The waiting is the hardest part

My apologies; the below post was meant to be uploaded a few days ago. It was meant to explain my absence, which by now may be alarming to some. No fretting, though; all in all it was a good week.

On Friday I got some bloodwork done. I thought I might at least get to speak to Dr. Densmore to inform him of my experiences last time, but unfortunately it was a relatively minor event. I went in, sat for a few minutes, and was out in a flash. I have yet to hear any results, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Certainly if something was seriously wrong they would have told me, but they also have a tendency to spring “minor” bad things on you after the fact. The possibility I’m most worried about is being prescribed a particular shot (the name of which escapes me) which tricks the body into believing it has an infection. The shot in of itself is a medical wonder and would be welcomed if needed. However, it’s presence would mean two things. One, that I needed it and have an increased risk of infection, and two, that I (or some poor shmuck I can convince to do it for a dollar) would be required to shoot me up every other day. As I said before I’m trying to be calm about the needles, but they’re fighting back pretty hard; plus, I’m not sure I trust myself with one.

If I learned anything from this, though, it’s that cancer is turning out to be a game of hurry up and wait. For several weeks things were nothing but a whirlwind of tests, procedures, and appointments. Now that treatment has actually started, things have slowed to crawl. Chemo is every two weeks; I find myself sitting still for three hours each Friday; results don’t come back quite as quick. I guess it’s just one of those things, but annoying nevertheless. Man has little patience, no matter the trauma.

Another observation I made this week is that cancer makes one acutely aware of the intricacies of one’s body. On the one hand, this can be an enlightening experience. In class one day I found myself with my thumb and pointer grasping my nose, as I often do when I’m tired or frustrated. For some reason, though, I held on a little closer than usual, and discovered that I’d never really felt where my nose connects to my face before. This may seem at best an odd anecdote and at worst cause for concern for my mental health, but frankly I feel this new sense of personal intimacy to be quite relaxing in light of what’s going on with the rest of my body.

On the other hand, this new awareness can be quite troublesome in another department: pain. I first discovered this during my nausea, but it reintroduced itself later this week when I was attempting to cook a steak in some olive oil (I know, but please do not knock my culinary choices). I’ve never been a particularly good judge of how much oil in enough (which I assume is a genetic fault prevalent only in those born below the Mason-Dixon Line), but in this particular instance I was way off. I also had managed to forget the sort of reaction that occurs when cold meat is placed a hot pan. Add to this ignorance of the Archimede’s principle and failing to wear shoes and you have a recipie for disaster (not steak). When I threw (another mistake) the meat into the pan the oil promptly became airborne, and had only one place to go: the foot of the stove, where my size 15s were located. After some yelping I managed to make it to the bathroom, where some cold water quickly took care of the grease (but not the pain). I managed to escape with only a burn relative to a sunburn (albeit a rather severe one). This incident has made me greatly rethink both my manner of dinner preperation and my choice of kitchen wear.

On a bright note my parents were in town for Parent’s Weekend, but most particularly my third-year ring ceremony. I dare say that the sudden realization that I’m half-way through college (last year’s detour aside) was more frightening than learning that I had Hodgkin’s. Perhaps it’s a result of the time skew that’s caused by cancer, but I’m beginning to rethink the way I’ve viewed college. It may end up true that men far wiser (deservedly so) than I were correct. I’ll have to collect my thoughts on that for later, though. It seems to require a grander degree of exposition than I am prepared for right now.

By the way, given the aforementioned nature of the timing of cancer, it appears that readers may have to suffer through material of a more philosophical and personal nature in my feeble attempt to provide regular content for myself. Also, I’ve recently decided that I want to improve my skills as a writer, and what better excuse?

Anyways, it’s getting….well, not particularly late, but at the very least time for me to enjoy what remains of my Saturday. And given my haul from Plan 9 Records today (HALF OFF ALL VINYL!), it will be quite enjoyable.

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