at the time, it was ravaging the New World. Not bad for a maligned person.
 Thomas Jefferson, probably the most maligned of all the Founders, did beneficial things other than bang a slave. You know, like The Louisiana Purchase, and sending Louis and Clark to map the area and explore the Missouri to it's headwaters. Founded the University of Virginia. Passed the Freedom of Religion Bill in Virginia. He was an architect and linguist. Penned the letter that actually uses "Separation of Church and State" (found nowhere in the First Amendment, by the by), and was the Third POTUS. If one is going to use Madison's oft quoted statement on agreeing with the "separation  clause", use the next sentence written as well. As Madison said "….there must be a separation, in order to save religion from the government…" (PS, I may have paraphrased, if so, sue me if you must).

  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm overjoyed that these 56 men got together and created a chance for us to be under our own control, and not some fucked up Monarch and his overpowering central government. It's a shame to see ours being converted as it is since the 1930's into a huge centrally powered monopoly that feels it must control us from cradle to grave. Shameful and saddening. I'm more than proud to be an American, not only that it's in my blood to be an American. I have my sense of Independence and it comes with a high price. My life at the moment. My own behavior may have helped the cancer along, but mostly it was  my own body. I chose to do what I did when I was a younger and less judicious man. Not the Federal Government, nor a tobacco company, or a distillery. All that was my own choice. People, in my opinion, who think that they were pushed into a particular behavior by a corporation or drug dealer can suck it. Don't want to be addicted to something? Use the noggin and don't use it. Too simple I suppose.

  Anyway, this is one of my favorite holidays, always has been. This year my family went to celebrate with friends. I was too tired and sick to go along. Yes I missed them. Yes I missed my friends. On the other hand, isn't it nice that they got to have to choice to go have a good time?

A Month Flies By Before I Knew It, Go Figure

  That's crazy. It's been a month since my last blog? Good Lord, that's the height of lazy, even by my rapidly easing standards. It's been too long. The days are getting more toward the half day good, half day less or just plain bad. Friday and Saturday were good days all day long, that's this past week, not way back a month ago, while yesterday was a sleep all day kinda thing. Partly because we are trying to get a handle on my increasing and potentially more dangerous than normal sleep walking. I don't remember any dreams in the last two to three months, until Saturday and Sunday night. Those that know me well, know that is really unusual for me. Normal is remembering a dream I can tell you conversation, area, whether or not I can see my hands (not yet, but soon, I hope). Not to remember any is not only surprising to me, it should have set off more alarm bells than 12 alarm fire. I should have noticed, but I believe that even while following the instructions, I was over medicated. Painkiller wise at least. Too many opium derived drugs working together. Fun fun fun and no pain at all, bad bad bad side effects. It also turns out that one of the medications we were using to control my secretions also is bad for you in the long term. Can make you crazy. According to some, that would be hard for me to see a difference.

  So, in this past month, I didn't think much had changed in my progression towards Critical Mass. I had not thought so, but last week certainly showed me wrong. I swell. My face and other parts of my upper body, once confined to above my collar bones. It's moving farther down my body, slowly but surely. It does this because my lymphatic system is compromised with my squamous cell carcinoma. In 2008, it had a spot that my body fixed on it's own, the secondarily slipped into only one lymph gland. This time, same thing, only my body didn't clear up the primary site alone, and it piled into other lymph glands. Even the third time last July 7th, and concluding treatment July 23rd, bailed into more lymph glands. They transport fluid around the body for cleansing in the liver and kidneys, then dispelled or used. I believe these are beginning to fall apart at a higher rate now, and it's showing in the amount of time my lymphedema therapy stays. I did pretty well this past weekend. If not less swelling, it looks like I held my own pretty well. I also believe the next two weeks will tell whether or not I should continue the therapy. It was going to come to an end, I knew this, and almost a year for a fairly aggressive cancer isn't to shabby I don't believe. Me, the Man Up, and my therapist, along with all of you, we've done some damn stellar work in this arena, we all deserve a slap on the back.

  All of the things I'm doing, or have tried are going to have a diminishing life span. As well as myself. This was an inevitability. Quite frankly, I've made it MUCH farther than I even imagined I would, even though I keep trying like I know better. This stage, though, is quite noticeable to me. I tire exponentially faster than I did even two weeks ago. I had a spot in my upper right leg, the one where the muscle was taken for the first flap put in my left face, that eventually died. It swelled enough for me to find it, on top of the pain that made me limp, which I tried to cover up from my wife. (yeah, that worked). The fact that I've made it farther than I originally thought, and as of today am 23 days from my year of death, is more determination and support than any medical reason. That's all kinds of support, folks. Yours, my hospice nurse, family, if you're a believer The Man Up, if not then just never letting me forget how I prefer to live my life. All of that is why, at this point all medicine did was fuck my face and throat up to the point I can't swallow and I look like I fell into a Mike Tyson right cross and upper cut. No, that's not entirely true. It has given me another 12 months with the family. By God, that's more than just a little time, isn't it. We've had time to get all the stuff most folks are rushing around to get done, funeral, will, argue, more argue, laugh at how dipshit is it to argue, then argue about that. Never anything big to argue about, most at me for procrastinating. I am a master of that at home. Work? No damn way, we do it today, because tomorrow might be a lightning storm, too cold, too hot, way to windy, short handed. We do it today at work, maybe tomorrow is a little slower. Maybe tomorrow is just fucking perfect and you can catch up some of the minor shit that has been shoved back because of major shit going on. But, that was then, this is now. Now is what it is and I'm trying to have fun doing it. So, in having fun Friday and Saturday, I baked 6 loves of bread, 3 large, 3 smaller because that's how I can make my Aunt Marge's bread recipe work out for me.  Who'd thought that I'd find baking as something fun and productive? By The Way!!!! Aunt Marge's Country Style Crust Bread is the absolute  best bread I've ever eaten. I'm diddling around with adding to it, like raisin bread, cinnamon, and Saturday, after I put the loaves in pans, and right before I hit the oven with them, I split the top on the smaller loaf and poured a dark cherry and brown sugar reduction into it. I believe it came out better than I expected.


  Okay, that's it for the day. I've got some things I need to do. Therapy, get Baby's feet balanced, pick up formula from Hospice, nap, so I'm not so shot in the frisking ass at the end of the day. Then talk with Dec out in the two person swing about some driving stuff. No, I am NOT going to teach him how to do 95% of the stuff I practiced and did in HS and after. Sheesh, I'm gonna try and be responsible this time. Although, it served his older sister Sarah quite well a couple of times on the Loop around Midland. Once, a 360 when she avoided having her front end clipped by a guy who missed his turn. Too much brake and turn all at once, got her spinning, then no brake, and turning slightly against the spin so the car didn't take the new direction as a need to spin, and no throttle until she was under control. Pretty proud of that one. Most times, like a blow out, brakes are a strict NO NO! A sharp tap, maybe to begin to slow, find a way out, then drive through.

  Love y'all, be safe, have fun, mostly be yourself, you're better than you think you are

Well Dammit All

    Yep, that's it. Dammit All. Damn the Cancer, damn my lack of energy FROM the cancer, damn my lazy ass that hasn't kept up with people. Dammit All.  See, this isn't how this whole damn thing was supposed to go. I wasn't supposed to doubt myself and my abilities to fight the cancer as it got more dedicated to killing me. Every day was supposed to be all cherries and whipped cream. Kiss my ass if it's a damn sight more difficult than that. Some days I doubt myself. Like Saturday. Friday, great day, baby. Lots of energy, did some cookin, baked a pound cake from scratch. Saturday I woke up at 0600, absolutely unable to decide what I should do first. I got started, got the Ativan that holds off panic, then in an hour, I got the anti-depressant in me, a couple of hours after that, I'd not fed, I didn't have anywhere near all my drugs in me, and I STILL couldn't group my shit without help. That, girls and boys, was disconcerting to say the least. So, after getting a large amount of help from the Lovely and our friend Cheri, I managed to sleep close to 21 hours in total. Did I need that much rest? Apparently. I thought I'd be pretty spry Saturday after having a somewhat better than average day on Friday. Was not to be. Sunday, though, that went pretty well. Up at my usual, felt pretty good, took a short nap. Gathered up the ol' walker and went with Liz and Cheri to Stanton, Tx for "Old Sorehead Days". A city wide flea market kind of deal. Some of the outdoor furniture has really improved in the last 20 years or so and Liz got a really decent two seat lawn swing for a more than reasonable price. I got around without completely passing out, a "Whoa Buckaroo, that made ya wobbly!" That was from bending over to pick up my pen, then standing up too fast. Silly boy. My Lymphedema therapist took a week vacation. I'm retaining more fluid in my shoulders, neck, and face than the Titanic forward storage hold. Makes me terribly uncomfortable, as well as drool like a herd of Pavlovian Dogs staring at the supper dish.

  It's been a bit over two weeks since I blogged last. That seems like an incredibly long time to me, when I look at the date. Odd isn't it, how our perception of time gets all muddled up at times? How long did it take to pop Jiffy Pop when we were kids? Three, four minutes? Felt like an hour or so, though, didn't it. For perception on time, I look back at a project my youngest son's incredibly hot Kindergarten teacher did that I thought was one of the most innovative things I've seen a teacher do with kids. She had them write down their favorite food and the recipe to make them. She typed them all up, put them in a little book that looked like a real cook book. It was absolutely fabulous. One of my son's favorites were baked potatoes. This is now our lesson in Perception of Time. The recipe reads thus: "Get 6 big potatoes, my dad eats two. Wash them off and poke holes in them with a fork, be careful not to stab yourself. Put them in plastic bags and put them into the microwave. Cook them for six days. Delicious!" Six days. That is one eviscerated potato. It's nummy goodness completely removed I imagine after hour 6 of 134. That, though, is how it looks to a five-year old that is waiting for his 6 minute potato and Iwantitrightnowdarnitmomitsbeenayear attitude. Time drags when you're a kid and there's something you want to do, play, or eat, or being punished. You could have flayed my youngest with a Cat-O-Nine Tails, and he'd not said a word. On the other hand, put him in a time out for ten minutes and his entire world fell apart. There was wailing, lamentations, rending of cloth. The punishment was blatantly against the US Constitution, was used by the Roman's against Christians. The only thing worse to him was hearing, "Five more minutes if you keep crying".
   I'm very close to that mark myself right now. I've been home so long, slowly getting worse in more than just a few ways. Some I just notice, and when I take stock of myself, hell, that's been going for more than a couple months. It just got to the point it moved onto my radar screen with louder blips. In five and a half months it'll be two years since I started chemo to reduce this fucking tumor enough that I could wait nearly 50 days to have my face carved up like a piece of mold covered cheese. In some cases the time is blasting by, in others, it's dragging a battleship anchor behind a 1963 VW Beetle.

  SIDEBAR: The new show on TNT "Murder in The First", pretty good. One detective's wife dying of         cancer, makes me a bit uneasy.

   I'm noticing something else that I'm starting to lose. Cancer, drugs, lack of use, take your pick, but it makes me a little spooked and more than a little uneasy. It's like this. I could stand still, close my eyes, and retrace my steps almost precisely in my mind like I was watching a movie. I could sort of do that down hole in wells. See the tools work or not work, how far away from X while we were still working on Y to get there. Not as good as my old man, but pretty fair. My dad, though, couldn't find his ass with both hands if he wasn't standing right where he stopped to look for it. That little skill that I have used a LOT is slipping away. I'm not certain why, but it is slippery in there anymore. I've got a couple things working on me I didn't have two years ago. You know, like opiates, a couple of different pain meds that aren't opium based. That may have something to do with my missing some of the fun mental games I used to play in order to try and keep the old noodle from going to soft.  Wow, that was a bad choice of word grouping wasn't it?

    After all that is said and done, today is a good day. Massage early on, lymphedema therapy, writing the blog, a couple of funny things that happened. The last one was a close call, but I'm chuckling about. I have to change tubes once in a while during the day, just the nature of the beast since I can't swallow. Here's how it played out. You older folks see if you can read this with a Howard Cosell voice rolling around.
  "Here comes Smith. SUCCESSfully cleaning out his tracheostomy tube now searching for the KY Jelly to make insertion a smooth and simple exercise. NO! It can't be he's grabbed the tube of BEN GAY COOL  TREATMENT!! That will be a horrifying and painful misTAKE if he doesn't catch the error. He sees it! Saving himself from what would be the remainder of his life in abject ridicule and self loathing."


  You all have more fun than a box full of mixed chocolates