Good Gravy Gertie

  Frustrating and fun, all in one spot. A bud came and ran my happy ass out to the field yesterday to see the guys and breeze away a little bit. I can make the trip out and back on my own, and not be one iota more tired than if I ride. Liz worries though, and the company is nice to have along. Funny how I really used to cherish my "alone" time. Part of why riding the bike was such a joy. Get on, get some breeze in the hair. Okay, at the time I shaved or buzz cut my hairs, but you know. While riding it was just the road, the bike, and me. Keep your mind in the middle, enjoy the scenery and scents, and just being with yourself. God, I do love that. But, like I say, company is always nice. Besides, we laugh, he got to meet my boss and a couple other people, and I introduced him as "Jamie, my driver". Made me look self important, which in reality I am, by the way. But, I hate to write, and Jamie understands close to half what I say, and is good at filling in what he doesn't catch, so I spoke more. Which means for a bit yesterday, and a lot more this morning, my damn throat is bleeding. I need to attend the funeral of my friend's step son. Not for the son, he's on his first leg of the next journey, and I wish him fair winds and following seas, I'll check on him when I get there myself. No, not for his son. For Eric and Barb, to support them in their hour of need and quiet desperation. I can't fathom the depth of the hurt of that, but it's got to be tremendous. But, if my throat's bleeding continues to get worse I'll be on the suction pump like a rat on cheese. I won't go, have to hack constantly, and suction every minute or two. That distraction they don't need. I've text him and let him know. I also know this is a terribly busy time and I hope he has a chance to get the text. I don't want him to think they both aren't on my mind and in my heart. Sometimes, this cancer shit blows dick for skittles. This is definitely one of those times.

  Went to get coffee, knew I was bleeding a bit, and sometimes (oddly enough) the heat from the coffee will slow or stop the bleeding. I have to push that first syringe full in really fast though, so it over comes gravity and esophagus to hit the back of my throat where it's bleeding. Today, however, that did not work. Nor did the hard push of ice water that damn near gave me a brain freeze. Haven't had one of those in a long time. I gotta be careful, though, on how fast I push. I experiment with things like that. I don't wanna throw up up, so I practice at home going faster and faster until I did throw up. That was months ago. It is now an art. As stated several times, when I vomit it's a complete cluster coitus. I have hell stopping, and once, at home alone because Addison had gone with friends (something I encourage, she doesn't need to be watching my ass all the time), I threw up so many times I passed out. Fucking sucked because I wasn't even drunk. I'll tell ya, it's bad enough to puke, worse to pass out doing it, and damn hard to clean up the entire mess before anyone gets home to see it. I ruled that part like a boss. Slept almost 12 hours though. Wore me out.
 Anyway, I'm having coffee, occasionally wiping a little blood off my chin, hopefully before anyone notices, when on of the guys says "You're leaking". Shit, I wipe my chin because it's numb from nerve damage. "No, your tube". Christ. Ten months and I forget to clamp my damn feeding tube when I pulled the syringe. Fortunately, most of it got caught by my cough towel, but I got some on my pants and on the floor. Yes, clean up in aisle one. So, now I'm doubly concerned. I'm bleeding, and it's getting worse, and I can't remember the simple shit like clamping the feeding tube. I shoulda stayed in bed. On that end, I fell asleep at 2100. Didn't wake up until 0300. Not once. Six hours straight is damn good for me, and I felt pretty good when I woke up, and still feel fairly perky.
 
  Side bar. After dropping son off at school this morning (I miss getting to see him get his license, dammit) and heading for home, I get tailgated. Nothing new for this asshole driver's town. But, dickhead, if I'm driving under twenty in a school zone, because kids are jumping in and out of the street, you look like an asshole. Therefore, don't get fucking angry because I hold a printed note up at my window that says "Nice tailgating , you asshole" Front and back of a page, big letters.  I assume they saw it, because they flipped me off and were cussing. Busted being an asshole, don't be offended, fix your ass. Douche mongrel.

 So, yes, I'm struggling here with the right thing to do. Neither option is even a portion of the right thing to do. I've text my friend, he's text me back. He understands. I knew he would. He's a good man. I don't like the option to miss. I'm not going to become a distraction at all. Fuck I hate this. I hate it because I bucked the odds yesterday, knowing full well that my speaking may make my throat bleed. Damn, my fault this time, all the way around. I'm more pissed off at myself than the cancer, even. So that's pretty damn pissed. We are texting back and forth. He is a good man. He's one of the folks that earns and deserves my respect, and he's making allowances for me on a day like today. He's a very good man indeed. I tried on all my dress slacks that fit last year. I'm thirty pounds lighter, and all the pants are too tight. Seems like when I quit all the core work I was doing even after the PEG line went in, I am getting pot bellied. Had to quit. Not only did it hurt like hell, it made the stoma bleed more than it should. Bad when you look down and notice a dark patch on a dark blue tee shirt, and realize it's blood from your PEG line stoma because you've irritated it beyond just angry clear up to "fuck you, take that asshole".  So, if I am able to attend, it will be black kilt, nice shirt and sweater. No tie, seems the trach gets in the way of  a tie and I can't breath well.
 Dig that shit. My friend has a step son suddenly die, his family is upended, and I'm pissed at my lack of dress clothing. Christ almighty. What an egoist. Gotta work on getting a bit more over myself.
We went to the viewing and time for his family, but only for a few minutes. Liz was uncomfortable. I don't blame her, so was I. She was, because that's where I'm going to end up. It's not too far fetched that she's gonna have a gut full of the funeral home in a few months. I don't blame her for being uncomfortable. I was because I have no words of comfort for the family. Nothing. I can hug, express my sorrow with them, but there are no words that can assuage the anguish they feel. I hope that they understand that they truly are in my thoughts today, and into the future as well. I don't think you ever get totally over it, but I believe you come to terms with it. Either way, it's a very tough row to hoe.

  Tomorrow I'm going to do something I've never done before in my life. I'm gonna ask the impossible. I'm asking for all the strength I had in June 2008, a ball bat, and twelve hours. I'm so fucking tired of the way people drive here, including the police, that every time I see some dick endangering others, I'm gonna use the ball bat on them. Perhaps if a sixty or eighty ass holes get dented a little, people will pay attention. You stupid bastards have killed thirty-eight people in the county with your shit headed driving, including fourteen people in town. In TOWN. You simpleton, dumb assed, self centered cock bites. Dallas has ten times the people here, so they'd have to have 380 traffic deaths to equal this county's per capita highway death rate. Don't you morons understand just how shit headed you are?  No, because Midland County has always thought of itself as better than anywhere else on God's green earth. For all the good things here, that attitude damn near trumps everything else. Stop being dicks.

 Wow, the driving thing has me wound up this morning. Probably because a kid died in his sleep before he had a real chance to taste the best part of living, and the way people drive here proves they have no regard for anything or anyone but themselves. That's not living, that's getting in the way of people who are trying to live. That pisses me off. We don't deserve a good life, we do deserve the chance to have it. The way people drive here puts that at risk, all because they can't get their ass around soon enough in the day to get where they are going without driving like dick heads. Man, I had thirty nine miles to go if I got called out when working at Notrees. In town, speed limit, obey all the signs and lights. Open highway, as fast as that truck would run safely. Generally around ninety or so, since Chevy kills the engine at ninety six. I went that fast because I don't like to have salt water or oil on the ground. It's bad.

 I'm on a tear, because I'm worn smooth out with people and their ass wipe attitudes. That goes for people in government that think their asses are so wonderful they know what's best for me. You don't, you're play acting at being over privileged, Democrats and Republicans both. Stay the fuck out of the way, and watch your country become what it should be, and already is, the greatest place on earth to live. Especially without  you nitwits playing like you're genius. Sure, we need some rules and regulations because there are always some ass hole's that aren't going to do what's right from the get go. We wouldn't need the EPA if the Ohio River hadn't caught fire twice. Stupid bastards were too cheap to do proper procedures to prevent that. But really, there is no way any government can take care of every body in every direction. The burden will collapse us all. Get a damn clue.

 And you nice, whatever this group of twenty something's call themselves, don't deserve jack shit other than a shot at being something. You don't deserve my respect, a living, health insurance, a retirement, a secure job, the perfect house, high wages. None of that. Earn that shit and quit pissing and moaning how fucking unfair life is. No shit, it's true, life ain't fair, and just because you went to college doesn't mean you should get the fast track promotions, get higher wages, or anything else for that matter simply because you went out and got a job in the first place. Someone should have kicked your parents asses for not saying "NO" more often. Lots of you do work at earning that kind of respect and accolades. But it's time to grab your vocal contemporaries and bitch slap them senseless. I listened to a guy I worked with want a full time, not relief pumping job after he'd worked at relief pumping for six months. Never worked in the patch before that at all. He got it when I moved up on my recommendation. The rat bastard spent the next six months bitching about how much work it was, and wanting my Tech job because he thought he'd earned it. I guess telling him to kiss my ass, that he was making me look like a douche bag because all he did was bitch after I went to bat for him, probably wasn't the best way to handle that, but I was tired of it then, damn sure am now.

 We don't even have Thanksgiving any longer. Halloween ends, Christmas shit hits the stores.  I'm beginning to loathe Christmas. Not the holiday, but the way people behave this time of year. Even if you're not a believer, JC's message is a good one. Be nice. Basically that's all it is, Be Nice. Too many people turn asshole. Including Ma and Pa stores, not just the big corporations. There's something innately wrong with the entire idea that gifts are what it's about. Wrong, and again, believer or not, it should be about celebrating the life of a man and philosopher that carried a message of brotherhood and hope. The life has been sucked out of that message for certain. I get a nice surprise or two every Christmas, because someone gets me a gift other than what I asked for. Other than Socks and Underwear. It's all I need, socks and underwear. I get all the material shit I want all year long. What we need is a bit more inner soul searching and a lot less "I want".

 A little white lie ain't gonna kill ya. When I'm having a coughing fit in public, and it happens. I get "Are you okay?", genuine concern 99.9%  of the time, I can see it in their face through my watery eyes. No, I'm not really okay, I'm fighting not throwing up, I'm having hell catching a breath. But I will tell you every time "Yes, I'm fine" by nodding my head. You have taken the time to check on me, I appreciate it. And while there is nothing that can be done but letting it run it's course, I'm no way going to burden your genuine concern by adding worry to the list. I will be fine, but may not be right there at that moment. Sometimes, people need a moment of relief, not a moment of "oh fuck, what do I do?". You've, done plenty just by asking. Don't ever stop doing that. Someday, someone will say "No, I need help", just be ready to do that as well.

 I'm a skeptical and a bit cynical. I see people begging a lot. And those without mental issues, that's a result of the choices you make along the way. I'm sure I'm going to get "But! They can't find work!". And why is that? Can't keep your nose outta the bottle? Won't do menial tasks? What? And yes, I've heard and seen that some people can't find a job because of education making them over qualified to flip burgers. In one sense I get that, you'll split the instant a job you're trained and educated for pops up. There's no incentive for you to stay. And some managers of some of those places are intimidated by you, so yeah, I get that. But, when I'm at a light, and you're begging in your scruffy assed clothes. Have the courtesy to wait until the people to whom you are throwing your woe is me pitch are far enough away that they can't see you walk across the road and get into a restored Datsun 240Z. You've just become an asshole the instant I saw that. Especially when you combed out your hair and beard, took off that nasty jacket, and looked more presentable. Yes, asshole, I watched you do that from a convenience store parking lot while I was getting a soda last year. You're still begging. You're still an ass hole.

 I like a lot of people. I'll argue with all of them. If you're a friend of mine, at one time or another I'll piss you off, and you'll piss me off. That's the burden of being a friend of mine. I don't stay angry with you, ever, won't happen. Let someone else crawl your back, I'll be there with a big stick and my KBar. But, we, we can fight all we want. That won't change my opinion of you one iota. There's more to you if you're a friend of mine, than being in agreement with me all the time. And damn sure more than me being in agreement with you all the time. I'm a pretty loyal buddy. Even if we don't often correspond, after decades of not seeing each other. You're still my friend, our lives are just not meshing like they once did. If you've become a thief, chronic liar, wife or child beater, we're quits. No explanation, nothing, we're done. If you've had a rough time, things haven't gone as you'd liked, or even imagined, that's okay, some of my life hasn't either. We're still buds.

  I'm more critical of myself than anyone of you will ever be. It's my nature. I work hard at making myself better. At times that includes setting lofty personal goals that may or may not be attainable. I do that so as to be a better man, husband, father and friend. What you see as a minor flaw, I see as almost mountainous. Don't let this knowledge dissuade you from being critical. I can handle it, and if it's something that's legitimate and I want to correct, I welcome the input. No, I will not stop fucking cussing. I'm good at it, it's an art with me. I will not change.

  Who are the most attractive women on earth, besides my wife? Easy. You're the women with the fire in your eyes. You're smart, compassionate, passionate, kind, and yet hard as nails. You like yourself first and don't live for the next mani/pedi day with your fake tits and nails clan. Yes, I know women with fake boobs who are in the Most Attractive column. The tits didn't make you, you were already made, the fake boobs are like sprinkles on the ice cream. You'll stand up for yourself, without sounding bitchy or whiny. You don't suffer fools, but are diplomatic enough to tell them off and have them believing it's a compliment.  It doesn't matter how you're built, that's what makes you attractive. If the men around you can't see that, they are far too stupid to be in your company. Do not let them drag you down.

 If for some unGodly reason, I had to have a fist fight (I walked away from 99% of the bull shit that got thrown when I was young), it didn't last long. It was over in two minutes or less with me walking away. Much longer than that and I was in deep shit. I don't like to fight. I will, I was fair at it, because in a fist fight no one wins. One or both of us were too stupid to find a way just to walk off until shit cooled down. That's a fact. So, when it came to the fine nut cuttin, I don't wait, I don't push, I don't yell. If it's what you really wanna do, I'm gonna fuck you up fast enough I don't get very hurt. If it comes down to the point you've beaten me, you'll wish to God you hadn't tried. More than a few fights, some defending other people, some because what I thought was funny got me popped instead, never the same person twice. It was unpleasant for both of us. I do not like it, I avoid it as often as I can. Not hard now, I can't be so bold as I once was. I'm too fucked up physically to jump in even if I had to. No, that's not right, I see a woman or a kid being harmed in anyway, I'll still step in. I hope I have one shot to kick your knee out, or have something heavy enough to knock you out now. It didn't used to matter

 I've gotten a bit more patient. Nope, sorry, that's total bullshit. Moving on

 I've ranted my ass off today. I figure it's because today I feel less in control than most days. I can't control what the cancer is doing to me on a physical level. My friend's family is suffering, and I'm afraid of being a distraction, so I'm not in control of my bleeding. Calculated risk yesterday and I flubbed it for today. Unsound move on my part. I assume this is a good assessment as to why I ranted. Anyone with any other reasons why, I'm open to hear those.

 Book Of Rock:  When I'm coughing, I know it's nasty and sounds terrible. But I swear to God Almighty, if you give me stink eye when I can see what you're eating, I'm gonna rub my snot all over your head, you pig.

Hugs

The Days Of My Life

  Before I get started on my rant n rave, I wanna give some props out to my PT and Lymphedema Therapists Susan and Barb. While I don't do PT any longer, they give me little tips on things to do that won't irritate my neck and shoulders. The Lymphedema Therapy certainly gives me much better quality of life. I can tell, believe me, when I lose ground on the moving fluid from my head and neck out. I hurt, I get extra slobbery, I can't move well, and my balance is hinky. Through them I have a better quality of life. Something I will take every day over quantity. Much of the reason I didn't do the damn clinical study. Live a few weeks extra, be sick for months. In the immortal words of Rock: "Fuck that shit, Chief".

Okay, here we go. I get asked a lot, and it's an acceptable question, "How ya feel in?". Fact is, it's acceptable because it can change hour to hour. Yesterday, I felt pretty decent until about noon. Then I couldn't keep ahead of drainage or saliva, and in the end threw up several times. And continued to struggle with that the rest of the day. To the point I was chicken to even add a feeding in. Didn't get near the fluid or feed I needed yesterday, but the fear of throwing up overcame my knowledge I needed water and food. That's the shits with me throwing up now. It's not only a mess and embarrassing. It's an intimidating, damn near frightening thing to happen. It fills my sinuses, flies out of my mouth and nose. All of which compounds each other's already existing problems and, if I can't mentally get a grip on it, will continue until I pass out. That's happened once when I was alone. Before Hospice. Before I was told there was nothing they could do with my cancer's return. I didn't tell anyone. No use in causing extra worry when it didn't need to be added in. I've got to the point I can limit the times I puke, so that's a plus and I'll let it go at that.

 That's how fast my days can change. It's not always for the worst. Sometimes it's for the better. Some days are bad one minute, and the next I'm shittin in tall cotton. None of that I understand. I've never in my life had such rapid and wide angled physical swings. Well, unless I hurt myself, but that can't be counted because that was the effect of my own actions. Not just watching the damn boob tube and start throwing up, for shit sake.
  Most days are pretty average and on a routine that's as flexible as I want it. Boring out the ass, mostly. Wake, do drugs, watch the tube, feed, take Boy to school, twice a week go to therapy, feed, watch the tube, feed, drugs feed. Watching the tube in between. Not much there, really. That's an average day. Little or no swelling, that means little or no pain. On the average days I can do anything I want. Okay, not what I want, but what I'm able to do. Anything. I've cooked. Cleaned. Read. Walked. All that stuff plus. Not bad for an average day. They don't change much, it makes me a little restless. But, here's the kicker on an average day. It makes me restless, but doesn't give me he energy to do something about it. That's a shame. With just a little get up an go I might feel more normal on an average day. Something to sort out for myself. My average days now are about what I would have called a moderately bad day just a year ago. Funny how that changes.
  Some days are particularly bad. I wake up hurt. It's a struggle to get my meds and that first feeding in. When I am having therapy on those days it's about all I can do to drive myself there. And although I come away feeling better than when I went in, it's still a struggle to get home and get in the chair. You know, so I can struggle with getting feed and water in. As well as extra pain med if I need it. Bad days I don't care if I get anything accomplished. I'm a damn drag, so some of the days I don't blog anything I'm having a bad day. No two ways about that. Now that I've brought it up, people will worry, but don't. It's not so bad for anyone to worry, but it's bad enough I don't want to drag people down with me to my level of blah. Not that I'm depressed, far from it, but I'm a downer. One word answers, to start. I'm achy or have real pain, so I get short with people. Focus is about out the window except for focusing on not feeling sick or in so much pain (yes, even with drugs) that I can't keep up with a conversation as well. Nothing personal to anyone. Just that some days I can't deal with my own shit, let alone someone else's as well. Those are the days I really have to look after myself, and me alone.

 Now, the good days. They come a bit fewer and farther between, but they are wonderful when they do, and they still outweigh the bad days by say, four to one. So that to me is a win. While I may go a week or so without a good day, and only have one bad day, generally the next week I have several good days in a row. Those are the days when the planets all aline correctly and my pain is at a minimum all day. No need for break through pain meds. That's a plus. Those are the days I like to get outside and walk. And even though it wears me out, and makes me ache a lot, the pain goes on its own with in an hour or so. I cough less. Make less saliva. Everything is less. Except for how restless I get. Only now, I have the energy and the get up and go to get up and get. I enjoy going out. On the days that I have good days AND therapy, my pain level may be a three, and by the time we finish it's a zero. That's a true PLUS. That makes me want to go look at stuff. Just to see how much the town is changing in the months I've been down. My God it's amazing the stuff I miss by not being out and about every single day like I was before. Most of it is wonderful and positive. And the citizens of Midland should quit bitching, relearn how to drive, and enjoy the nicest oil field city I've ever lived in. They don't realize that this is one of the best areas to work the oil field I can think of at the moment. So much here. Travel access from interstate and airport. SAM'S in town. A symphony, 20 miles southwest a Shakespeare Theater in the Round. So much. When you look at it, most places are not this well equipped for having oil as their main driving force. Most are very small towns with a 60 plus mile drive to the nearest city with a decent grocery store. Yeah, Kansas is like that. So are most other places.
 Good days are a joy. I feel like sharing my time with others. I want to hear about how their days went. I wanna know how their lives are going. In part because I live vicariously through that, and also because it's nice to be part of something larger again. I think everyone needs that once in a while.

 As I was telling my therapist Barb, and a couple of other people, as of late it seems like I get a handle on one problem and two more step up. Not in huge ways, more of a "When the hell did that shit start?" kind of moment of recognition. I assume that's going to be the way it is for a while. Probably until I hit Critical Mass and the body lies down that one last time. I don't dwell on it because that give it life and strength. In my mind it does, at least. But it's there. I'd have said "Hell No!" if I'd known that dying was such hard work. Talk about wearing you out. Trying to keep ahead of the little shit is a lot more work than swinging a twenty pound sledge hammer all day. No where near as fun, either. I know why, too. It's a pride thing. I used to take a lot of pride in working some of the late twenty, early thirty age boys into the ground. They get the last laugh now, the dogs. I can't work my way out from under a wet paper towel. Sometimes I'm not sure why I rage against the dying of the light. But I feel driven to do so. Something about that being an old school guy, I guess. I kind of enjoy being the defiant ass that keeps pestering the killer as long as I can. I try and prove that while he is slowly stealing my life, the rat cock sucker hasn't stolen much of me. When he thinks he might have, that's when I like to kick his nuts once or twice. Keeps us both on our toes.
 I'm almost sure, as well, that on the good days when I expend a lot of energy enjoying my day, that in the long run I empower the cancer just a touch. I have to recover. I don't just have a bit, catch a second wind and go on. I get exhausted at the end of the day, and for the next three or so days, I'm terribly tired. That gives the cancer a chance to run around unimpeded for a bit. That's okay. Quality over Quantity every time. This is the only life I was given. I never liked sitting on the sidelines watching. Let's all play ball or I'll find something else to do with my time. I truly enjoyed work. Even when I wasn't enjoying THE job, I always enjoyed the WORK. Difference there can be the leadership at the JOB. The WORK didn't change. It required my head out of my ass, and an ability to diagnose and fix problems in several different areas of the fields I worked in. In the one at Notrees, it wasn't just the average daily mechanical problems that's can go on, it was poison gas up to 66,000 parts per million in the air. I didn't gauge tanks. If there was a problem with anything on or near a tank, especially water, that was grab some help and put on the air pack to go check. Loved the work, not always the job.

  I'm thinking also about how I was, and how that's changed. My basic self hasn't changed. I like the same things, if I could talk, I'd talk shit with you until we both couldn't breath from laughing. A lot of that hasn't changed. I also think it's somewhat defeatist to compare, but I also see how that's human nature, and even I can't keep from doing it from time to time. So let's run a review, just for shits and giggles.

  I wrestled a bit, got hurt in Eighth grade and only wrestled once competitively after that in college. Won three out of four matches. Took second over all in my weight class. Not bad for a kid that hadn't been on a mat in three years.  I played city league basketball in Great Bend Ks in sixth grade, and in Elkhart Ks in l991 and 1992, and a couple of times in 1993. 93 I had an excuse not to play. I was just married to Liz and was trying to prove to her that I wasn't a mistake. I played pick up football and the like until 1987. My ex wanted me home on Sunday afternoon since I worked 6 days a week on a well servicing rig and had a new baby. That was okay with me. I was still hitting the gym 5 days a week for a couple hours a night after the kid went down. After Liz and I got married I laid off the gym and stuff for a couple of years. Worked hard at my job, so I stayed in pretty decent shape. Then after Dec was born, I had to hit the gym again. I was turning into a fat old man. Couldn't let that happen. I got strong, probably stronger than anytime in my life. I know it was in June, July, and August of 2008. Once a month I benched, squatted and dead lifted 400 lbs. Piss poor squat, but I hated leg work. My oldest daughter loves leg work. She's gonna be the athlete. All the while, in between and the like. I played a little soft ball with Liz radiology team at the hospital. At the time it was hard for them to field an entire softball team, so the hospital let others in. I'm glad they did, I had fun. But, I had to really watch myself. I'm such a piss poor loser, that I can make a fun time go right down the shitter. I pulled myself from that. I could see it starting to happen. Everyone else is laughing and having fun, I'd be in my own head thinking "We are fucking losing!!!! Get your mind right!!!!". They did have their minds right, they were enjoying one another and the company. My problem, not theirs.
 Up until this season I threw Highland Games. Heavy Athletes. Without a doubt, the absolutely most challenging, frustrating, exhilarating athletic events I've ever done in my life. Hard, hard work. The guys I know that are the most successful work at it, a lot. I didn't. The reason being, and this is fucked up, when I start training for something and start seeing results that I like, I'm not satisfied. I push, I get angry with myself. Not at the other athletes, this isn't their fault, it's mine. My timing is off. I feel weak, I this, I that, until it becomes such a burden to even make the attempt, I simply have to stop or risk losing my family and friends. You laugh, it's no shit. Liz will back me up on that.
 So, what I did was this. I'd work a little on technique so I didn't just go out blind and stupid on the field. I'd throw my best, I'd laugh, I'd have fun. I hope the guys throwing with me had fun when I was around. I stood in awe of the superior athletes, cheered the guys who made PR's and advanced. That's what I did for myself, and I hope that helped some of the folks I threw with. I made damn good friends on those fields. Left a little bit of me on every one of the fields. Blood, sweat, cheers. All of it. I miss it....a lot. Since I've been ill, the folks in the games have managed to make my eyes wet more often than much of anything else. Most times I don't let my eyes get wet, I can't help it with those folks. I'll miss them.
 The same thing with the guys I work with at SAU. I miss them now. They got to see me at my absolute best. When I was truly at the top of my game. From 1993 to 97, the guys at Notrees got a glimpse of that, but I didn't have the opportunity to prove my own hype like I did at SAU. I relish and truly loved the chance to show people I honestly knew what the fuck I was talking about, and it wasn't all just bull shit.


  All in all, my days are no where near what they were, but fuck, I'm dying. I've had big chunks of me cut out and thrown away, and other big chunks of me that are trying to kill my ass as I type this. That's all okay. Because these are MY days. They aren't cancer days. They are not dying days. They are MINE. Good, bad, average, these are me. That means in a sense, they are all good days. I'm still here. Yeah, it's difficult, and it's hard on the the family, rough on my friends, and I wish I could fix that, but I can't. But, all that being said, it's still me.

 I wasn't always the open book that I am now. I carried myself awfully close to the vest. Wasn't anyone's business what I was doing or why. that was part of me at that time. I was always honest with folks, but I didn't often tell them everything. If it wasn't pertinent I didn't open my mouth.
That's changed. Everything is pertinent now. If not for alleviating some fear someone may have about finding their own Terminal Velocity, and eventual Critical Mass, then helping folks understand the gamut of things that go on, so they can help others if they need to, or themselves if that time comes.

 I told a buddy here in town the other day that I'm kind of glad it's me that's going through this. He looked at me like I was fucking crazy. "No," I said, "listen. I know I can do this. I can fight this as hard and long as my body lets m. Somewhere there is someone who can't, who'd truly suffer. Mentally and physically. They'd be afraid, they'd make the people around them afraid, too. I'll do it for those folks. But just this one time, dammit, I didn't take them to fucking raise." We both laughed

 Book of Rock: I'll help you, but I ain't your fucking mommy. Quite frankly, most of the people I meet I could care less if they succeed or fail. Friends, all I wanna see is them succeed and be more than they thought they could be and achieve the most of everything they want. The rest of the refuse and whiners? Suck it, you aren't worth my time

Boy, that sounded harsh. I've got dozens of friends, more than I realized, but on the scale with the number of people I meet, they are a small fraction. It looks like a lie, but I don't friend up easily. Most of these folks I've known over thirty years. In some cases we've met again down the line, and wondered why the hell we didn't hang out more in the past. Those are fun. But truly, there are far more horse's asses than horses, and I could care less how well you do with your life, if your approach in private life is anything like your approach to the public. You're assholes, get over yourself.

Let's do it right, kids, we've only got one shot at it, and my time is getting thin

So, Anyway

  So anyway, I watched some great college ball yesterday. Some close calls and some amazing finished. Which kinda made me go back to Blue Bonnet Park in Liberal, KS on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. We didn't watch football. We'd play pick up two below touch for hours. Say from 1300 to 1700, then hit the Pizza Hut for a quick bite, home to shower, then hangin with the buds. This went on for YEARS. I remember playing pick up ball after my first daughter was born 27 years ago. I was the old man then, because I was 26. And I never went back for seconds, if I had played on Saturday. No way I could have played that hard two days in a row. And the shits now is, I can't remember a soul I played with, other than some of the guys I went to school with, not a soul. Later, when it just got too cold, there was pick up volleyball at the Friends church. That was sort of an invite thing, one of the guys that played football was either the youth minister or buds with the youth minister (God, bad memory today) and let him and enough people to make up two teams. That one was co-eg, unlike the two below, which in retrospect was a lot more physical than two below was meant to be, Im sure. Like, when you blocked, you actually blocked. None of that "push, but don't use your hands" kind of crap that the city leagues put in. No sir, you shoved, pounded, blind sided, and everyone went deep. Elm Trees on one side of the field were out of bounds. Some smaller trees on the other were the out of bounds for the north side of the field. Wasn't as wide as a football field, but it was real close in length. Probably 80 or so yards long. We had a "3 Mississippi" rush count, since everyone went deep. Count using Mississippi for seconds, then rush. At least one person stayed back to block. I can't tell you how many successful passes were broken up by the big assed elm tree that marked on side line. Including myself, problem four billion people ran into that tree just seconds after catchin the ball. As in turn around to BAM!!! run. Ow. Fun, man it was fun. We have two nice parks close to my neighbor hood, either one would make a great pick up game site. Sadly, not a soul out any time playing. I've only seen tow games on the park closest to me in twenty years. Sad, really, that the young guys won't even go play a pick up game. Not everyone that like the game, puts on the pads and helmet. It's kind of telling when no one wants to buddy up any more.

  So anyway, now that that's over with, I think I have fucking thrush. I got it at least twice during chemo, both times. Too much saliva, it's frothy and tastes just terrible. Like I could use another plague coming. Sometimes it's enough of a pain that I get exhausted by just waiting for something else to pop up.  They gave me Keflex to clear up a rattle in one lung. I finished the prescription when I was supposed to finish it. Just seems like a an awful coincidence that I get thrush now. I have Atropine drops to help dry my mouth out, but even those won't touch the shit I've got going on in my mouth. Yes, yes, beside washing it the fuck out with soup. I've been told, if you believe it, that I cuss too much. Well, fuck, I may at that, how should I know. I mean I can understand what I say, because I hear my voice before it comes out of my mouth. Tough shit if other people don't!! No, I'm kidding. I like it better when  I can speak well. If I'd known yesterday I was getting it, and I suspected, I'd have kissed that woman that dissed me full on the mouth. That woulda teached her!!

 I'm a little achy and weird feeling today. Not sure why, really groggy and out of sorts. No more pain that usual, in fact it's not a factor today at all. Just not on my game, I guess. The feeding tube spot is tender this morning, too. I've looked, not infected, and not bleeding. So that's a good thing. The Trach, however, is providing some new and fascinating problems of it's own. As my cancer spreads (theory here, feel free to dispute  it if you can) it's making my neck swell especially on one side. The left. It's making my appearance more strained, and causing the tendons and stuff from the pec transplant widen out, and therefor make the tracheotomy hole go deeper into my neck. Not a lot, but a fraction of an inch is causing the outter edges of the tube found me raw in  a couple of spots. Not just tender, but actually rubbing holes into my skin. Bandaids help, but I've got to see if Hospice has any ideas. If not, I'll get a snot sucker to check out my problem, or go see my ENT again. Maybe she can get this skin problem sorted out. I's be nice. I've got so many bandaids on upped body it looks like I fell down in a pile of brambles and had t fight my way y to find my way lost in there. Here's to hoping I can get this shit figured out. Not only is it a pain in the ass, but it takes a way from my natural beauty as well. I can't have that.

   I'm enjoying the fact I've let my hair grow out. Yep, it's thin as all get out on top, and I don't give a shit. I used to love my long hair. Been over twenty years since I had it. For about ten years I kept it shaved, or at least knocked down to a buzz cut. It's kinda of nice, I think. Sure, it looks like I could burn the top of my head if I went outside too long. But I don't give a shit about that either. While I'm sitting here dying, I'm doing one of the things that I couldn't, and still look semi professional, while working for an oil company. So, yeah, until I croak, I'm letting the hair grow out. It's mine, dammit, and I wanna see it long for a change. HA!

Short blog today. As I've said before, my day is pretty well set up in a regiment of medication and feeding formula. And trying to get the hours I take those into an available time frame for a movie or something along those lines. Dull, duller, dullest. But, I'm up on two feet, sorta.

Time to take grandson outside and find out what happened to YaYa. She's out there messing around with something, I'm sure.

 Book Of Rock:  In case you wondered, the sun doesn't revolve around your happy ass, any more than it does mine. You aren't the only person on the face of the planet. Get the fuck over yourself and be at least courteous. Other wise you're just another peckerwood sucking up my oxygen. Stop it

Steroids, More Trouble Than They Are Worth?

  So they have me on a steroid to help with the swelling in my face and neck, as well as with the bleeding in my tongue and from wherever else the blood is coming. I explained to my Hospice nurse, that in the past I've had trouble with anger issues on any steroid they've put me on for chemo or radiation. I didn't notice the first time through, but boy the family did, and I still feel badly about my behavior at that time, because I know enough about steroids to look for anger issues. I think I may be headed that way again. The circumstances this morning while leaving the coffee shop may have made me as mad just as fast, but I'm having trouble calming down from the short incident.
  Once again, Midlanders are showing me they are know it all pretentious pricks and bitches. Before I start, if I intentionally treated anyone with a handicap poorly on purpose, now is the time to slap the shit out of me. I don't believe I did, but I'm not sure. I know I read a lot of notes given out by people, but none of them were written on the fly, if they were looking for money. Every one of them was printed and some damn sob story preceded them. I'm about 50% on catching those folks doing exactly what the printed card said they couldn't. And I'm sure there are some legitimate people out there who need some help, but the rest of the lazy bastards have just about ruined that for them, and that's a shame.
  So, the entire mid morning shift just didn't show up at Starbucks's this morning. That leaves them way short handed. They hung a sign up as I was leaving stating as such. That the cafe would close, but the drive through would still be open. As I was leaving, two lovely you women were walking toward the door, and trying to save them some steps, I wrote "The Cafe is Closed" and held it up. One of the nice bitches, bumped my shoulder and said "No Thank", like I was selling her something. If I were a forgiving person,  I'd chalk that up to too many people hitting her up. But I'm standing next to my 300, with the driver's door open, not really what a beggar would drive, I don't think. Her friend said "asshole". Hmmmm, so the ultra observant bitches grab the handle to the door, with a BIG sign right next to it saying the the cafe was closed, and gave a big assed yank. They looked shocked. Now I'm fucking steaming over the asshole remark. So I croak out "Fuck you, Cunt, that's what I was telling you". They understand that perfectly well. Apparently having an asshole call her a cunt wasn't in the mix for her daily conversation. And hence why I believe some of my immediate irritation came from the steroids. I would never use that term, no matter how angry I got, never. And I have to add in here, for that pretentious bitch, if she's one of the readers of this blog that I don't know, and there are a lot. If you are going to call me an asshole, make sure you're four door pickup doesn't have that asinine stick fucking figure family on one side of the back window, and the Sign of The Fish on the other side. Not only are you a rude assed bitch, but a hypocrite as well. And people wonder why I gave up on organized religion. I found it more full of ass hats like that, than not.  And when an unwashed, oil field trash heathen such as myself generally has a more Christian attitude than those to smarmy bitches put together, something is wrong with their church, or themselves, for not even making the attempt to be civil. And yes, I know I get short with people, but I also don't flash my beliefs out there like a banner of of righteousness for all the world to see.
  Yeah, I'm still smoked a little over it. Which means I either am getting really thin skinned, or the steroids are helping along my bad attitude. If it's the steroids, I'll drop them like a hot potato. If it's not, I'm going to get my big boy undies refit. I don't like having them in a wad over a couple of inconsiderate, shit headed women. I'd been having a damn good morning right up to that point. A couple of people had asked, and quite to their embarrassment, I believe, if I can tasted the coffee going in my feeding tube. And yeah, I realized quite early on that it must look odd as anything to see some yahoo shoving coffee into a feeding tube. Complete with a little cream and sugar.  Turns out since my esophageal sphincter only works at 80-85% effective, if I push anything in too fast I can taste it. That goes with that nasty smelling Osmolite 1.5. Smells like shit, some I'm going to assume that's the flavor it leaves if I run a bag in too quickly. So, fair question, and a bit of a laugh. The first time my grandson shoved the plunger on a syringe full of lemonade I had, it ran a bit out my mouth, so fast and strong was his shove on the syringe plunger. Cracked me up. Next time we had a lesson on about how fast to push.
  There was a sad note, one that is still with me.  One of my friends twenty something year old son was found dead in his room. I can't even fathom that. And when I look at it, that could very well happen to me. I'm hoping it's not one of the children who find me. I can't imagine the loss. I've friends who've lost a child to SID's. At the time, being half stupid as I was, and not hearing about it for almost a year after the fact, I didn't contact them to express my sorrow. My heart broke for them, and at times it still does. That's my shame, I didn't know what to say, especially a year out, so I said nothing. And that's a real shame and a personal failure on my part. I hope before I am gone, I can wrangle the nerve to let them know, at the very least, they were in my thoughts often. Kind of weak, but 100% true. When compared, my smarmy bitches don't have a handle on hurting my feelings. Life has dragged out far worse things than two ignorant women out shopping. On the front that when I lose my temper like that, something generally comes around to teach me a lesson in anger control. Today's lesson is this: When you yell, and forcibly loudly enough for a couple of inattentive bitches to clearly understand, my throat is going to bleed a little and be really sore. Hard to figure, huh? Forcing my barely above a whisper voice into something loud hurts like who thought about it. Yep, that's true, mouth and throat both. Apparently Baxter likes it quiet in my neck and head. He's an asshole, I choose to ignore his laws and live by a few simple rules that lets me get away with a lot more than one would think. This cancer card is pretty cool. It's a shame I didn't try and pull that back in 08-09. I skipped the feeding tube and handicapped placard both.

  Something else has changed. I think something has made the left side of my neck swell up some extra. My chest area right around the tracheotomy is raw and chafed from being wet. Secretions and sweat I'm sure, but the skin is very raw, and now I'm trying to let it dry out and work on a different gauze design to make it work without allowing so much moisture onto my already super thin and tender flesh around that area. It was really bad before the stitches wouldn't hold the tube in any longer. They pulled out because my skin got so paper like in that area. It would tear and chafe at the drop of a hat. I'm not getting the thin as paper warning again, but it is close. Very tender right now. In fact, I've got the collar off and tube out as I type this, in hopes that the raw spot with get over the burning sensation it's giving me now. Cancer!!! The Gift that keeps on Giving!!! Gotta love it.....just not a lot. Okay, not at all.

  I'm finding while this dries out, that I have to really watch coughing. I don't have anything to help expel it. The hole flexes open too wide and I have no force to push out the lung oysters. Damn mess is what it is becoming. I'm gonna have to find some way to make it work out. To begin with, I believe some antibiotic ointment is going to be in order to start. I'd hate for this to get infected as well as be raw and chafed and a bit weepy. Not my eyes silly people, the raw spot. But I'll bet you knew that already.


 Recap the important lessons from today. Never, I mean never, skip over offering condolences on someone's loss, even if it is a bit down the road. I'm almost positive that the words "I'm so very sorry for your loss" may bring back some bad memories, but I truly believe that knowing someone hasn't forgotten, or has just found out, helps sort out some of those feelings.

 Book Of Rock:  Pay attention to your surroundings! It you can't see a 11  X 14 piece of paper, how in Heaven's name do you expect to see the guy wanting to rob you just 3 cars away in the mall parking lot.
   BTW, Brainiac, putting those stick figures on your back windows of your SUV or Pickup just let a thief know how many are in your family. Or didn't that cross your genius filled mind. Pay attention to your surroundings!!!  The second you don't see most of what's going on around you is the most dangerous time of the day. And the holiday weird season is almost upon us. Please be careful out there amongst the too stupid to be around, you're the only one looking out for you.

Hang tough. One of us have to, and today may not be my day.

PS: Booklet of Rock. Take a minute and be aware of your surroundings. Not just today, every day. The holiday season is chock full of accounts of people being robbed in mall parking lots. Those assholes just don't materialize from beneath the asphalt. They are opportunity hunters, don't let yourself become prey

 Pogue Mah Hoane, a proper answer to many of life's bothersome and irritating moments.

PPS: I fell asleep typing this. I had have a page of nothing but "SSSS". A sign of the times, or just not enough sleep at night?

Things That Have Changed

  Things that have changed. Every day something changes for someone. Generally for the the better, and that's a good thing. I'm having a couple of pretty good days this week. Even the day when I was so frustrated and angry was an above average day as far as physically goes. That changes from day to day. I slept off and on nearly all day yesterday. I had three naps the shortest of which was thirty minutes, the longest was over two hours. That's nearly what I get during the night. There's nothing quite like falling asleep when it's daylight, and waking up in the dark. I helped my youngest make a dish that I have been making for almost 20 years. She loves it, so we cooked it together. I really enjoy the process and the smell of about anything cooking. I made a soup for everyone else, since it's been brisk out in the morning. So, when I woke up from my nap, I had the aroma of simmering stew, and Garbage floating around the house. Not trash like Garbage, that's what we call the meal in a single pan. Well, two pans anyway.
  So, on with the changes. Some okay, some not so okay. A couple of days ago I finally got my old feeding tube replaced. The Doc says this one should be good for a couple of years. I hope so, since I don't wanna do that again without some demerol or something along hose lines. As I said before, 1/4" hole in the stomach, 1 1/2"  bigger piece of rubber inside my stomach. Boy, that did sting some as they pulled it out. That change was okay, not quite 100%, but better than one that concerned me about leaking from the hose itself going bad. I've had a change in the way the lymphedema therapy is working. Not only has it released of lot of fluid trapped in my neck, face, and some of the surgery sites, it's improved my range of motion. Something we weren't even trying to do with it any longer. That kind of change is always nice. Being able to turn my head more is a wonderful thing. I'm not so concerned now about not being able to see as well when I drive. That's always a plus.

  Some of the things that aren't so cool this week. The cancer in my tongue is big enough now I can plainly see it. Looks almost like a second tongue. That wasn't that big three weeks ago, I swear. I can't see it, but my throat seems a bit more tight and raw feeling. Bleeding a bit more as I look at how things are going this week. Yes, I'm rehashing some of this, and maybe a lot of it, I don't know. They gave me a steroid to hold down on the swelling and maybe some of the bleeding. That would be nice. Although I have such bad  side effects that I hate to bother with them. Really, only one bad side effect. Really, really bad anger issues. I know what to look for now, so maybe I can keep it on an even keel until we seek if they are going to bother me in that manner. I'll dump the damn things so fast it'll make your head swim.  My blood Oxygen is all over the place. When I smoked, yet still did rigorous cardio, my Blood ox ran 96-98. Lately it's been   in a roller coaster. As low as 91, as high as 95 and everything in-between. I don't know whether to be troubled with that or just let it go and hope for the best. I'm gonna let it go and hope for the best. Worrying about it isn't going to make it any better, and I'm not good at worrying at all. A not so cool change is this tendonitis in my right elbow and forearm. I don't get that at all. It's not like I've been doing things that might need my right arm. But it's tender enough that typing and writing irritate the shit out of it. Go figure that.
  Changes too, in the speed with which I wear out. That gets quicker all the time. I didn't notice it much until the last month. Now it's really fast. A brisk walk (brisk for me these days) of half a block and I'm blowing like a horse that just won the Preakness. It takes longer to get rested up from that as well. That gets into my "pissed off meter" pretty deeply. I knew if I went any distance the walker would help me out. I don't like my walker. I still feel like I'm too young to have a walker, and there's no way to make one look cool. None, zero, nada. If I'd use it, I could go at a more brisk pace and farther than I am, and with less effort. I'm going to have to overcome my vanity and start to use the walker, dammit.

 My frustration to temper ratio has changed even before the steroid. I'm so very tired of people doing half a job, or ignoring a customer, or with their bull shit "I'm in Midland Tx, I drive like I want" attitude. Or doing a job just not quite finished, then tell me it's all finished. No, it's not quite, 95-8% isn't finished. Lately instead of being laid back about all that, I let my temper loose. Not always nice about that kind of thing any longer. Oddly enough, just a couple months back I was tepid about things like I've typed in here. Not anymore, I go from pretty decent to "If I could I'm rip off your head and shit down the hole" in a matter of a couple of sentences.  You may ask, "Why get so wound up?". Because I realized that I have less time now, and that I really never had to put up with incompetent behavior. I didn't use to get wound up at a wait, unless it was grossly incompetent. Now I don't feel like I want to wait in one spot while the people that are supposed to be ready for me dick around for a half an hour.
  I find I can get the old Oilfield Ass Eating going by typing or writing it out. That's kind of cool. See, I look at my time and the way I receive my service as if you were one of the contractors we used in the field. Screw around on my time, and I'll kick or your ass so hard you'll have to sneeze to take a leak.

  Recapping the week makes it seem, as I read what I've put down, like everything was more bad that good. Not so, the bad time didn't last as long as the good times. That's why they seem fewer when typed out.

  In reality, I don't feel as well as I did two months, or hell even three weeks ago. Some days are just a real struggle to even get going. But that's the nature of the cancer, I suppose. It whittles away at you like a guy whittling tooth picks. This is how it's going to be until I reach Critical Mass.

 Book Of Rock: When I tell you be ready by X, be there. Anything after that and you're late. No if's ands or buts about it. It's common courtesy. Learn some of it

Hugs and shit

Frustrated? Take It Out On Everyone

 Yep, I've been frustrated lately. I'm back to the point very few people can make out very little of what I say. Back to writing everything out. In a fast conversation that leaves me sitting. Not really a bad thing, I guess, but frustrating. Recently it was getting the PEG tube changed, and not a soul owning up to the fact they dropped the ball. So much for responsibility, right? Hospice used to get that done in the ER in the hospital. Not any more, the doctor that did them moved on. ER says they haven't done one since. Communication, folks, saves looking like ass hats. I got the PEG tube changed, but not after considerable hassle, and having my ask my wife to make calls, because I can't speak. Frustrating. Yesterday kinda capped off a frustrating week, and I wasn't nice about it.
  Liz and the Endoscopy Dr, Patel, and another woman all get the planets lined up and I get a new PEG tube put in at noon tomorrow. The Dr was running late, but his assistant came out and explained that to me. Therefore, I wasn't frustrated with that. I know that sometimes things happen when you're a doctor that can't be helped. In fact, they moved me to the head of the class. He gets there, and here is where the fun really begins.
  Turns out my old PEG tube doesn't have a balloon at all. It's simply a piece of rubber that's looks to be about four to six times larger than the stoma opening in my stomach. So, four to six time larger than around one quarter inch. So an inch to an inch and a half bigger than that hole. That's substantial. Doc Patel says "This is really going to hurt. I have to pull the tube out. There will be some bleeding so don't freak out". Yeah, whatever doc, I think. I set my own broken fingers and toes. A doctor in Russell Ks set my simple fracture of my left arm in his office, with no anesthesia, when I was Seven. Big deal, pull away. Okay, yeah, that hurt like a son of a bitch. Hurt a lot. So much in fact that I had to ask for a few minutes until the sweating went away so I could get a placement x-ray to make sure the new tube was where it belonged. Painful, not frustrating. That comes later on in the day.
  Yes, the taking the old tube out hurt like hell, and putting the new tube in really irritated an already sore spot. I drive home, feed myself so I don't get a hypoglycemia problem to go with the soreness, and set down in the recliner. I fall asleep. Slept maybe 45 minutes. Get up and fiddle around, out for another 45 minutes. Come about  1600, I got out for almost two and a half hours. So the tube ordeal was tiring. Here's where I got damn frustrated. Since I didn't trust my stomach not to throw up soon, I got up and had a snack. I didn't think the entire serving of the Obama was going to stay down so I didn't eat as much. I did my drugs shortly after. Here's the frustrating part. I didn't pay attention (so this is all upon me) and I find that the new tube doesn't have a line clamp to shut it off. Really? So in trying to crimp the line enough to get the drugs in is doing nothing but making a huge mess. They can't redo and put a clamp on the line. Not without taking the entire thing out again. So, yeah, I'm frustrated big time. On one end at myself for not being more observant when the doctor put the new one in so I could ask about a clamp then. And the Doctor, for doing, in my mind, a half assed job. Why would one not have a clamp to go on the PEG line to keep what's inside, inside me, without leaking? Got me, but I'm going up there and ask.
  What I did, but shouldn't have done was give Liz a note that said "There's no clamp on this, it's making a mess and I'm about half pissed off". That pissed Liz off. Because she is frustrated as well. She finds an old hemostat she has, that I didn't know about, and slams it down next to me. Well, me being me, I didn't let that lie either. I wrote a note and gave back to her, then hunkered down in our bedroom to cool off. I think everything cooled off in thirty minutes or so, and I apologized for being a little bitch earlier. So I think it's blown over. We both went to sleep. New day, and so far I'm okay. I hope Liz is as well. I am, however, going to go back up to Endoscopy and find out if they have a line clamp of some sort there. I'm afraid the hemostat is a little  rough on the PEG line. But we'll do what we have to do, even if that's carry around a hemostat clamp the line. I mean, really, it's not forever, right?

  Cancer Update: The Hospice decided I need a steroid to help with some swelling and bleeding. Both things are inevitable, but I think Hospice is just trying to make me better. That's not a bad thing, and it may work. Hopefully that's the case. My legs feel a little better today, and I don't have such a bad limp. I am not sure what that's from. I do know that I still can't walk full steam for any distance, and I pay for being up on them for any length of time. Maybe my legs are adjusting to the rest of me and decided to behave in a like manner. I can only hope. On the steroid front. Even when they aren't supposed to make you angry, they do me. I couldn't figure out why I was so mad all the time five years ago. Until I looked up one of the medications. Steroid. Damn, I hate that. This time, if I feel myself getting more and more angry, I'm dumping the medication and getting over that shit. Like right fucking now. I'm not going to make everyone miserable again. Not if I can help it.

  Lessons I've learned the last week: Frustration is like a cancer, it builds continually and that's not good with my attitude. Best to find an outlet other than family. I found a doctor who wasn't bullshitting about the pain. I should be thankful, because I was mentally prepared for it hurting,  just not quite enough. I did manage to keep my core relaxed. That's a good thing. Judging by the way the doctors and staff talk to me, I can only imagine that most of their patients are clueless about what they need to do. I read and research, along with Liz, the things that we need to know. Knowledge is power. I do like the fact that once in a while I can tell a doctor "No thanks, that causes this, and I'm not interested" Kinda knocks them off their God pedestal a little. Everyone needs reminded they are just human from time to time

  Today's lesson: Find something that frustrates you and try to find away to fix it so it doesn't. That's what I'm going to do today myself

Pet Peeve Number 10,356 In A Series

   My PEG tube (feeding tube) has gotten a section that is bubbly looking, far bigger around, and much softer than it was originally. Where I work, if rubber tubing gets like that you change it. It's close to bursting. Granted, I don't carry the same pressure as any of the applications in the oil field, but the principal is the same. Change the tube. That was fine with Hospice. I get a text yesterday asking when I could be at the ER to get the tube changed. That was 0930. I text that I would be there in an hour, that I needed a shower first. Fine, they'll be expecting you. Surprise. I get there, no one in the ER knows dick about me getting that PEG tube replaced. That manages to get my temper started. When the only answer I have for anyone is a very simple "I don't know anything, this is where Hospice told me to show up".  To continually get questioned as to why, just blew my gaskets. I was short and shitty with several people. Including the Hospice messenger. I gave them 20 minutes to get their shit together, and I was leaving. I'm certainly glad that they took all my vital signs before that got started.
  Here's why I got 50 shades of pissed off. You tell me to be somewhere, and I give you the time I'll be there, things better be ready to go to work. If I, in my job, say I need this equipment at this time, it better damn well be there. I'm early, 99.9% of the time. That way I know I'm not the one holding up work. For some reason, and I have no idea why, more and more people don't seem to give a rats ass about being punctual. You tell me to be somewhere at a particular time, your ass better be waiting and ready. Or at least let me know that you can't make it at that time. That's fine. You leave me hanging, baby the oil field ass eating has just begun. After all was said and done, Hospice got an explanation to the ER, at  two minutes to 1100. More than 30 minutes after they told me it was all set up. I did apologize to three people. The nurse that kept asking why I was there. She didn't know anymore than I did, therefore I did not need to be so short. Same thing with the ER doctor. And to my Hospice nurse. He was simply relaying information he got from the Hospice doctor or PA. Not having a direct line to them, I let my nurse catch both barrels. Being the messenger myself, I would have expected the same thing. Either there's decent communication, or I'm keeping my temper gun loaded. I've had enough of hospitals to last me a life time. Literally.
  Yep, I'm selfish and stubborn about this. As we all should be. Whether you work for a service company of any kind. Hospice and the hospital are service companies. They offer service to people who need them. I don't know if they believe that they have all of us over a barrel or not. In one sense they do. Folk in my position need them both. Well, Hospice is great for my wife, it takes a lot of the day to day burden off her. Can I get along without it? Probably. I'm dying, I'm home, I have insurance. So yes, I probably could. But the stress on the family would increase 100 fold, that I don't need. My advise to both is this. You are a service, treat your customers exactly like you wish to be treated. It's a pretty simple concept. But it seems like more and more people in the service industry could give a shit whether or not the service is as good or better than it had been in the past. I believe it runs along with the majority of folks thinking they deserve something, that they are entitled to it. They are wrong. I'm entitled to good service as long as I'm a cordial customer. If I come in ranting and raving, then no, I don't deserve decent or above average service. I always start out very nice and friendly. Days like yesterday, though, I do not generally stay that way. Mores the shame, because the nurse and doctor in the ER are very nice people. I did't thunder at them directly, but I get the feeling they got the point that I was upset with someone. It wasn't them.

  On the Cancer Update front: One of the tumors is my mouth is in my tongue. It's big enough to see. When I got home, it felt like I had something in my mouth. Odd, because I can't eat or swallow, why would it feel this way? I go into the bathroom, turn on every light I can find and hold my mouth open with one hand. There she is! Big! Looks like another tongue is in there. I've not looked into my mouth for a long time, so I'm not certain when it started growing in my tongue area. I do know that the last part of August I could roll a tongue depressor from the right side of my mouth to the left, and it wasn't apparent then, or my SLP might have noticed something wasn't right. So maybe that big in a couple of months. That seems pretty fast.
 I still have trouble catching a deep breath off and on. Although yesterday my blood Ox was 95. Four points higher than last Wednesday. Still about three points lower than when I smoked, even.  I've tried being more active, hoping to keep my body from getting much weaker. I can see in my results that I'm losing ground. Still, I auger away.
  I had a go round with my old friend Bleeding, early this morning. He has since stopped, but coughing up a couple of  pretty good sized, nothing but blood, doses into the cough towel, and suctioning out a couple of healthy shots of beautiful bright red blood has a bit more than disconcerting look to it. They want to give me a steroid to help control that, but I don't bleed all the time, so I wonder if that's really necessary. We'll see.

 Book Of Rock: Want an honest answer, ask away. Want a yes man? Then don't ask me, I'll just piss you off by giving an honest answer.

 Truly, that has happened to me a couple of times. Both times I gave an honest answer to what seemed like a pretty straight forward question. Got my ass chewed from here to next week. Third time I'm a bit gun shy. So I ask "Want an honest answer, or the one you'd like to hear?".  Who knew that was going to turn out to be a worse ass eating than the first two. With that particular person my standard answer became "How the fuck would I know?"  Suited that person just fine. I guess it left his insecurity in possibly knowing less than I intact. He was the kind of person, that when I wanted to jump me about something he had some one else come with him. I'm not sure it if was a body guard or not.

 Have fun, do NOT do as I do and let some little thing twist you're crank. Have fun instead