Days You Wonder Why

Been a long time. Good reason why.

Before I even started writing today's blog for July 5, 2017, I was distracted twice. And that was at 6 a.m. First by my to-do list (yes, I keep one, an e-reminder, that tells me what I need to do) and second by my emails-- organizing that mess is a real chore.

So, when I tried to get back to the premise of my blog entry, I totally forgot. I could only remember the title I had in mind, "Days You Wonder Why." Now I'm picking up the crumbs of thought I left behind.

Pretty sure I was in self-pity mode because I was snapping out of the haze and realizing just how much I've lost. But then I was also thinking how good it was to be alive. Yep, confusing and contrasting dualities. That's me. I had this notion that I was given a second chance and I could start over from scratch. What a wonderful gift! But really? Then I started coming to my senses: Who has the great luxury and blessing to really start over? How many people would want to? Besides, I'm not actually starting over. If anything, I might be re-starting from behind.

So, my mind's bouncing all over the place. No wonder I haven't been writing lately. I haven't been able to because I can't keep any sense of continuity...

Back to self-pity mode. I don't want to pity myself. It's just there. The title I was thinking about goes there: I wonder why I'm going through this miserable existence, half awake and conscious to "where the hell am I?" Real to surreal and back again. It's a bad trip. How do I keep track of priorities when it's hard to tell what they are?

And so, the essential question is: Why is this happening to me? Kind of pointless, really, to ask such a question that you know there are no answers to.

What you become well acquainted with is human suffering. Your own. Truth is, you know it's worse elsewhere in the world. I can't even imagine people surviving stage III lymphatic cancer in sub-Saharan Africa or in Bangladesh or somewhere where proper medical care is almost nonexistent, like parts of Appalachia USA.

I should be going on, then, about how very lucky I am. But what creeps in, instead, is how awful I feel. And it's so difficult to think about others and to want to be generous, when you feel so awful, when pain is everyday and relentless. Oh, sure, you could take something for it: opioids (which I've been prescribed aplenty), THC in it's various forms, over-the-counter pain relief, etc. But all of them have some kind of side effect that impairs some ability of mine that I'd like to keep intact as much as I can. Basically, no stupor is a good stupor if you don't want to be in a stupor.

Funny, though, how even one drink makes me buzzed now for a good couple hours. (Yes, I'm smart enough to know that, if I want to drink, I should only drink between treatments-- which is still not recommended. But, hey, sometimes you just gotta say, "I don't give a flying fuck.") Definitely saving on my old alcohol tab, though. Don't have one anymore.

Been looking into CBD oil. Maybe something there worth trying. Opioids are a last resort. Not so much because they're addictive. In my case, I have bad reactions to every type I've tried. Thank goodness! The only way I can take one without getting sick and delirious is if I take anti-nausea meds first. And even then, there's no guarantee. And of course, I can't do anything for half the day. Talk about wasting your time.

So, my white blood count is low again (600 parts per? when it's supposed to be around 1200), which means my immunities are low and I'm susceptible to catching... you name it. But my chief concern is that it creates one more delay in my chemo treatment. The week of July 4th was to be my "last" treatment, Round #5. Afterwards, testing to see where I stand and a long awaited break. Bad news would be that the cancer was somehow resistant to chemo and radiation. Not likely. Good news would be that the cancer is contained and appears to be making a retreat. Now, I have to wait yet again. I don't know if I can fully explain just how frustrating that is. Name your curse words and multiply the impact exponentially. That doesn't even begin.

Overall, however, I'd have to say I've been pretty patient. Going on month eight now, knowing very well, if not fully, that my life will never be the same again. I don't want to whine, but this illness and all the treatments for it are sure taking a lot out of me. Short of killing me, it's testing my ability to tolerate a whole bunch of unpleasantness. I don't even like being around me. I'm realizing just how much of a pain I can be. My outside veneer may be all nice and seemingly unfettered and unbothered, but inside I'm as irreverent, nasty, and mean as ever. Probably overreacting.

Hell, I don't even know how to conclude. Let's just say, I'm in mid-stream...