Surviving

Even being relatively handy with words I lack an adequate vocabulary to describe the pain following my chemo-infusion. Pain at a cellular level is as close as I can get to a portrayal of what I endured. Nausea and diarrhea accompany, along with low-grade fever. Getting well, surviving and recovering from cancer is a process of controlled sickness.

At 5'11" and 190 pounds I was comfortable, strong, capable of meeting any physical challenge presented by the work I can find. At 162 pounds I am weak. My oncologist continues his encouragement with each visit. He is not overly concerned about my weight, yet. Trying to put weight back on when I can't swallow without pain is impossible.

He gave me a good laugh yesterday. His suggestion that a beer would be Ok, a good porter might stay down, brought forth a laugh. I told him that I could keep maybe seven or eight down, it was the next ten I was concerned about. He didn't grasp what I referring to.

It became even more comical when I told him I would rely on the opinion of Dr. Silkworth. ""Who is Dr. Silkworth? Does he work here?" My laughter was painful, but somehow healing to my spirit.

My character defects remain glaring still. In an effort to minimize the appearance of my weight loss I was caught "cheating.." I wore a nice leather jacket to my last visit, and put two 24oz. Arizona Ice Tea in my pockets. The nurse who weighed me looked back and forth, from my chart to the scale, before asking me for my jacket. She laughed at my deception but I realized I had lost more weight. I need a new belt.