Strange.

I’m still waiting to hear from Dr. Berdeja and the folks at Sarah Cannon about my initial results. It’s tiring, emotionally. Further, since the procedure I’ve had some serious new pain in my shoulders, hips and calves that the painkillers I have aren’t making a dent in and is proving to be poor company to the scanxiety scratching and snarling at the door.

I talked to Megan the Wonder-PA about this and she suggested, after we tested various motions, that it was muscular. Which is possible, although I have been walking a ton lately (for me) with the family and by now I would have expected the muscles to start responding.  It’s probably time to make good on my promise to “someday” try yoga.

Our dog, Trixie, has the right idea on our walks. You’ll be walking and suddenly stopped involuntarily to look back and see she’s laying in the grass in the shade. Just like me for 47+ years I’m pretty sure she’s thinking the same thing I am: “fuck this shit.”

But, it’s important, and I’ve never done stuff like this. Plus it’s family time, something new to do after dinner besides just flipping on the brainrot box.

There’s something off with my eyesight too … I read every night with my trusty Kindle PaperWhite and for the last several months at a certain distance I get double-vision unless I close one eye. Either one. Bizarre.

If you don’t mind a quick digression, I figured out a new item on my bucket list. If this clinical trial really is successful like it has been for some (complete remissions), I want this port removed from my chest. It doesn’t bother me in a pain sense or anything, but every time I touch it it freaks me out and reminds me that I have cancer. I’m already GMO, which is troubling when you really stop and think about it; let’s take the spigot out of my chest though, k?

I *think* I have things balanced with the family again, but then again I’ve thought that so many times in my life I’ve lost count. The whole thing is hurtful, and shameful, and about 1,001 other descriptive terms that almost but never quite capture it all. For example their constant bashing of my wife and doing things I’ve told them are putting my marriage at risk (sending her shitty emails, texts, badmouthing her, etc.) while I’m trying desperately to fix it. And then they push me to get divorced.

I mean there’s a genius idea. So the terminal cancer patient is supposed to get rid of the only person he even has a remote chance of romantic love with thanks to this disease (and I do try to be hopeful about that because that’s what Dex took from us), someone who cared enough to be my caregiver for the last five years through the horrors the Dex put us through even while she HATED me, truly hated me.  So get rid of any hope of intimacy now that I finally am starting to understand relationships, myself and how to treat people with kindness and love, and my caregiver.  Hell I can’t even get my socks on in the morning most days due to the pain without her help.

Oh and as an added bonus, I can lose half of whatever time I have left with my daughter, the ONLY thing that matters to me on this planet and the only reason I’m still here. I would lose my house, my baby’s house. Where she learned to ride a bike, and we laughed and cried together and she walked to school everyday with her mother.

But no, it’s their way or the highway. I seriously should have been a police negotiator or similar. Somehow I end up in the middle of everyone elses’ problems which I then have to clean up OR ELSE. Fucking family businesses.

Yes, I can leave. However I’d be giving up a salary large enough to allow my wife not to work and raise our daughter while she studies to become a nurse (she just got into a very prestigious nursing program here), true “Cadillac” insurance which when you are running up a million a year or so is somewhat important, including for your daughter (Ari was born with a cleft lip and palate).  And instead of spending whatever time I have left just trying to build some memories with my daughter and see if I can fix this broken disaster of a marriage (and my family too, because I thought it would be nice to see if I could break through 47 years of bullshit and make a real attempt at having one), I’d spend it trying to find a job that is going to be OK with me taking off for five weeks at a time to do stuff like this clinical trial I just did?  Or to doctor’s appointments every week? Not happening.

Here I eat shit, but at least I don’t have to worry about the serious stuff. I wish I felt like I had another option but the stress of cancer is enough  — I’ve been at my limit for so long I barely remember what it feels like to not take an anti-anxiety drug and to just feel relaxed.  The way I felt scuba diving, basically. Stress-free, just floating, no phones or email or toxic people incapable of empathy. I think that’s why I like being a night-owl so much. I can pop my medicine, grab a glass of frozen fruit (my nighttime snack) and my Kindle, and just lay down (the only position that doesn’t hurt) and read, clear my mind of all the crap. Unfortunately there’s always another day coming and lately, thanks to the clinical trial, all the travel, the family drama, etc., they’ve been tough.  I’m still here fighting, but they’ve been tough.

But it’s cleared up for another day, at least.  The family drama, that is.  Congratulations, Rich, here’s another bottle of Xanax.

Author: uwfacepalm

Father, husband, portfolio manager, cancer victim (multiple myeloma since 2013). Trying to navigate this goddamn disease as best I can while enjoying what time I have left via those relationships, friends, the UFC, gaming, MMJ, diving and helping teach it before this all went down as a PADI Assistant Instructor and a Dive Guide at the Denver Aquarium (well, before my white blood cell count went to shit thanks to the chemo/disease).

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