On the Spot Reporting from Dad
Well, it looks like it’s time for another footnote. It’s the day after our visit to view the Bone Scan results. For me the consult was mostly upbeat. Still groggy from Oxycodone, I was queried about side effects, other than the desire to curl up like a puppy in the corner and sleep. Well, there’s that dryness in the mouth that made it difficult to answer the question. Yes, strange taste, food not appealing. Constipation? You bet! Taking stool softener, 1-3 per day. “Don’t worry” says Dr. Hung, “You can’t OD on diarrhea!” “How much Oxycodone?” 3-4 a day. “Don’t worry about that–you won’t OD on Oxycodone either. Har de har har.”
Thus reassured we were walked through the bone scan results, looked at the little dark spot we are targeting-the one spot where the tentacle of the alien is nudging at the wall of the spinal column from without. So, tomorrow (Thursday): the Simulation: they will draw a little diagrammatic map on my tummy, lay me in a kind of cradle and align their sights with the help of laser beams to find the target area and apply a kind of semi-permanent tattoo to mark the spot where, on the following week they’ll zap me Monday through Friday for about 15 minutes, ditto the following week and call me cooked. Atoms for Peace indeed. No extravegant claims, just the promise of alleviated pain in the back. Perhaps a temporary goodby to the Oxycodone woozies; charming though they might be it will be good to remember my name and the day of the week and how they might be related to life on this earth.
Another way to return to earth, the trip down to the Other OHSU on the tram. Great view, quiet talk with Q about our visit, home feeling a little better, but indubitably plugged up from the waist down. (I will spare the reader the intimate details of my eventual liberation from intestinal blockage, only to say, I could feel the restraining ropes falling away as I levitated a few meters when the ballast was finally tossed overboard.) I did laundry, finally solved the Sunday Times puzzle, which kept me feeling as if it were somehow still the weekend. Still no irresistable pull toward the Oxycodone bottle. “Why is this damned Tuesday TV show on Sunday night?” was the main problem rattling in my still foggy brain as I toddled off to bed. A couple of drenching hotflashes got me up in the middle of the night. Very early rising, no drugs, shower, breakfast, no drugs, a nap, no drugs, call from Q. no drugs. Pee-stream feels more normal, made a list of to-dos, no drugs. I feel pretty normal, almost like before. I am sure it’s Wednesday today, tomorrow is Thurdsay and I will “simulate” radiation treatment. No desire for drugs, think I may go to the White Bird concert after all tonight. And STILL NO DRUGS! Marvels of modern medicine. Dad is back again, for a little while at least. And running very mundane errands. Hoorah!
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I had a dream last night that I was swimming in Love. I was breathing Love. I was surrounded and held by Love. How can I be laughing and crying at once? I Love you, Charles.
Thanks Carol, We’ve always loved each other it seems, without ever really being lovers. How rare is that? Probably the reason for the longevity of our relationship.
Another footnote: back to Oxycodone again, by concert time I didn’t want to be squirming through the leaps and bounds that I’d come to enjoy. Nevertheless it was great to know there would be times of no dope mixed in with the times of dope.
The concert itself was fantastically good–a company that’s out of New York, been around for about 15 years, but I’d never heard of them. “Complexions” their name. The program notes made them sound a bit pompous or pretentious–don’t believe everything you read. They were unpredictable, boisterous, poignant, absurd, slinky, sexy, serious, hip-hoppy, classical, exquisite, bold–moving easily from one to the next and very fast! Everything one hopes for in a dance concert and rarely finds–three acts of fully packed eye-popping dancing. I had told Q. on the phone earlier that if I didn’t like it I could always leave at intermission–in fact I could have happily sat through it again–I had another Oxycodone with me!
Now it’s time to go off to simulate my radiology treatments, i.e. they sight in on the strike zone and laser beam the trajectories and draw on my tummy. Next week, the smart missile attack really begins, “The War on the Alien Within.” Now, back to Wolf Blitzer (is that name for real?) in The Situation Room.
wolf blitzer, love from carol, love from you. Love to you, thoughts and notes, love from you. in your words i see the alien. but love to you and from you is the thing here.