[cancer] Still not much improvement

I continue miserable, and thus does everyone around me. Been home for a week, still have not managed to either have visitors or go out. Next week is the sixth anniversary of my onset of symptoms. We will not be celebrating.

There’s a bunch of medical stuff going on, as usual. Don’t know where it leads, as usual. Will report more when there is more to report. For now, bleh.

Also, I continue to be off almost all social media including email.

14 thoughts on “[cancer] Still not much improvement

  1. Cora Buhlert says:

    Good to hear from you again, Jay, and fingers crossed that things will get better soon.

  2. Harald Striepe says:

    My heart is with you.

  3. Terry says:

    I think about you daily, Jay, and continue to hope you’re doing as well as possible. *hugs* to you and yours.

  4. Here’s one more vote for “less misery for Jay”.

    Yeah, I imagine it’s hard to celebrate on your end right now, but I’m glad you’ve had those six years. Despite everything, you’ve done extraordinary things in that time.

  5. David Wiford says:

    Because it’s National Poetry Month and, because. Namaste.

    Hospital

    Benign big blond machine beyond all price,
    it swallows us up and slowly spits us out
    half-deafened and out blood still dyed: all this
    to mask the simple dismal fact that we
    decay and find out term of life is fixed.
    This giant governance, a mammoth toy,
    distracts us for the daytime, but the night
    brings back the quiet, and the solemn dark.

    God save us from ever ending, though billions have.
    The world is blanketed by foregone deaths,
    small beads of ego, bright with appetite,
    whose pin-sized prick of light winked out,
    bequeathing Earth a jagged coral shelf
    unseen beneath the black unheeding waves.

    My visitors, my kin. I fall into
    the conversational mode, matching it
    to each old child, as if we share a joke
    (of course we do the dizzy depths of years.)
    and each grandchild, politely quizzing them
    on their events and prospects, all the while
    suppressing, like and acid reflux, the lack
    of prospect black and bilious for me.

    Must I do this, uphold the social lie
    that binds us all together in blind faith
    that nothing ends, not youth nor age nor strength,
    as in a motion picture which, once seen,
    can be rebought on DVD? My tongue
    says yes; within, I lamely drown.

    I think of those I loved and saw to die;
    my Grandpop in his nightshirt on the floor,
    my first wife’s mother, unable to take a bite
    of Easter dinner, smiling with regret,
    my mother in her blue knit cap, alone
    on eighty acres, stuck with forty cats,
    too weak to walk out to collect the mail,
    waving brave goodbye from her wind-chimed porch.

    And friends, both male and female, on the phone,
    their voices dry and firm, their ends in sight.
    My old piano teacher joking, of her latest
    diagnosis, “Curtains.” I brushed them off,
    these valorous, in my unseemly haste
    of greedy living, and now must learn from them.

    Endpoint, I thought, would end a chapter in
    a book beyond imagination, that got reset
    in crisp exotic type future I
    – a miracle! – could read. My hope was vague
    but kept me going, amiable and swift.
    A clergyman – those comical purveyors
    of what makes sense to just the terrified-
    has phoned me, and I loved him, bless his hide.

    My wife of thirty years is on the phone.
    I get a busy signal, and I know
    she’s in her grief and needs to organize
    consulting friends. But me, I need her voice;
    her body is the only locus where
    my desolation bumps against its end.

    –John Updike
    Mass. General, Boston, November 23-27, 2008

  6. Diane Asyre says:

    Hoping you’ll soon progress from “bleh” to better. Be kind to yourself. That’s your work assignment for now.

  7. Even so, it’s lovely to see your phosphors. I send you gentle phosphoric hugs and wishes for a better day.

  8. Meredith says:

    found article about your wake – awesome – ended up on your site. Since Jan, I’ve been working on staying positive as tests continue, doctors remain confused, and my body deteriorates. I’m 36 with the conditions of someone twice my age, and I was a good girl. I can’t imagine the levels you have faced down and you have heard the same polite drivel endlessly repeated. I don’t know if I have read any of yours but I honestly will check them out. I used to live in PDX. Now I am in Everett, just north of Seattle. I live on a 36′ Carver Yacht, so if you ever feel up to it, you’re welcome to come motoring around Puget Sound. Invitation’s open, and I promise proof we’re not homicidal psychotics. Drs suck, tests suck, pills suck, being sick sucks…but the wind and waves wash it all away.

  9. Stevie says:

    I’m really sorry to hear that; I’m doing my best to dispatch hugs etc via the cyber void. I am thinking of you…

  10. Jan says:

    My heart is with you Jay. I know the struggle, my Mum had cancer, and died of it when I was 23. I had cancer, and surgery coming up to 5 years now clean. If anyone can beat this you can. I am so cheering for you! You can and will get through this!

  11. friendly person says:

    I’m here listening. sending you any good that can come of listening and sending good energy of whatever type of support you need.

  12. I hope things work out for you. I’d love to send you a copy of this year’s Castles & Chemo adventure when it’s published.

  13. Thinking of you, with much love.

  14. Jan says:

    Sending you so much healing energy Jay. I know you can make it through this. Lisa sending big ((HUGS))

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