ROAD TRIP!!!!!!! Yep, it was a Road Trip. The family and I went to Waxahachie to one of my favorite Highland Games, even though I can't throw, it's one of my favorite events. In the past it's been my first throw of the year. Last year, had I not gotten a return of the cancer and carved up like a cheap piece of beef, it would have been somewhere around my third of fourth game of the year. That's how badly I wanted to continues to throw, and improve myself, without loving my love of the game. Early on, I discovered that, "Yes! I can practice a lot and get WAY better!". It was true, I did start improving a lot, but the off side of that was what I suspected might happen. I got so mad at myself for not performing up to my own expectations that it started to not be fun to compete. I'd get up, head out for a game, and by the end of the day I hated the entire thing. Myself, the game, the AD, the equipment, the heat, the cold, what ever there was to hate, I was there. Then came an epiphany one night while I was talking to my Uncle Jack Daniel's, and it was a long talk, believe me, and thought, "Dammit, I was having so much fun, what was I doing different?"… "I was just throwing, that's what. And I was getting better without all the practice and self hate. I was enjoying the company of the folks I was competing with, that's what's different". I gave away nearly all my practice equipment, went to a couple of games, and a couple of PR in spite of not training. The most important thing? I got my love of the games and of the people who are all parts of the games. People I respect (in no order, so don't get all competitive here, he says with a chuckle and smile). Like Brittney Boswell, Terri Ventress, Mike Baab, Ed Cosner, Mark Cooper, Aaron Woods, Kim Dot… God, more names and people than I can list fairly. Mike Baab inspired me to stay in after cancer. He text me right after my first round in 2008, and basically said, "Stay with the games, it's good for you". Yeah yeah I thought, not right now they aren't. In 2009, 6 weeks out of my last radiation therapy, I went to the Games Mark Cooper put on at the Scarborough Renaissance Festival in Waxahachie Tx. I threw, no one expected me to throw, only that I'd show up. Mr. Cooper and his lovely wife Tamra had the entire group they are in at the Faire come over as my cheering section, named me Athlete of the Day, with Mike Baab giving me the medal, and had me fire off the cannon to close the day. They made my eyes leak.
If was there, at that moment, I decided that I had my old records, and everything would be a PRAC Personal Record After Cancer. I've had more fun than a man should be allowed. It was truly what I thought in the first place, "NEVER FUCKING QUIT" which was my mantra to begin with. The time between April 2009 November 7th, 2012 were some of the best times in my life. I'd always had more fun that almost anyone I know, but these were special days. I kicked cancer's ass. Alas it came back, and for now I'm holding it at bay, but it's killing me, fucking slowly it's killing my body, not what's me. Not my heart, spirit, or Amour De La Vie. Those things are mine, always have been, it can't take them from me.
Okay, that's the "Prequel" for this blog. Scarby is one of my Favorite games, so is the Texas Scottish Festival games put on by Aaron Woods and his lovely wife Tamyna. And add to those the McPherson Celtic Festival in McPherson KS, run by Dave Glasgow and his wife Gunner, and Larry and Terri Ventress, (Terri owns the world records in her age group in all the events she can in Heavy Athletics). I was only able to attend one of Mike Baabs games, but I had a blast there. His was going to be on my agenda in 2013. So was the Iron Thistle. Several games that I'd always wanted to throw in, but just couldn't get away to save my life. You all need to believe me when I say, it's not just the AD's, location, rain, shine, cold or burning up hot that makes these games great for me, it's the people I've met. I have friends that I'd never have met if it hadn't been for the Highland Games. Everyone of them are great people, wonderfully competitive, but never so much that they can't lend some really good advice. From Mike Baab telling me in Arlington "You want to throw farther?" Well, Mike, fuck yeah, I'd like to learn how. Straight faced and calm as a preacher he tells me, "It's simple, Suck Less". I cracked up. But he and many others have given me advise on the throwing and technique that all work. I like that. That's the reason I keep coming back. Baxter is killing me. He makes me pay a high price for taking these Road Trips, and going to the Games. He's a sneaky, rat cock sucker, that thinks he's winning. I've got news for you, Baxter, you rat mother fucker, you ain't winning. I am. The body? Yeah, take all that you want, I have friends that I need to tell how much I care for them, I still have ME. My thoughts, feelings, and my desire to see so many, you can't have, bitch.
So Liz and my kids that are still home, and I went to Scarby. Oh my God, so many people wishing me well. Actually and sincerely telling me how glad they were to see me. I was overwhelmed, and so full of amazement, and being humbled by the show of support for me and my family. The games were running long (not unusual, it's the nature of the athletic beast), I was sunburnt and work completely out. We packed up to leave. Mark Cooper had all the athletes gather around, his lovely wife Tamra cam over dressed in her full Ren. clothing, and several other folks from that group showed up. I was once again stunned and humbled. They gave a speech praising me, and telling me it was a blessing to know me. My eyes were about to leak. They gave me a game shirt, and a beautiful HUGE special edition Faire beer mug. I look around, about half embarrassed since in my mind, I wasn't anywhere near that special. I look around some more and see athletes with the sniffles and some leaky eyes as well. Shoot, my wife's eyes are leaking. Turn about, so they say is fair play. I had Tamra read a little something from me for everyone there…"Cancer has my voice, and for a lot of people, that's a blessing," (laughs from around the crowd. Apparently they all knew me), I had Tamra reading, "But the real blessing is mine, for being allowed to join this family. Each and everyone of you are special to me, in a lot of different ways.". That's where I left it. About 15 or 20 folks came by, as I was trying to escape, to wish me well, and that they were so glad to see me one more time. And more than a few to say they wished they'd met me years sooner. That slice of bread is buttered on both sides. I'd like to have known a lot more of the folks sooner myself. Like I say, it's not just the games, it's the people that compete at the games that made it special for me.
I look around, to this day, when people are telling me they are inspired by me, or enjoy my company, whether or not I can speak. So many folks just like sitting with me, and we don't have to talk or write. That's damn humbling, believe me.
So, that was my Road Trip. I'd like to make so many more, I don't know if I can, time will be the judge of that. My body is getting worse. I used 175 mg/hr on Fentanyl patches, just to get through my day, with the occasional morphine boost. Or if the sudden jump in pain isn't that rough, a touch of Lortab. I've got so many friends now, from HS buddies and really good friends for nearly 40 years, all the way up to people who've gone out of their way to meet me and call me friend, most of those with in the last 10 years, a pile more within the last 6 months to a year. It's astounding to me, and humbling, and so honored to be given that gift. Friendship is hard to make with me, and that so many had shows me I don't know shit about myself, yet. There's something there I don't see, that all these folks do see. Good Lord, what a blessing you all are to me and mine. Thank you all so much.
One of my more recent buds had the heavy weight for distance throw his ass down. He was kind of down about that. Myself and one other person were telling him not to sweat it, it happens to nearly everyone at some time in their throwing career.
The other person had to leave. So I said (well, wrote down for him anyway), "I was throwing at the second or third games in Odessa TX. I was a C then, so the weight was 56#, I was forcing the throw. In one turn I'd let the weight get away from me. When I lost it, the 56# dragged all 225# of me clear out of the box, and deposited me on the field about 4 feet from the edge of the box. It had to get me at least that. After the shock, I was laughing my ass off. So did everyone else once they found out I was okay.
Don't let that get you down, we've all spent time in grass throwing the HWD." He's a good guy, I hope he stays with it. Mark Cooper and I decided he gets my old fork. I hope it works for him as well as it did for me.
Okay, time to finish.
Amour De La Vie!!! Love Life half as much as I do and have in the past, you're gonna have a great life. Stick with it. Look at the sunrise, it's plain beautiful, same with sunset. There's always more good things going on than bad, even in your life. Even in mine, right now, there's far more to live for and enjoy even as it's slipping away from me. Be a better person, that was all I ever wanted, and in most cases I've made that, just having the affliction called "Amour De la Vie". Try it, it's a gas
Monday, April 14, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
I Did One, So This Should Be Easy Enough
Or not. Some times it's easier to think it's easy, just so you can give yourself a way out. You know, the old "I started and found out it was much harder to do than I originally thought, but I got it on time, anyway." What? No one has done that if you've had a boss that's hard to work with, the guy you couldn't do anything right, even if you were just doing what he said while he was watching. Sometimes that works, other times you'd be better off if nothing was said. I kind of felt like that the last two or three weeks. I could think of nothing new. Not symptoms, not emotionally, not jack shit. I knew there had to be something, but I couldn't square that away. I'd already gone over I was taking for that, and anxiety, and fifty other other meds that I get now. Okay, not fifty, in fact I'm down to like 6 or 8 on a regular basis. So really, nothing new, right? Or not.
I've not had a day where everything I've cleared out of my of my tracy (which means it's coming out of my trachea or a bit higher than that, closer to my larynx. I know I can't speak but a dozen words or fewer than I can stand a child in pain. It really bleeds, and the pain it takes to clean that up it's just not worth the effort to talk about. In retrospect, yes it is, the bleeding and all is important to talk about. There's something intrinsically wrong with blowing that off. It can be a scary thing to have happen, worse if you're not used to seeing a lot of your own blood, not so scary if you've been prepared to see that kind of thing. My Dr.'s at MD Anderson explained there would be bleeding as this with along. They did say copious amounts, of which I've only had one or two episodes like that. This bleeding is a medium kind of bleed, but it's also all day, every day. Which I'm saying is something that definitely needed talk about. I know I've mentioned it getting more and more heavy out of and into my mouth. That's kind of changed, I get little to no blood in my mouth anymore. I guess that one hard cough blew up whatever was bleeding so much into my mouth, but it's gone. For all practical purposes it has anyway.
So, why do I say this bleeding, out of my trach (I am 100% percent that's where the bleed is now). It's because I am not seeing it anywhere else. Not in my throat or esophagus, just in my trach. It's scary because that is where you're breathing comes through to your lungs. That's damn spooky. If The Damn Cancer cuts off your airway, you die! If it does it slowly (like it is on me) you get used to the short wind, panting like a dog, or weak as a new born kitten. It could also go a long way to helping with anxiety. Mine was brought on by other means. I got excited (no, fools, not "That" way) and felt my neck tighten up. Then my legs got 50 shades of shaky. And finally, like no matter what I did I wasn't getting enough air. It turns out that's not uncommon among people with mouth and/or throat cancer. Normally, that wouldn't have been so bad that I couldn't get over it, but no way. I couldn't shake that irrational fear of drowning. The thing that made it irrational, was my location. There's not a decent river, or stock pond in a couple hundred miles at least. Oh now I have to call Bullshit upon myself. There are a couple of lakes less than 200 miles away. But they might as well have been that far away, no more time than I got to take off. So, to conclude this paragraph, if you read this and it seemed important, go get it done before you turn 40, anyway. Catch it early, do what the Dr's say (if you think you can. then try and do it anyway), it's the easiest way to survive. I say that, and with all honesty, I didn't get a PSA until I was 47 years old. Foolish of me, I know. Get that done BEFORE you turn 40, that test done at 37 or 38 is far more important than you think. Early enough and fast enough, they won't have to cut on you, your secret is early detection. Chen what you think of as needing asked of the pumpers and the forum. If it can wait, I'll close the window of opportunity on the bastard, get all to add on mingus, it's not hard against Mink. LOL
Okey Dokey, let's wrap this up.Today's Blog has been brought to you by Jim Henson's muppets Animal, the letter 200000, and the number Fucktard
I've not had a day where everything I've cleared out of my of my tracy (which means it's coming out of my trachea or a bit higher than that, closer to my larynx. I know I can't speak but a dozen words or fewer than I can stand a child in pain. It really bleeds, and the pain it takes to clean that up it's just not worth the effort to talk about. In retrospect, yes it is, the bleeding and all is important to talk about. There's something intrinsically wrong with blowing that off. It can be a scary thing to have happen, worse if you're not used to seeing a lot of your own blood, not so scary if you've been prepared to see that kind of thing. My Dr.'s at MD Anderson explained there would be bleeding as this with along. They did say copious amounts, of which I've only had one or two episodes like that. This bleeding is a medium kind of bleed, but it's also all day, every day. Which I'm saying is something that definitely needed talk about. I know I've mentioned it getting more and more heavy out of and into my mouth. That's kind of changed, I get little to no blood in my mouth anymore. I guess that one hard cough blew up whatever was bleeding so much into my mouth, but it's gone. For all practical purposes it has anyway.
So, why do I say this bleeding, out of my trach (I am 100% percent that's where the bleed is now). It's because I am not seeing it anywhere else. Not in my throat or esophagus, just in my trach. It's scary because that is where you're breathing comes through to your lungs. That's damn spooky. If The Damn Cancer cuts off your airway, you die! If it does it slowly (like it is on me) you get used to the short wind, panting like a dog, or weak as a new born kitten. It could also go a long way to helping with anxiety. Mine was brought on by other means. I got excited (no, fools, not "That" way) and felt my neck tighten up. Then my legs got 50 shades of shaky. And finally, like no matter what I did I wasn't getting enough air. It turns out that's not uncommon among people with mouth and/or throat cancer. Normally, that wouldn't have been so bad that I couldn't get over it, but no way. I couldn't shake that irrational fear of drowning. The thing that made it irrational, was my location. There's not a decent river, or stock pond in a couple hundred miles at least. Oh now I have to call Bullshit upon myself. There are a couple of lakes less than 200 miles away. But they might as well have been that far away, no more time than I got to take off. So, to conclude this paragraph, if you read this and it seemed important, go get it done before you turn 40, anyway. Catch it early, do what the Dr's say (if you think you can. then try and do it anyway), it's the easiest way to survive. I say that, and with all honesty, I didn't get a PSA until I was 47 years old. Foolish of me, I know. Get that done BEFORE you turn 40, that test done at 37 or 38 is far more important than you think. Early enough and fast enough, they won't have to cut on you, your secret is early detection. Chen what you think of as needing asked of the pumpers and the forum. If it can wait, I'll close the window of opportunity on the bastard, get all to add on mingus, it's not hard against Mink. LOL
Okey Dokey, let's wrap this up.Today's Blog has been brought to you by Jim Henson's muppets Animal, the letter 200000, and the number Fucktard
Thursday, April 10, 2014
4
Man oh man, I've really let this slide. I apologize, first to me, for ignoring something I really enjoy doing, and then to all of you who follow the blog. I've had better months. I seem to have found out how to wear myself out so efficiently it doesn't take much to out me out. I don't know if that's from cancer, or from depression. I think Cancer, although it could be that the anti-depressant isn't strong enough or the correct type. It's not the same kind of tired I felt when I thought I was depressed (which I was), it is something more along the lines of when I worked way hard and got really tired. I'd just forgotten how that felt, since I've not worked for a looooong fucking time. As Bilbo once said "I feel like a pat of butter that's been spread too thin". (thank you Mr Tolkien, that was a perfect way to say that). So, as I set here going over why I might be tired, it turns out it feels more physical than mental. I still want to go out, and if Liz said "wanna go to get a bite, and have a drink?" I'd gather my poop to do that. Yep, it's physical.
I noticed that some time back, even before I figured out I was depressed, that I was getting really tired, even after minimal exercise, and was running out of gas way fast! Well, it's like that now, by a factor of 5. But, even tired, I would like to be out doing something. It embarrasses me when I just drop off. Part of the reason I still say this is physical, not mental, is that I have that desire to not be so tired, and how to workaround that. Depression, there was no way to work around any of it. With the depression I didn't feel tired, but I did want to sleep all the time, and you couldn't have pried me out of bed with a twenty foot long steel bar, and primer cord. This time, if I get a nap (albeit some of those are way long), by the end of the day, I'm tired, just not unusually so. I can, if someone asks if I want to go do something the answer is most likely "Why hell yes". When I was depressed it was "NO, Im so tired, Im about to fall asleep anyway". What does this tell me? It expected me to be at it's every whim. Something I never wanted my cancer or it's side effects to get that kind of grip upon me. A prime example I'm setting for folks that want to know what's going on? Time to get to the meat a taters of this post.
Mostly because it's getting hard to keep my eyes open right now. The drugs and being up (yes, I took a long nap) since 0220 is taking control of my body. Once in a while it may know more about what I need than I do myself. I fell asleep typing, so my body does not get over ruled, as I used to think it needed. I can't overrule the body, it's smarter than I am. That's not much of a stretch either.
The truth is, my days are more difficult all the time. It's more difficult to get ready to go anywhere, do anything, or stay awake long enough to be useful. Yeah, it's getting tough, Baxter is taking his sweet time about wiping me out, but this incremental stuff is a buzz kill for certain. One day, I could be able to run a 440, the next day, if I can walk a block I should be thrilled. It's getting tougher to cook. One of the things I found that I can do for the family because it's not all that strenuous, and Baxter is taking the fun out of that. He's a rat fucking bastard. I have made it almost 2.5 or 3 months longer than I would have thought. The really good thing about that is I got to see Chance and Stephanie get married. I hope they find as much happiness as Liz and I have had, excluding this last 18 months! This has been a trying time for Liz and the kids. I'm sure I couldn't have made it this far without them.
Okay, I've got things I need to do. So I'm going to cut this short, probably the shortest blog I've done. Since to me, the days are running together and to me, nothing much has changed. I'll think about it though, before I do the next one.
Love all y'all
''''
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Crap, What A Fouled Up Couple of Weeks
Good fuckin gosh how about just a full week of not being either too awake, too asleep or too hurting to do a damn thing! Monday: Pretty decent day, until noon. Big time flare up of sudden bone pain and swelling even after lymphedema therapy. Swelling went down around 2200 hrs, which made it a bit more tolerable. Tuesday, sorta like a continuation of Monday afternoon, but with the kick of my right leg aching like there was no tomorrow. Although, in Tuesday's favor, I was awake all day, and slept really well all night. Wednesday, complete downer. Pain, aches, and riding the edge of another anxiety attack. Didn't sleep well during the day or night. Sucked major ass. Thursday went really well, until about until about 1630. Liz had somewhat of a windfall, so we agreed she buys something she wants for herself. Or something that she would like to have that the family can enjoy with her. She bout a 60" smart TV and new stand to put it on. Very cool, I like it. There is a story that goes along with that, from ohhh, 3 years ago. I mentioned to Liz, "We have this huge tax refund, I'll skip a Highland Game, and we'll buy a 60 or 70" HD tv. Put it in the living room, put the 50" in our room, and give Declan the 42" from the bedroom". Seemed good to me but I got this: "No, we are NOT putting a huge tv in the living room and definitely not putting that big assed TV from the living in our room!!" Well I'll be darned, that's pretty close to what happened. I had a bit of a laugh on Thursday. Anyway, around 1630, I got to feeling about 30 shades of icky. Helped Liz just a little on the building of the new stand, since she did most of it by herself. It's a very nice job that she did, and the TV looks fabulous. I can even read the crawler without having to squint (eyes are getting weaker, one of the reasons I'm going to have to give up driving). Friday started out great! Had good coffee with the boys, came home, slept, ingested lunch, slept. Went to get a massage at 1100 hrs, that was wonderful. Came home napped for certain after that, because every massage I've ever gotten just knocks me out. So I slept. I slept so much from 0600-2100 that I wasn't going to sleep Friday night at all. Turns out that was correct. I didn't sleep. Maybe a bit between 0730-1100. I also got sick and threw up Saturday around 1300. No reason was given, I started coughing, and about half way to stopping I just exploded. I'd not vomited like that in a quite a while. It really sucked the life out of me, all the way around. I got chills, stomach cramps, nausea. A decent fever for a while. Nearly had a panic attack, but got that kicked to the curb with the help of my daughter Addison. Creative, sharp, funny, and took care of dad. I love her to death.
So, things are just not going my way on Saturday at all. I'm dehydrated, but had taken in enough water to start getting over that. I've not coughed a lot, but what I am bringing up is pretty well blood filled, and has been for a couple of weeks. So, I get my second set set of formula in and cough once. It gives me that vurp taste, and just as I grab the suction to clear out my mouth, I explode. I've had some attacks of vomit before, but this one even surprised the shit out of me. The grandson didn't bat an eye though, he jumped up went and gathered his mom up "Pops threw up a lot and it's disgusting". He was right on both counts. I thought it was cool he didn't panic. Unlike my other trips to Rock's World of Throwing Up and Shaking I only tossed up this one time. I guess it figured if every thing in my stomach plus my socks and a pair of underwear was enough throwing up for one day.
So I stop being a high pressure internal cleaning machine and settle in for a warm shower, some ice water and a nap. Two out of three ain't bad. The shower and ice water were refreshing, but it seemed the nap just wasn't going to come along like I'd like. Most of that was from running a fever. I never took my temperature, but I think it got dang high a couple of times. I'd burn up for an hour or two, the beak out in a sweat and freeze for an hour or so. I kept adding water, and I kept getting a little better but never quite over it completely. I did finally nap a little, but I didn't try to get anymore formula in to me at all. My stomach was still too hinky for that. Addison rounded me up some Adivan and Pepto-Dismal and in an hour or so that had settled down. Still not food worthy but not doing full 360's either. That was a nice break. Not all that's left is shaky from my hands and legs. Which, in my case, normally says an anxiety thing. I couldn't take any more Ativan for another 5 hours, so I concentrated on keeping my breathing even and not being so leg achey and busy. This time I really do believe it was a dehydration thing making my legs want to wiggle like jello on acid.
Well that was my Saturday. I think it was some kind of bug, because I feel better at this time of the morning than I had for the last couple of days at the same time. I don't want to push it, so I'm going to get my day started with an infusion of my morning drugs and a good long nap.
Everyone take care, enjoy your day. Make it special, we are all only given a finite amount of days
Hugs and shit
Saturday, March 29, 2014
There Will Come a Time I Can't Drive
The shits of this entire gig is that I'm losing more and more of my independence. Everything seems to be affected by the cancer. I tried working out, but that caused a lot of pain, and took away all the gains I'd made with my bio-mechanics. Well, that and the surgeries that I would have had to correct it all, but won't happen because the cancer came back, there's nothing left to do to kill it, so further surgery is a waste of my insurance and, more importantly, my plastic surgeons time. As my time grows shorter, it's just the opposite of what's going to come along in the months that will lead up to my demise. All the bad stuff that's been off and on, or not even on the radar yet, is starting to show up bigger, faster, stronger, and more ruthless. While my body gets weaker and my ability to live more or less independent is going out the window faster with every week I'm alive. Those weeks I'm alive though, I can give the cancer the Single Finger Salute every day, all day, if I so choose.
Those weeks that I stay alive all seem to be wonderful. At least that's what one would think, and in part, that's true. It's the constant adapting to new issues, and to things that wouldn't have even given me the least amount of reason to be bothered by them, that are hardest to deal with. Probably since they are so small that my psyche doesn't like dealing with them. But, though they be tiny, together, they be fierce! That's why they are so hard to deal with at all. Drives me bat shit trying to keep all the little fires knocked down that once in a while a big fire over runs my ass.
The time that I'm most dreading will come when I have to give the truck keys to Liz. I've heard that is one of the most difficult things for men to do, surrender the keys to the vehicles. I know I'm going to have to do that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it at all. I can see some of my skills slide a little bit, nothing that I can't compensate for now, but in a month or less, I'm not so sure whether I can keep that up. I'll know when, by a combination of things. I've asked my son to be honest, and when I start to scare him, I'll quit. On top of that, the things I notice now, when they get larger and easier for me to see that I'm not doing them right, I'll quit. To rely on others (something new and still a little bothersome to me) is the tough move. I don't want to sit by and watch life go past, I get enough of that during the day. Watching people move about their daily life is good, but it's a little saddening as well. Knowing that I can't do all those things any longer, and that one day, I'm just not going to wake up. It's a bit tiring. The doc's said anywhere from 6 months to a year. I'm crowding the heck out of a year now, and I'm wondering if they weren't right. I am starting to drag down quicker. It's more difficult for me to stay hydrated. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to want to ingest all the liquids I was even 3 weeks ago. I do that knowing full well it's not going to help me, and does more harm than good. I will work on fixing that little problem.
This is going to be a darn short one, since I've started, deleted all the text, and restarted at least a dozen times in the last week or so. Crazy man, but nothing seemed right. I'm not sure that it does now, but this is what I could put together.
Love ya
Those weeks that I stay alive all seem to be wonderful. At least that's what one would think, and in part, that's true. It's the constant adapting to new issues, and to things that wouldn't have even given me the least amount of reason to be bothered by them, that are hardest to deal with. Probably since they are so small that my psyche doesn't like dealing with them. But, though they be tiny, together, they be fierce! That's why they are so hard to deal with at all. Drives me bat shit trying to keep all the little fires knocked down that once in a while a big fire over runs my ass.
The time that I'm most dreading will come when I have to give the truck keys to Liz. I've heard that is one of the most difficult things for men to do, surrender the keys to the vehicles. I know I'm going to have to do that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it at all. I can see some of my skills slide a little bit, nothing that I can't compensate for now, but in a month or less, I'm not so sure whether I can keep that up. I'll know when, by a combination of things. I've asked my son to be honest, and when I start to scare him, I'll quit. On top of that, the things I notice now, when they get larger and easier for me to see that I'm not doing them right, I'll quit. To rely on others (something new and still a little bothersome to me) is the tough move. I don't want to sit by and watch life go past, I get enough of that during the day. Watching people move about their daily life is good, but it's a little saddening as well. Knowing that I can't do all those things any longer, and that one day, I'm just not going to wake up. It's a bit tiring. The doc's said anywhere from 6 months to a year. I'm crowding the heck out of a year now, and I'm wondering if they weren't right. I am starting to drag down quicker. It's more difficult for me to stay hydrated. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to want to ingest all the liquids I was even 3 weeks ago. I do that knowing full well it's not going to help me, and does more harm than good. I will work on fixing that little problem.
This is going to be a darn short one, since I've started, deleted all the text, and restarted at least a dozen times in the last week or so. Crazy man, but nothing seemed right. I'm not sure that it does now, but this is what I could put together.
Love ya
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Oh Geez
I swear that I can't get what I want to write about lined up and finished. I've headed off in 5 bazillion directions with this blog. It's nothing unusual even. It was going to be something we all could relate to on a daily basis, but even those have fallen through. That just frustrates the pee pee out of me. There are a couple of things that I think all of us get from time to time, that are beginning to get to be a larger issue with me. I think I've got 30 to 60 days of driving left, then I will have to gather up a driver to take me all the fun places I like to go. I have no idea how I'm going to get to coffee. If my vision is so bad that I can't drive, and it's a struggle to walk much of any distance, I'm not so sure I could make the three mile round trip. Here's the rub. Have any of you had to flat tell the parent/s that they couldn't drive any longer and you were taking their keys? I'm propped up here all lipping off about how I'll just shut it down myself and not grouch about it later? That kind of made me laugh a bit as well. Yeah, the no driving thing is libel to make me a really mean assed old bastard before this is all said and done with.
Further more, I've got it in the back of my mind that I might not be able to bath myself, coming up. Yes, yes I know that's part of the business, but for Pete's sake. really? I've been bathing myself for as long as I remember. Even with full casts on my arms and a couple (four to be honest) on my ankles, and I could STILL bath myself. It's going to boil down to upper body strength and balance. I can tell you right now, I'm losing upper body strength every day, and the damn cancer is banging around my inner ear. They ring far more loudly and are noticeable to me any time I wake. Even for a quick piss in the middle of the night. So, looking at this like I probably should, I'm gonna need someone to help stay clean. This is the part of cancer, and any number other diseases out there, that probably hurts the worst. It strips away your independence and dignity. It's not enough for it to kill you, it's got to drag your way into the next level of existence (yes, life after death) by stripping even more of what you are or could have been. Break time. I've gotta med up, change tubes, and drive myself in my little hoopty to get that cup of joe and read some of the paper. Back before you can memorize and replay word for word "King Lear".
Okay, I'm back from my fun and games. The great thing: I spent some nice hours with Liz eating (I watched) and shopping with her for dark colored sheets and blankets, in case I bleed out at night, or am bleeding so bad she can't stop it. The dark sheets and blanket will at least mask some of the problem. (I also Torpedo Ran some unsuspecting shoppers at Kohl's. The expressions? Priceless). Suddenly, as is its want, I ran out of steam. No warning, no slow down, nope, none of that. Just an utter and all at once loss of any get up and go. In an hour and a 1/4 I get to eat again. Boy, that sounds almost exciting!!! Almost is right. Which leads right into the other "rub". Seldom is it a complete day for me any longer on "Good" versus "Bad" Days. What I'm settling for are "Mostly Good Days", or "Mostly Bad Days". Damn near "The Princess Bride" line "No, see? He was only MOOSTLY dead". Boy, that does fit my situation some days. It's partly funny and partly maddening that the speed at which the change for good to bad occurs. Sometimes it's hours to make the change, and like today, it was only a matter of minutes. I'm walkin along paying attention to just me and the next thing I know I'm starting to feel wrung out and need a nap. Or a sleep for the rest of the day. It's all together frustrating. Then it's like I shoulda just shut my dick in the dresser drawer, because it couldn't make me feel any worse.
It's the days like that that make doing the blog more difficult. They start out great, and I don't want to sit down and blog away and not use those hours for something that is good for me mentally. So I wait, and if I still feel pretty decent before I go to bed, I'll write a bit. If not, I'll hold off a bit. The blog is supposed to help all of us out. Me, therapeutically, and other's in the manner that it works best. Remaining calm, holding your head up, how to make each day more valuable, those kind of things. I hope that I'm hitting the mark with all that. Then, when I feel really poorly and try to write anything it comes off as being a whiney little bitch, and as a rule I'm not. At least I don't think I am. I do have honest enough friends that when I get whiney they say so in no uncertain terms. Those are the type friends everyone needs, to be honest. They may piss you off, but they only do it because they love you enough to know you need your shit straightened out. Good bunch of folks they are. Those are the kind of friends everyone should have. They not only keep me lined out, the buddies that live here are like gold. They do more than their share, they are helping Liz, which in the long run helps me, I don't have to worry about Liz. She's going to have more people looking after her than The President of the United States. I feel a bit better now, knowing that the family is going to have plenty of support.
For God's sake I've restarted, rewritten, and changed topic 6 to 8 times. Insane, man. But, the problem lies within myself and my day to day ability to balance my good days and times against my not so good, all the way down to plain fucking bad days. There's a huge difference in "not so good" and "fucking bad". Not so good is defined by myself as plain old lethargy. Fucking Bad is pain regardless of what I'm taking, covered up with the inability to clear my trach tube of my own secretions.
So this is honestly the end of this blog. Three days in the making, three days of looking for the right combination of words and times. I've gone over why they differ. I think that's pretty well covered the topic of "Why Is Rocky Always So Damned Inconsistent With Running His Blog".
Fair warning. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long time between LOL
Further more, I've got it in the back of my mind that I might not be able to bath myself, coming up. Yes, yes I know that's part of the business, but for Pete's sake. really? I've been bathing myself for as long as I remember. Even with full casts on my arms and a couple (four to be honest) on my ankles, and I could STILL bath myself. It's going to boil down to upper body strength and balance. I can tell you right now, I'm losing upper body strength every day, and the damn cancer is banging around my inner ear. They ring far more loudly and are noticeable to me any time I wake. Even for a quick piss in the middle of the night. So, looking at this like I probably should, I'm gonna need someone to help stay clean. This is the part of cancer, and any number other diseases out there, that probably hurts the worst. It strips away your independence and dignity. It's not enough for it to kill you, it's got to drag your way into the next level of existence (yes, life after death) by stripping even more of what you are or could have been. Break time. I've gotta med up, change tubes, and drive myself in my little hoopty to get that cup of joe and read some of the paper. Back before you can memorize and replay word for word "King Lear".
Okay, I'm back from my fun and games. The great thing: I spent some nice hours with Liz eating (I watched) and shopping with her for dark colored sheets and blankets, in case I bleed out at night, or am bleeding so bad she can't stop it. The dark sheets and blanket will at least mask some of the problem. (I also Torpedo Ran some unsuspecting shoppers at Kohl's. The expressions? Priceless). Suddenly, as is its want, I ran out of steam. No warning, no slow down, nope, none of that. Just an utter and all at once loss of any get up and go. In an hour and a 1/4 I get to eat again. Boy, that sounds almost exciting!!! Almost is right. Which leads right into the other "rub". Seldom is it a complete day for me any longer on "Good" versus "Bad" Days. What I'm settling for are "Mostly Good Days", or "Mostly Bad Days". Damn near "The Princess Bride" line "No, see? He was only MOOSTLY dead". Boy, that does fit my situation some days. It's partly funny and partly maddening that the speed at which the change for good to bad occurs. Sometimes it's hours to make the change, and like today, it was only a matter of minutes. I'm walkin along paying attention to just me and the next thing I know I'm starting to feel wrung out and need a nap. Or a sleep for the rest of the day. It's all together frustrating. Then it's like I shoulda just shut my dick in the dresser drawer, because it couldn't make me feel any worse.
It's the days like that that make doing the blog more difficult. They start out great, and I don't want to sit down and blog away and not use those hours for something that is good for me mentally. So I wait, and if I still feel pretty decent before I go to bed, I'll write a bit. If not, I'll hold off a bit. The blog is supposed to help all of us out. Me, therapeutically, and other's in the manner that it works best. Remaining calm, holding your head up, how to make each day more valuable, those kind of things. I hope that I'm hitting the mark with all that. Then, when I feel really poorly and try to write anything it comes off as being a whiney little bitch, and as a rule I'm not. At least I don't think I am. I do have honest enough friends that when I get whiney they say so in no uncertain terms. Those are the type friends everyone needs, to be honest. They may piss you off, but they only do it because they love you enough to know you need your shit straightened out. Good bunch of folks they are. Those are the kind of friends everyone should have. They not only keep me lined out, the buddies that live here are like gold. They do more than their share, they are helping Liz, which in the long run helps me, I don't have to worry about Liz. She's going to have more people looking after her than The President of the United States. I feel a bit better now, knowing that the family is going to have plenty of support.
For God's sake I've restarted, rewritten, and changed topic 6 to 8 times. Insane, man. But, the problem lies within myself and my day to day ability to balance my good days and times against my not so good, all the way down to plain fucking bad days. There's a huge difference in "not so good" and "fucking bad". Not so good is defined by myself as plain old lethargy. Fucking Bad is pain regardless of what I'm taking, covered up with the inability to clear my trach tube of my own secretions.
So this is honestly the end of this blog. Three days in the making, three days of looking for the right combination of words and times. I've gone over why they differ. I think that's pretty well covered the topic of "Why Is Rocky Always So Damned Inconsistent With Running His Blog".
Fair warning. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long time between LOL
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Who Thought
I talked with my Hospice Nurse yesterday, went over the sleepless nights and sleep all day stuff. Then the sleep all day, up part of the night, gig. And finally, that I have to drag myself to anything I like.
There were also the "Not Wanting to Do Anything" crowds. That pissed me off to no end, because I sort of had an idea as to what it was that was bothering me. Then you read that you're 90% of the way to getting it taken care of because you admit it.
I am mildly depressed. I'm not o certain why that is, since I told people and reduced my "edgy" work with folk. I was denying the fact that I needed something to do about the depression. Well, I got that this afternoon. I looked at the label…same old warnings there, but I've not read the inside literature to see what the exact side effects are, or what I can and can't do using it. Warning on the bottle says "Do Not Consume Alcohol While Taking This Drug", "You may becoming sleepy", duh. I just took the fun stuff today. I'd say sleepy don't cover it. For me it should have read: "Sleep Like Sleeping Beauty". The standard warnings of operation machinery are included on the bottle. The Nurse said you should have your energy back in 4-7 days and feel much better. That will be nice, for sure. I've known for a couple of months this is what it was. But, because I'm strong willed, I'd wear it down and it would just go away. Nope, that didn't happen. Then I was perplexed at myself. "What do I mean telling Me about the depression, and the drugs without letting me tell some one?". Well, it wouldn't have hurt me an iota to come out and say "I'm mildly depressed, I think I'll get some help with that before this turns into a huge problem.". Which, by putting it off in one more week, did. It got a nice grip on me so I have to beat it away with drugs, chemicals, and probably some counseling. Drugs ok…..Counseling not so much. On the one hand it will help to get my shit out in the open. But I've got my blog to help with that.
Look closely. I just did exaction what I tell people NOT to do. Don't say "Hell, I can fix it just like Rock. And if you think you can, give it a very short whirl. Not weeks on end, like I did, trying to fix it all by ourselves. It may or may not happen. I'm missing the boat if you all think I'm endorsing going cold turkey. I am saying, get help. I feel like I blew off a couple of weeks that probably wouldn't have been lost if I'd nosy, and asked for help both times. I ended up settling for the best help. Isn't that
a damn waste of what time I've got left? Hell yes it is.
So I'm getting the help I need and feeling better about being out in public, already and I've not take a dose yet. I may be jumping the shark a bit, but it's good to get a strong response for help when in need of help. Mostly, I just wanted to sit and do nothing. I didn't want to go get coffee with the buds. No running around for therapy or anything else. We'd go to a movie, and because I just didn't give a shit, I'd fall asleep. I forced myself to eat and drink (talked about dehydrating didn't we). So, first dose in, and I'm going to wait until damn near bed time to take the dose tomorrow and every day following. It'd be nice to be able to stay awake and watch one of the TV shows I like, rather than fall asleep and have have missed more than half out of the middle. I'm optimistic about the drug doing it's thing. This cracks my Hospice Nurse up. He says, after we talk, that I'm going to get an anti-depressant. I stopped him before he could finish his sentence and wrote out, "It's going to take seven to ten days for the drug to really start showing any signs of helping.". He thinks I looked it up online. Naw, I've had friends have to take the meds, I know how they work, at least at the "loading" stage goes. I put it akin to Kreotine mix I used for a couple of months trying to build muscle faster. List of bad side effects was staggering.
Sleepless, Anger, the shits, achy joints, just to name a few. I got angry, wide awake, and sore knees, the list of stuff both on the bottle info and in me ran the same. I got over those, simply because it wasn't worth the hassle I was causing at home.
About time to fold the tent up, and move into the Land of True Enchantment, Dream Land. Here's to hoping that dreams appear after I've cast off these mortal coils.
Be good, have fun, honestly stop and smell the roses once in a while. Once that time has passed, and you're unable to do that any more, it gets a bit more frantic looking for (What Haven't I Done?). No Bucket List for me. It'd be full except for a couple of items. So I call that a pretty damn good run at life.
There were also the "Not Wanting to Do Anything" crowds. That pissed me off to no end, because I sort of had an idea as to what it was that was bothering me. Then you read that you're 90% of the way to getting it taken care of because you admit it.
I am mildly depressed. I'm not o certain why that is, since I told people and reduced my "edgy" work with folk. I was denying the fact that I needed something to do about the depression. Well, I got that this afternoon. I looked at the label…same old warnings there, but I've not read the inside literature to see what the exact side effects are, or what I can and can't do using it. Warning on the bottle says "Do Not Consume Alcohol While Taking This Drug", "You may becoming sleepy", duh. I just took the fun stuff today. I'd say sleepy don't cover it. For me it should have read: "Sleep Like Sleeping Beauty". The standard warnings of operation machinery are included on the bottle. The Nurse said you should have your energy back in 4-7 days and feel much better. That will be nice, for sure. I've known for a couple of months this is what it was. But, because I'm strong willed, I'd wear it down and it would just go away. Nope, that didn't happen. Then I was perplexed at myself. "What do I mean telling Me about the depression, and the drugs without letting me tell some one?". Well, it wouldn't have hurt me an iota to come out and say "I'm mildly depressed, I think I'll get some help with that before this turns into a huge problem.". Which, by putting it off in one more week, did. It got a nice grip on me so I have to beat it away with drugs, chemicals, and probably some counseling. Drugs ok…..Counseling not so much. On the one hand it will help to get my shit out in the open. But I've got my blog to help with that.
Look closely. I just did exaction what I tell people NOT to do. Don't say "Hell, I can fix it just like Rock. And if you think you can, give it a very short whirl. Not weeks on end, like I did, trying to fix it all by ourselves. It may or may not happen. I'm missing the boat if you all think I'm endorsing going cold turkey. I am saying, get help. I feel like I blew off a couple of weeks that probably wouldn't have been lost if I'd nosy, and asked for help both times. I ended up settling for the best help. Isn't that
a damn waste of what time I've got left? Hell yes it is.
So I'm getting the help I need and feeling better about being out in public, already and I've not take a dose yet. I may be jumping the shark a bit, but it's good to get a strong response for help when in need of help. Mostly, I just wanted to sit and do nothing. I didn't want to go get coffee with the buds. No running around for therapy or anything else. We'd go to a movie, and because I just didn't give a shit, I'd fall asleep. I forced myself to eat and drink (talked about dehydrating didn't we). So, first dose in, and I'm going to wait until damn near bed time to take the dose tomorrow and every day following. It'd be nice to be able to stay awake and watch one of the TV shows I like, rather than fall asleep and have have missed more than half out of the middle. I'm optimistic about the drug doing it's thing. This cracks my Hospice Nurse up. He says, after we talk, that I'm going to get an anti-depressant. I stopped him before he could finish his sentence and wrote out, "It's going to take seven to ten days for the drug to really start showing any signs of helping.". He thinks I looked it up online. Naw, I've had friends have to take the meds, I know how they work, at least at the "loading" stage goes. I put it akin to Kreotine mix I used for a couple of months trying to build muscle faster. List of bad side effects was staggering.
Sleepless, Anger, the shits, achy joints, just to name a few. I got angry, wide awake, and sore knees, the list of stuff both on the bottle info and in me ran the same. I got over those, simply because it wasn't worth the hassle I was causing at home.
About time to fold the tent up, and move into the Land of True Enchantment, Dream Land. Here's to hoping that dreams appear after I've cast off these mortal coils.
Be good, have fun, honestly stop and smell the roses once in a while. Once that time has passed, and you're unable to do that any more, it gets a bit more frantic looking for (What Haven't I Done?). No Bucket List for me. It'd be full except for a couple of items. So I call that a pretty damn good run at life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)