Well, today started off with high energy and a continuous smile on my face. So far no real side effects to the chemo. Great! David picked me up at 11am so I could pop by my regular doctor and have him look at my swollen long toe. And he did! This kid doctor with the Doogie Howser smile was happy to tell me that my toe wasn't broken but infected, "Some kind of foot infection . . . rare and specifically located on the feet!" Well, swell. He bounced off to get me a prescription and I sat down . . . and . . . fuck. All of a sudden I felt so tired . . . I felt like I was drifting off . . . "Hey! You okay, Mr. Woods?" Doogie said as he reentered the examination room. I had know idea how long he had been gone. Checked my cellphone clock . . . ten minutes.
David and I went to have coffee. still an hour and a half before my second round of chemotherapy . . . and still I felt myself just sinking into the chair I was sitting in. Then we went the hospital and my nurses was already for me. "Hey! Did you take that nausea pill?" Surfer Techie said. "No, I didn't . . ." "Here take these." And I did.
Got to Walmart to pick up my prescription for the diseased toe. "Sorry," said the pharmacy tech. who waited on me, "it will be twenty minutes before we get to it." Okay, I got shopping to do . . . and again, I'm hit by fatigued before I get to the yogurt section at Walmart. And it went down hill from there. I felt ninety years old. I could barely move . . . I had to stop every ten feet. Getting to the car was a chore. "Do you still wanna stop by Taco Bell for food?" David said. "No, man. I just want to go home."
Saturday, October 19, 2o19
He feels a bit of grainy sadness sliding down the narrow, longneck bottle . . . then falling . . . like a dead leaf . . . like a rain's drop . . . the tears of nature . . . she always cries when it's day . . . or night.
Sorry, about the delay. 4 days without writing a word about the cancer treatment. But I'm telling you there's not a lot to say. Three days ago it started. I mean, when the RNs started feeding my skin these chemo shots. They kept warning me that I really needed to follow their instructions: Wash my hands frequently, eat a lot, Drink 64 ounces of caffeine-free liquids ( water, juices, etc.), and brace yourself . . . this is going to hurt. Well, Hell. They've said that before. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Chemo hurts. But to be honest and not macho about it . . . first two days . . . nothing to it. Two chemo treatments and . . . and yeah, a bit uncomfortable . . . but nothing close to hurting. But then the third day of treatment (two shots of chemo juice in the gut each day.) yeah, man. I got hit in the head with a chemo brick. It's not the kind of pain that you would think . . . it was just like every bit of energy I owned just drained away from me. It was the most horrible feeling in the world. The belly ached and itched at the points where the RNs injected the chemo . . . and . . . and . . . damn . . . I slept . . . for what seemed a forever lifetime . . . did go get new blood on Thursday . . . Friday . . . I could barely move One of the RNs watched me come out of the restroom and she had this . . . frightened look on her face. "What's a matter? Am I that ugly?" "How do you feel?" she asked. "Not so good." "Yeah. go sit down and try not to get up again." "Okay." And there I sat . . . for two hours as blood was pumped into my veins. I went home not knowing if I was going to feel better or not. This cancer shit sucks eggs.
Sunday, October 2o, 1o19
Had enough strength to finally get out of the apartment for a walk . . . The Sooner Fashion Mall. Stopped first at Stella Nova for coffee . . . I hear coughing. Lot's of coughing . . . David's coughing too! So, into my bag for the surgical mask, which I'm suppose to wear any time I get in a crowd. But I worry that people at the mall will freak-out when they see me and . . . sure enough. A kid walks in front of me, stops, his big eyes glaring at me . . . and then he takes off running as if the devil was chasing him!
Me: Hey. If you force me to carry that water bottle up the stairs in my condition . . . and I die? Well, your burden, brother.
So, we are passing through JCPenney and guess what? There's a bargain rack with a big sign on it saying: Levi: $27.99. And I look and guess what? They got Levi jackets that fit me for $27.99! So when we get done walking the mall (I did pretty well) we go back and I yank one off the rack . . . fits beautifully. Go to the cashier, he rings it up and says, "That'll be $78.90." "What?!" I yelp behind my surgical mask. "The rack says $27.99." He goes over looks at the rack sign and in small print under the Levi: $27.99 it says something like wool-jackets or something . . . fuck! And the casher laughed, "What'd you think? You were gonna get a Levi jean jacket for $27.99?!" Yeah that's what I thought, penis head!
Monday, October 21, 2o19
Some confusion over my appointment today. David thought it was at 2:30pm so we planned to do a few things before hitting the hospital . . . I got home and looked at the schedule and . . . first appointment (lab) was at 8:20am! second apointment was at 2:30pm! Called David and we rearranged the schedule.
Got to the hospital around 8:15. David drove off to find a parking spot and I walked into the hospital, cane in hand and . . . strange. I felt physically "spry!" Should I use that word? Is that a too much of an old person word . . . spry? Anyway, I felt good. Got in the waiting-room and they called me and I did my blood work and . . . David was sitting in the waiting-room when I walked back in and asked if I was done. No. Seems I was to wait for my blood tests to be complete . . . if my blood was in good shape I didn't have to come back today . . . and if that was true . . . I didn't have another appointment until next Monday! And guess what? The blood test went well, blood in good shape . . . Yeah! No more treatment for a week . . . if I don't take a turn before then. I mean, I feel great today . . . but tomorrow? Who knows.
David and I went to have coffee. still an hour and a half before my second round of chemotherapy . . . and still I felt myself just sinking into the chair I was sitting in. Then we went the hospital and my nurses was already for me. "Hey! Did you take that nausea pill?" Surfer Techie said. "No, I didn't . . ." "Here take these." And I did.
Got to Walmart to pick up my prescription for the diseased toe. "Sorry," said the pharmacy tech. who waited on me, "it will be twenty minutes before we get to it." Okay, I got shopping to do . . . and again, I'm hit by fatigued before I get to the yogurt section at Walmart. And it went down hill from there. I felt ninety years old. I could barely move . . . I had to stop every ten feet. Getting to the car was a chore. "Do you still wanna stop by Taco Bell for food?" David said. "No, man. I just want to go home."
Saturday, October 19, 2o19
Sorry, about the delay. 4 days without writing a word about the cancer treatment. But I'm telling you there's not a lot to say. Three days ago it started. I mean, when the RNs started feeding my skin these chemo shots. They kept warning me that I really needed to follow their instructions: Wash my hands frequently, eat a lot, Drink 64 ounces of caffeine-free liquids ( water, juices, etc.), and brace yourself . . . this is going to hurt. Well, Hell. They've said that before. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Chemo hurts. But to be honest and not macho about it . . . first two days . . . nothing to it. Two chemo treatments and . . . and yeah, a bit uncomfortable . . . but nothing close to hurting. But then the third day of treatment (two shots of chemo juice in the gut each day.) yeah, man. I got hit in the head with a chemo brick. It's not the kind of pain that you would think . . . it was just like every bit of energy I owned just drained away from me. It was the most horrible feeling in the world. The belly ached and itched at the points where the RNs injected the chemo . . . and . . . and . . . damn . . . I slept . . . for what seemed a forever lifetime . . . did go get new blood on Thursday . . . Friday . . . I could barely move One of the RNs watched me come out of the restroom and she had this . . . frightened look on her face. "What's a matter? Am I that ugly?" "How do you feel?" she asked. "Not so good." "Yeah. go sit down and try not to get up again." "Okay." And there I sat . . . for two hours as blood was pumped into my veins. I went home not knowing if I was going to feel better or not. This cancer shit sucks eggs.
Sunday, October 2o, 1o19
The Water Bottle Massacre
David: Hey, don't for get your water bottle when you leave the car.
Me: You can't talk to me like that I'm dying.
David: I knew you where gonna start up with that sooner or later . . .Me: You can't talk to me like that I'm dying.
Me: Hey. If you force me to carry that water bottle up the stairs in my condition . . . and I die? Well, your burden, brother.
Monday, October 21, 2o19
Some confusion over my appointment today. David thought it was at 2:30pm so we planned to do a few things before hitting the hospital . . . I got home and looked at the schedule and . . . first appointment (lab) was at 8:20am! second apointment was at 2:30pm! Called David and we rearranged the schedule.
Got to the hospital around 8:15. David drove off to find a parking spot and I walked into the hospital, cane in hand and . . . strange. I felt physically "spry!" Should I use that word? Is that a too much of an old person word . . . spry? Anyway, I felt good. Got in the waiting-room and they called me and I did my blood work and . . . David was sitting in the waiting-room when I walked back in and asked if I was done. No. Seems I was to wait for my blood tests to be complete . . . if my blood was in good shape I didn't have to come back today . . . and if that was true . . . I didn't have another appointment until next Monday! And guess what? The blood test went well, blood in good shape . . . Yeah! No more treatment for a week . . . if I don't take a turn before then. I mean, I feel great today . . . but tomorrow? Who knows.
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