I got a little anniversary coming up. Next week will come and go like any other, so I am not waiting for the exact date to sit down and write about it. It already got spilled, so here it is...
March 11, 2006 I walked out of the E.R. at 4am knowing that I had cancer. I walked to my car, sat down on the ground, lit one of my last cigarettes and wept. On St. Patricks Day, I lost a nut to testicular cancer. Far cry from green beers, ...nuts, and a happy holiday.
My thoughts at the time were selfish - "why me? I'm fucking 33 years old! I don't have any history of cancer in my family!" ...yeah whatever dude. Shut up already. I hadn't learned yet how severe my situation was going to be, so my mind was open for all the worst stories you ever heard - "well, you got maybe a couple months," or "were gonna hammer it with high dose chemo and hope you survive..." No man, nothing like that.
I can't help feeling like I had garden variety cancer. It's misleading to think this way. TC is fatal without treatment. But man, some people have had cancer ruin every aspect of their lives, and then it killed them. I have been feeling a change recently about the need to mention cancer or talk about it. It is important. But I've started to find it annoying. In fact before the year is up, I 'll probably drink a bottle of wine and delete this entry (like last years...).
Radiation sickness blows! I had 15 days of radiation to my abdomin and it makes you sick. I lost 25 pounds. I did try to keep healthy. Man, it breaks your will. Cancer. If I had known more, I could have avoided radiation by demanding an ultrasound early on, just to be sure. My GP didn't know anything about TC. I don't blame him, TC is rare. I should have read more, but one does not click the 'cancer' link lightly when you think you got a problem. Besides, it seemed rediculous that a google search would reveal something my doctor didn't know. But, it did. I am sure he must have felt some of the same fear I had at the time of diagnosis. After all, if I had been a goner, he would have been in trouble for not ordering an ultrasound. Should have been standard procedure for what was presented, and he was alittle cold about it early on. Some doctors egos are hilariously lacking in wisdom - don't care at all about the book smarts.
I was watching George Carlin last night. He has new material recorded and I found some of it brilliant, as usual with him. But did he really have to come out and open with "Fuck Lance Armstrong, fuck him and that look on his face, fuck his balls and his bikes and his yellow tee shirts..." the crowd bursts out in laughter and applause. Lance don't have balls man, he has a ball. Know what I mean? One man, not two. I get the "old fuck" routine: "I'm old, you all blow, and I just want to be left in peace, but before I go let me say this..." - but come on man. You've had the opportunity to live a full life. Too bad Carlin wasn't with me a couple years ago spending quality time (and I mean that) with people of all ages waiting for their chemo and radiation. Many were very sick. Many of them young. Much more young people than I could have imagined. Common misconception. Maybe Georgie doesn't know about the little kids with chunks of hair missing, moms trying to keep it together - both trying to live "normal" lives, without desperation and fear. The look of impending doom, "which way will this go?" - families all looking towards people such as Lance Armstrong and the "Livestrong" organization for positive vibes and hope. Including me.
This is my 2 year anniversary. I have 3 more years of blood work and CT scans every 3-4 months. After that I will be 5 years out and my odds of relapse go down. At least then I only have to go in once a year. That, however, is never going to be a good day. I will inevitably waste time and energy thinking about it. Why the fuck wouldn't I - if I relapse, I have to do chemo. Nothing about that sounds fun.
7 comments:
i am curious now, truthfully, what IS up with you and the wee hours of the morning?
you know, speaking of honesty, i really appreciated you sharing your story. i mean that. i know you said you would likely nix the post after a while . . . but i'd keep it up if i were you.
life's real beauty, i think, sometimes, is found, perhaps ironically, in pain and suffering. does that make sense? i suppose not . . . at least not without further elucidation . . .
suffice it to say that i am grateful that you've shared this part of you, no matter how briefly.
i'll be thinking about you next week.
lb
ps: won't you tell me what the word is, since it's not "rutabaga"?
(in case you can't tell, i am making my best sweet face as i say this . . .)
the not knowing is really killing me. and not in a good way.
Oh lana, you have a yearning for the dramatic! Now WHAT exactly would be fun about a puzzle if I just gave up the answer? ;)
"Increscunt animi, virescit volnere virtus."
i haven't read "twilight of the idols" i'm afraid, but yes . . . the more common phrase "that which does not kill me makes me stronger" likewise encapsulates that same type of sentiment . . .
for my part, i wish it weren't so. i do so love pleasure. but i suppose that there had to be an upside to pain and grief. like i said, i find it beautiful that if one can endure either the former or the latter, or both, then there is the opportunity for growth.
about the puzzle: well, ok, i agree with you, at least in a general sense. but, i want you to really think about MY specific case. see, i already went to a great deal of trouble (hoo, lord, the trouble! you don't even know) and mental anguish (my synapses are still hurtin') to come up with "rutabaga" and it was wrong.
here's where you come in.
seeing that i have exhausted all possible measures for unearthing the answer, i think it's time that you, as the gentleman that i perceive you to be, just tell me the answer.
you can even lean over across this here table and whisper it to me, if you wish.
i mean, i've tried to solve it on my own, i've asked for help from others, i've made my sweet face, i've said "pretty please", and now i'm throwing myself on the mercy of the court . . .
so, whaddya say?
oh, and by the by, who you callin' dramatic?!?!
(i say this as i slam down my empty shot glass on the bar, snatch my stole off of the stool, and walk out of the saloon doors with my long, brown locks trailing in the wind behind me . . .)
DID you exhaust all possible measures? you saw the chart right? did you draw up all the possible letters from the alphabet that correspond to each pitch from the list? you don't have to know anything about music to solve this, but I admit I would have to be severely interested in the answer to sit down and figure this out. It isn't easy, but it is very simple to get to the answer.
cheers! Thank you for your thoughts! :)
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