Brace For Impact.
Despite over two years of constant chemotherapy treatment, I feel more like a cancer patient this morning than I have in several months. Perhaps it is the cold weather that has my chest feeling tight, the draw of each breath a careful ‘in through the nose, out through the mouth’ thought. Maybe it’s the multiple nights of restless sleep. I suppose it could be an excess amount of caffeine in my system (not bloody likely). Knowledge that this could be our last weekend of freedom is also a concern. From any perspective, this morning presents a rare struggle to complete a simple sentence. I type a few words, stop to take deliberate breaths, and then take another drink of coffee.
Cancer numbers are up, which surprises no one that I know. Anecdotally, I could have told you that the many forms of cancer are skewing toward younger females just by surveying the women who befriend me on social media. Cancer isn’t waiting until people hit the age of 50 or older before it strikes. Black and Native Americans are dying at rates two to three times higher than white patients even as more cancers become treatable. We look for someplace to lay the blame. Our diets? Yes. Our lifestyles? Yes. Genetics? Yes. Just plain old bad luck? Absolutely.
Researchers are quick to say that we have a lot of control in mitigating the risks of getting cancer, but once it latches onto us, what then? Take a look at all the medicine bottles lined up on my desk. The biggest bottle, of course, is the chemo that I take each morning right after breakfast. There are two medications to address my sugar levels. But then, there are also meds to protect my kidney because the diabetes meds mistreat it a bit. There are also meds to keep nausea at bay. Lipitor keeps my cholesterol in check. Other meds attempt to control my mood and anxiety, though I’m not sure how well they’re working. All in all, it takes fifteen minutes every morning to get all my meds down, and that’s after I’ve gone on a scavenger hunt to see where the cats hid the bottles.
I’ll admit to being a little jealous of those who go through six to eight rounds of chemo and then get to ring a bell. I still have two months to go, and after that, there’s a chance that my situation could get worse. After all, two years is a long time for one’s body to adjust to the poison it’s being fed. There are days, like today, and yesterday, and pretty much all this week, when it feels as if this suffering is never going to end. I keep asking Kat to shoot me. She continually refuses to do so.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. We can do this, right? RIGHT?
Making matters worse, hell quite literally freezes over on Monday. The current forecasts show Monday morning’s low to be an icy -4F. Tuesday could be as low as -7. Fortunately, the kids don’t have school on Monday. The collision of complete ideological opposites on the 20th is something I don’t think has gotten enough attention.
On one hand, we got this email from the school yesterday:
Dear Parents and Students,
This is a reminder that there will be no school on Monday, January 20, 2025, in observance of the Martin Luther King Jr. Holiday.
We encourage everyone to take this time to reflect on the values of equality, justice, and service that Dr. King dedicated his life to promoting.
At the same time, though, we’re re-inaugurating what the Associated Press refers to as ‘American Carnage.‘ While checks and balances put a practical limit on what Felonius Punk can do on Day 1, there is no question that the nation is bracing for impact as the oligarchs take a hammer and chisel to our country. Yes, the use of those words is intentional.
Somehow, we’re supposed to juxtapose those opposites even as our brains and bodies are freezing. I’m pretty sure Dr. King and associates would be up in arms to see what is happening, but there are no big marches planned this year. Lawsuits are the weapon of choice this time around. They’ll take longer, cost more money, and will have questionable outcomes, but then, so did the marches of four years ago. Personally, I’m kind of with Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore in the movie ‘Apocalypse Now,’ when he said, “There’s nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning.” Especially if it’s DC that’s burning.
Oh, I’ve added to my social media spread. You can now find me on BlueSky Social at @ciletbetter.bsky.social. I’m not expecting it to take the place of anything else, but, in the words of ‘The Little Mermaid,’ “I want to be where the people are.”
I think I’m done for this morning. Pinball (cat #9) wants to snuggle. He’s not giving me a choice.
Breathe in. Breathe out.