What we did on our summer vacation? Geesh.
Here we are on the edge of the brink of the beginning
of the end of my last week of radiation/chemo treatments for lung cancer. Two
days off, then we’re back in it and going down the home stretch next week.
After that? Well, you’ll know when I know. The greatest
truths (and half-truths) will come when they do the follow-up diagnostics and we’ll see what we
see. And, yes, it might make more sense to look for what we don't see.
Point of order: I’m not sure why I’ve taken to
dragging you into this with the plural pronoun. Guess I didn’t think you’d
mind, and I feel like you’ve been in the fold here with me all along anyway, as
we both find the way through it.
I’ve danced with this devil many times in my nursing
career, especially those years I spent working in elder and hospice care,
attending my patients as nurse, facilitator, advocate, witness, doing my best
to always be objective, think & work holistically, and … and … wait … wait---
I was hoping I’d miss this one Rad Chemo undoing. Right this
minute, we can’t know to what degree I’ll get all sparse and sprigly on you, but
first … let me get this good whimper out of the way.
**whistling, looking stunned, wiping off tears, thwapping
forehead**
Next order of business, and to keep from going mad, is
to get ahead of this (pun intended) and find a good bald joke. And, because
this is New England, you can't get there from hair.
Let’s drop everything (what else can we do?) and get
the bad hairless humor established. I’ll start:
“Even though I’m going bald, I’m keeping my comb. I
just can’t part with it.”
More as we go, El
