borrowed tune

I’m climbing this ladder
my head in the clouds
I hope that it matters
I’m having my doubts
— the prophet n. percivel young

You can’t ask for much more than a room in the chemo center with a view of a ladder.

“If a worker climbs up, moon him!” Mo declares. I ponder the logistics of attempting to do so while hooked up to my IV gizmo, but it seems like a lot of work and despite the  lack of an “IT IS AGAINST MAYO POLICY FOR YOU TO DROP YOUR DRAWERS AS CONSTRUCTION WORKERS GO BY” sign, I suspect it might be hidden in the fine print somewhere.

Round 3 is officially in the bank. Or it will be tomorrow since I think banks wait a day now before posting. We’ve settled into a familiar routine. I know where they hide the Diet Coke and string cheese, Mo packs me Lorna Doones, I bring a book about a crazed panda beating a guy to death with a bamboo shoot, and ask for a blanket first thing. I’m a runner. I like routines, being on the same course, banging away at the goal, one rung at a time.

I saw my doctor on Wednesday in the usual yin/yang. The lymph node that sent us into panic mode appears to be gone, a good sign. But the anemia continues to crater, a bad sign. I worry I’m a goner if I get the vermin. The doctor told Mo that she had a good shot at getting a vaccine dose soon since she is (his words) a nubile, young babe taking care of a decrepit, elderly geezer. I told him that his oversized face mask is a good look for him. He got the last laugh by scheduling a bunch of new tests I’m pretty sure I don’t need. Is a Pap smear really necessary for a 64-year-old male?

I suspect my biggest problem is a failing heart, but he refuses to accept that. Maybe because he believes it; maybe because if that’s the problem I’ll never run again, and he knows that’s not an acceptable outcome. This is a fight, and he’s the best person you could hope to be in your corner.

As I sit in my chair next to the radioactive sign and a nurse in a comical bridal outfit, I look out at the ladder just out of my reach. That’s me. This is like running. One rung at a time. Miles of trials. Don’t look up, don’t look down. Relentless forward progress.

A PET scan soon will show us if it’s working. Most likely three more rounds to go. Maybe we find it’s in remission; maybe this chemo isn’t  working at all. What then?  He shrugged and said simply, “We’ll do something else.” Hopefully not a cervical exam. Never make fun of an oncologist.

I hope that it matters. I’m having my doubts. But I’m still climbing the ladder.

We’ll find out where it leads.

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
This entry was posted in margarine and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to borrowed tune

  1. unironedman says:

    I’m lovin’ your work. If you moon: pictures, or it never happened.

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