There’s nothing I’d rather do this morning than go back to bed and back to sleep. I’m tired. I know the kids are tired. The dogs are so tired they didn’t even touch their breakfast this morning. The cats… well, they sleep all day anyway so it’s rather difficult to tell. Nonetheless, it would be nice to have a day off, but we can’t. We’re not done with the yard. There are at least two to three more hours of work to be done. We were hampered yesterday by my short-sightedness. The cord I had purchased for our electric mower was too short and only allowed us to reach about half the yard. When I realized the problem, I ordered a new cord but it didn’t get here until after 11:00 and by then it was already too hot to safely be outside. So, we get to finish everything today.
I was also wrong about college football starting yesterday. I mean, technically, it did as Georgia Tech and Florida State played in Dublin. A good friend and Tech alum was in Ireland for the game and kept everyone updated with Facebook posts as Tech won the game with a field goal in the fourth quarter. Everyone else doesn’t start until next Saturday, though. Perhaps I’ll be able to clear my calendar and watch some games live this time.
After napping for a couple of hours, my friend Emily picked me up, and we went to her house out in New Palestine for a party honoring the demise of her breasts as she’s facing a double mastectomy in the morning. On the way over, we talked about all the emotions that come with such a decision and perhaps the biggest question of all, “Is it worth it?” There’s no way to treat cancer without inflicting some manner of trauma on the body. For her, it’s surgery. I chose two years of chemo. Everyone’s experience is different, but the emotions and questions are all the same. Fighting cancer involves sacrifices you never wanted to make. We cry. We scream in anger. We feel depressed. And all those admonitions to “keep going” and “stay strong” feel meaningless and useless when you can literally feel life draining from your body.
Not everyone survives. We all know that. We trust our doctors to guide us toward the best decisions. They all tell us what the success rate is. But we know those numbers mask individual tragedies. Before my father started radiation for melanoma, the oncologist told him there was a 96% success rate. Six months later, he died. He was one of the four percent who didn’t make it. I know others, former classmates, friends, spouses of friends, all who did exactly what their doctors told them and they still didn’t make it. Every cancer patient knows someone for whom the medicine wasn’t enough. Those stories linger in the back of our minds and even when we’re trying to be brave, when we’re trying to put on a good face for family and friends, those stories still nag at us and cause us to wonder if maybe we’re next.
Cancer treatment has come a long way since Poppa died over 20 years ago. I’m not sitting here with an IV of poison stuck in my arm. Success rates are higher than ever. Treatment options have expanded greatly. Even when radiation is necessary, it takes half the time that it used to. But for people like Emily and Rich and me, there will always be moments when we ask ourselves, “Is it worth it?” And we’re never quite sure of the correct answer.
So, we look for things to distract us. The Sunday edition of the New York Times is always a good source of distractions. Here are some stories from today’s paper:
All of those articles together still won’t eat up an hour of your time. We look for movies to watch, books to read, games to play, and chores to do (if we can’t find anything else). These serve little purpose other than to take our minds off pain, misery, and the increasing feeling that existence is futile. Eventually, usually when you’re lying in bed trying to fall asleep, the questions come back. How many times will I fall down tomorrow? Will I still throw up everything I eat? Will I ever feel “normal” again?
There’s nothing I’d rather do this morning than go back to bed and back to sleep. I’m tired. I know the kids are tired. The dogs are so tired they didn’t even touch their breakfast this morning. The cats… well, they sleep all day anyway so it’s rather difficult to tell. Nonetheless, it would be nice to have a day off, but we can’t. We’re not done with the yard. There are at least two to three more hours of work to be done. We were hampered yesterday by my short-sightedness. The cord I had purchased for our electric mower was too short and only allowed us to reach about half the yard. When I realized the problem, I ordered a new cord but it didn’t get here until after 11:00 and by then it was already too hot to safely be outside. So, we get to finish everything today.
I was also wrong about college football starting yesterday. I mean, technically, it did as Georgia Tech and Florida State played in Dublin. A good friend and Tech alum was in Ireland for the game and kept everyone updated with Facebook posts as Tech won the game with a field goal in the fourth quarter. Everyone else doesn’t start until next Saturday, though. Perhaps I’ll be able to clear my calendar and watch some games live this time.
After napping for a couple of hours, my friend Emily picked me up, and we went to her house out in New Palestine for a party honoring the demise of her breasts as she’s facing a double mastectomy in the morning. On the way over, we talked about all the emotions that come with such a decision and perhaps the biggest question of all, “Is it worth it?” There’s no way to treat cancer without inflicting some manner of trauma on the body. For her, it’s surgery. I chose two years of chemo. Everyone’s experience is different, but the emotions and questions are all the same. Fighting cancer involves sacrifices you never wanted to make. We cry. We scream in anger. We feel depressed. And all those admonitions to “keep going” and “stay strong” feel meaningless and useless when you can literally feel life draining from your body.
Not everyone survives. We all know that. We trust our doctors to guide us toward the best decisions. They all tell us what the success rate is. But we know those numbers mask individual tragedies. Before my father started radiation for melanoma, the oncologist told him there was a 96% success rate. Six months later, he died. He was one of the four percent who didn’t make it. I know others, former classmates, friends, spouses of friends, all who did exactly what their doctors told them and they still didn’t make it. Every cancer patient knows someone for whom the medicine wasn’t enough. Those stories linger in the back of our minds and even when we’re trying to be brave, when we’re trying to put on a good face for family and friends, those stories still nag at us and cause us to wonder if maybe we’re next.
Cancer treatment has come a long way since Poppa died over 20 years ago. I’m not sitting here with an IV of poison stuck in my arm. Success rates are higher than ever. Treatment options have expanded greatly. Even when radiation is necessary, it takes half the time that it used to. But for people like Emily and Rich and me, there will always be moments when we ask ourselves, “Is it worth it?” And we’re never quite sure of the correct answer.
There is tragedy everywhere. Israel and Hezbollah traded heavy fire before pulling back, jolting a region braced for war. I think it’s safe to say that efforts to avoid the war expanding have failed. Thirteen are dead after a boat capsized off Yemen, a migration agency says. But there were no billionaires on board, so it’s not likely that anyone will open an investigation. 2 separate bus accidents in Pakistan left at least 35 people dead. A flash flood on Indonesia’s eastern Ternate Island swept away buildings and left 13 dead. The shooting death of a 16-year-old girl by police is among a spate that’s upset Anchorage residents. A Mudslide in Thailand’s Phuket kills 13. Wildfires rage in sugar cane fields in Brazil’s southeast. Asian migrants have been trapped for weeks in Brazilian airport limbo. Uganda confirms two more cases of mpox. Those are just from today. There will be more tomorrow.
So, we look for things to distract us. The Sunday edition of the New York Times is always a good source of distractions. Here are some stories from today’s paper:
All of those articles together still won’t eat up an hour of your time. We look for movies to watch, books to read, games to play, and chores to do (if we can’t find anything else). These serve little purpose other than to take our minds off pain, misery, and the increasing feeling that existence is futile. Eventually, usually when you’re lying in bed trying to fall asleep, the questions come back. How many times will I fall down tomorrow? Will I still throw up everything I eat? Will I ever feel “normal” again?
Cancer sucks.
It’s a damn good thing there’s coffee.
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