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.

 

Cry Havoc! And Let Slip The….yeah yeah sure sure

  I went to sleep after getting the restless leg mess under control with the greatest desire to sleep in and have a leisurely time just hanging out. Sitting in the spot Liz put together for me on the side of the house that's out of the wind and most harsh sunlight so I'd be comfortable. Seemed like a good plan at 2235 last night.  Comes the time when the bone in the jaw decides it and the muscle/nerve join hands and make certain I have to get out of the recliner, take a shower and get a cup of joe. Yeah, the damn jaw did cry Havoc, and it did let slip the Dogs of War. It's up on me now, but I believe in a fluid battlefield. In twenty minutes or so, I'm gonna hit it again with some more Morphine, catching the nerve and muscle unaware. Boy howdy do I wish it were that simple. This is the worst the pain has been in close to two weeks. I can hear the TMJ pop and screech like I've got a bearing going out on the right side of my face and jaw. That would make sense, a lot of people think I've got a screw loose to begin with, losing a bearing seems to fit right in there with that. So, in reality there is no new pain, it's just a boost up in the same old shit that's been going on for a bit now. Liz says she sees a big change in me in the last two weeks. I could go with that. I know I've felt less like getting up and going the past two weeks. All this is expected, though.

   The pain today is damn near debilitating in that if I move in certain directions it's like being slapped with a two by four. And it tends to limit my movement more than it has in the past. I suspect this is also going to continue to get worse, until it hits the point where I won't be able to drive at all. I'm okay so far, I can bear the pain to move well enough to clear the road ways both directions. And it's not painful all the time, only on days like today. The cancer is stepping up it's game, or so it seems. It's almost like it calls a time out when I get ahead of it for a week or two. Then comes back onto the field with adjustments made to offense. I don't mind though, it keeps me on my toes, working on how to stay ahead of it. Now the lovely and sensual Liz has asked to help. We, as a team, can probably stymie the cancer for a bit longer. In my foolishness of trying to protect her feelings, I'd cut Liz so far out of my life at this point, that she felt useless to me. That wasn't true, nor was it how I wanted her to feel. I've been showing her how I do the little stuff for myself, the out side things. Like staying a couple of trach tubes and collars made up ahead of time. It seems like a small thing on the outset, but that extra minute or two that it takes to put one together that's comfortable for myself can seem like an eternity. I've given her a lot more of an active role in talking with my Hospice Nurse, so she gets answers to the things that bother her. It's something I should have done from the get go, I know. But I went into "Protect Liz" mode right off the bat. It came so natural to me that I didn't realize I was making her feel like I didn't want or need her to help. That's total bullshit of course, because I do want and I do need her help and always have needed her. I hope it's as much easier for her now as it is for me. I'll be damned if having help isn't such a bad thing after all.

   It's a bit amazing to me how quickly my day can change. In a matter of minutes it can go from absolute misery to being just a damn happy spot to be in, for a dying man. Some of it lies in how quickly the pain meds kick in and how long they last. If I can get myself over that initial hump, and get just a half step ahead of the pain, and being ready to hit it again if I need to kick it one more time at the soonest possible moment. That helps more than keeping a positive attitude at times. The simple act of saying "Not today, bitch", although that's an exhausting position to be in for any length of time. If it's under control, then that's a win.
 On the other side of that is the day starting out being wonderful! Little to no pain, feeling like I want to get out and do something really fun. Or just take the time to read a book because those are the nice things to relax with. On the way home from dropping the kid off at school, I took a look around. Not just to see traffic, but to really LOOK. I'd been down that street, God, I can't even fathom how many times I've driven back and forth on Wadley, Midland Drive, Midkiff, crap all over Midland. And driving along thinking how NEW it all looked 21 years ago when I told Liz moving here would be a step up for us. Good lord it seemed like it took forever when it was coming along, but now if I look at it with those same eyes I used 21 years ago. It was a drop in the bucket in reality. I'm looking at the entire thing with the fresh eyes I should have used every day, just to help make it the best days of my life. And you know they were, and still are, but it would have been so much easier by using those fresh eyes of a man hoping to make his life better for his wife and family. I look out there, and wonder when the next time I see  that street will be the last time.
   Sure. There'll come a day that will be my last to see the sun, Liz, the kids, friends, and I'll shed these mortal coils. One day. But not today, you mother fucker. You don't get to tell me today is my last day you life sucking, worthless, sack of shit. No fucking way. Cancer gets a little piece of me today, tomorrow, next week, chipping away, not stopping, not slowing up. You do your damage, and fight your ass from one end of me to the other. There's a why, a very simple why. I've talked about dreams, they are nice. Your mind can do things, Cancer, your tool ass can't fathom. After all, you're a group of cells that's gone bat shit for growth, and that's all you will ever aspire to be. Here's what my mind sees, when it has a chance at rest, where (with a little chemical help) the pain is pounded down far enough that it gets a crystal clear picture.
  I see myself, full of piss and vinegar, not willing to let anything stop me without a fight. Along with Liz by my side, Cancer is gonna win eventually, but that cowardly bastard doesn't realize that it's just the body, he doesn't get me. Liz gets me. All of me that is the best of the sum total. She got it 5 minutes after I got up off a couch in Elkhart Kansas on her birthday. I gave it to her that night. She's had it ever since that evening, at my best times, and my worst times she's held it for me, making certain it was always taken care of and given a chance to grow.
  She's always had it, and didn't know it. She has my heart. It's what gives me the strength to see the next day. To want to try and share it with her, even now when it's time is growing shorter. My heart will be in a safe place, because Liz always has taken care of it.

It's My Turn. New Shit That I Guess Happens A Lot

   Liz wrote a wonderful blog that I had one hell of a time typing for you all. I had this damn wet eye problem several times when typing it for her. Of all the wonderful break throughs in medicine and science they can't seem to stop this wet eye syndrome I get reading stuff Liz has written or done for me.  Well hell, what she still does for me to this day. I'm sure until the day I finally kick off, she'll be right there, as I would for her.
 Anyhow, things change all the time. I'm certain that when they do everyone (okay, not everyone, because some folks are less surprised than I) probably is as shocked as I am that so many things tie together. Had I known that dying slowly would have so many complications and add ons I'd have opted for slightly faster. Not immediate, but slightly faster. That's a hard call, even with all the information I have. Normally I'd say "I wouldn't change anything, since all the things I've done, good, bad, or indifferent, made me who I am." Why would this be any different?  Hard to say. So I'm just going to rough it out like I had good sense.

  So, onward toward some of the new stuff. I know one of the triggers I have for an anxiety/panic attack are my legs getting achy I start to get antsy. That moves right up into "Fuck, am I not getting enough air?", and that runs it's way into "Oh FUCK!!! I'm not!!". That shit will start a hyperventilation problem I definitely do not need. I thought I could walk it out. You know, like when we were all younger and we'd feel like our legs were aching and it was probably just from lack of doing. So I'd get up, got walk around and sure enough, that was generally the problem. Or I was dehydrating. Something that's easy to do now since I'm not as active. No such luck. Over hydrate, no change. Walk, no change. So I'd panic for a bit, snag a Xanax (which pisses me off to no end, that I can't control something without medication) and that usually helped. Not today. Liz got to see me spas out. That wasn't my most shining moment, I can tell you for certain. She's not afraid to call my Hospice nurse, either. I'm not afraid, I just want to figure a way to overcome the problem without another drug. Turns out, it's drug induced and not unusual. It's the combination of Morphine and Fentanyl that causes it. I wasn't expecting to see my nurse until tomorrow, so I was about half zonked when he showed up. My Pop used to be able to take himself completely away from pain. I can to an extent, not like the old man could, but well enough 99% of the time I can get over it. Not so with the cancer, I can't get that far way. And that's how I was when the nurse showed up. About half gone. So, we've traded a Xanax pill for Valium sublingual liquid. Tastes like shit, does it's job. I ain't gonna complain.

 I've never had a problem with coping with pain. But I'm here to tell ya, this shit kicks my narrow white ass right into the ground. It's because it never lets up, it doesn't take a breath even. Wicked assed shit. Going up 50ml on the Fentanyl patch worked really well. It's even taken the bone pain in my jaw out. That's fucking impressive. It's cut down on my morphine use to once or twice a day, when it had been running six to eight times a day, and not sleeping. I still have occasional insomnia, but that's mostly from boredom and sleeping too long during the day. Not too annoying, but somewhat a pain in the ass. I can still take the son to school, drive to get coffee and to and from therapy. And maybe this week, out to the office to say high to everyone Wednesday. That's going to become too difficult for me to do in the next two or three weeks, I believe, maybe a bit sooner than that. It's starting to affect my depth perception and my head rotation is getting smaller. Some of that is from fluid retention, 90% of it is cancer moving in and increasing it's hold on my neck and head. I feel it, I see it, and I believe a lot of people do as well. Just from their expressions. Shit, my lower lip on the right side is getting fatter. I haven't had that problem since the last time some dork jacked my mouth. That, boys and girls, is another story all to itself. One you won't get to read about either. That's one of those things I said when I started this blog that I just wouldn't discuss. Suffice it to say, the jack ass deserved what he got, and I hope he walks okay.

  I can see myself slipping, and Liz made the mistake of showing her text message to my Hospice nurse, where she mentioned what I was going through, and that she can see I've slipped a long way in the last two weeks. She's correct, but I didn't think she'd notice. For crying out loud I was doing my best not to let her see that, dammit. I have dropped off a quite a bit in the last two weeks. I seem to do this weird, at least in my mind. I'll trip, slide down the rabbit hole a bit, then flatten out for a while. Damn weird to me, or it might be that I just notice later since the changes happen to me and I'm a bit too close to see the changes as they come along. We'll just wait and see, won't we?

   I've been slack the last couple of weeks doing up the blog. There's been quite a bit go on, and there are somethings I can't share, or won't share because those are family things. I love you all that follow this blog, but baby, somethings gotta stay with me and Liz, and aren't for public consumption. Some of it is probably a good thing, not all, but some of it. I know that Liz and I are talking more, and being more open with each other. I had kept my mouth shut hoping to save her from being hurt or frightened. Mostly what I did was hurt her feelings because I wasn't opening up to her. I didn't let her help me do anything, because, in my mind, that was saving her from the nasty shit that I have to do on a daily basis. I should have known better. What I was doing was making her feel helpless and useless to me, when the opposite was the truth. As a rule I'm not a stupid man, I don't think, but I didn't ever in my wildest dreams want Liz to ever feel useless to me, or herself. What I did was close off the one direction she could get close to me. How foolish and short sighted was that? I was unintentionally hurting the one person in my life that's been my life. Kids, all of you are part of why I get up in the morning, you always have a big chunk of my heart. Liz owns the entire thing though, you guys have to share with her. I hope that's alright with you.
  I've been slacking as well for what's probably going to sound silly to some of you, some of you may see it as part of me being me. For better or worse, this is why. I got spooked. For the first time in my life I was really frightened. I don't mean startled, I mean shit your britches scared. I've never had that feeling, not ever. I've been anxious a few times, but not to the point of being scared. I just never had time for that. So, when that happened for the first time, there was no way in hell I was going to let it get out. Reasons? Silly. I didn't want people to find me weak. Or weak in spirit. Or lacking in fortitude. Hundreds of reasons why I didn't want people to know. After all, I started this blog so people could learn how NOT to be afraid of the end. What the fuck, now I'm being a hypocrite. Those were my thoughts.  What I didn't take into account, what how little the time was that I was truly scared. Not long at all, in reality, an afternoon.
  This is what happened. I had a coughing fit that shut down everything. I couldn't catch a breath. I was coughing so hard it was making me dizzy and causing me black spots. I was almost over the problem when it hit me that I was afraid! I was truly scared I was going to cough myself to death, and there wouldn't be anyone around. It's not like I wanted an audience, and still don't, but on that day, in that moment, being alone scared the fucking shit right out of me. Now I'm back to about normal. Having to learn how to deal with the anxiety that in itself can be debilitating. Same thing with a panic attack. I use less medication than I did, though, so I figured out part of what the deal was, and how to work around that. Liz saw me be fruit cake fucked up this afternoon, and did something I normally wouldn't have done. She called my Hospice nurse right away. Because she's seen people who have this restless leg syndrome go from bouncy legs straight into anxiety/panic attack. So she was thinking ahead, where as I was going to bring it up when the nurse did the home visit. In about half an hour, I've got to start getting my shit together for my day. If I get a jump on a shower, meds, and clothed. I might be able to sneak in a feeding and maybe a coffee with the boys. Come home, take a nap, take the boy to school, and then go have a cup with my oldest daughter

   As you can see, my life isn't really all that shitty. I picked a damn fine bunch of people to have for family. They truly are my rock and salvation. They make me be more than I probably would be on my own. They are the joy in my life, and the worry at the same time.
Being so fortunate to have so many supportive friends. It amazes me that I am so blessed in so many ways.  I've done something right, somewhere, some time. I've been told many times how much I'd helped people in the past, when  all I remember was just talking and having a good time. Thank all of you, for being yourselves. You've never failed to tell me when I was screwin the pooch, and you all have been great about praise when I earned it.

Now, it's time to put together my daily self. You'd think with so many pieces of me missing you'd think that would only be 10 or fifteen minutes. But nooooo, let's not do it easy. Takes me almost an hour to two hours to get my ass ready in the morning. But by God it's my time and I'll take it! HA

Hugs and all that mushy stuff. Y'all be good, hear?