I started out this evening writing my blog fairly early. For literally three hours, I have been writing gibberish, not like my normal gibberish, this was more gibberishy that usual. And the fact that I normally write this crap and think "that's not bad" and tonight I actually admitted I was writing something terrible, you can only imagine how bad version one of tonight's edition was.
This week has been such a emotional roller coaster of highs, disappointments, anxiety, elation, relief, excitement, shock, confusion, and back to anxiety. The worst part about this cancer, is it seems the more rested you are the more positive your thoughts are. The cruel twist to cancer, is it keeps you up very late, like I am right now, and that's when the extreme pessimistic thoughts come in.
I would like to think my cancer induced insomnia is only affecting me. Yeah, sometimes I feel like my butt is dragging, but exactly what do you have to do when you are an unemployed testicular cancer patient that is limited to lifting about ten pounds and walks like a pirate with a wooden leg and arthritis? But I know that my being this way is taking an emotional toll on my wife, and what scares me to death is that it maybe taking a physical toll on her too. So what happens? Well you dwell on that fact, making it even harder to fall asleep, you fall deeper and deeper into your despair like you are spinning in the whirlpool as your health goes down the drain, except it seems like the drain just keeps getting deeper and deeper.
The irony in all of this is when you are finally at the point of physical exhaustion and you crash, you wake up completely rested (usually about three hours later) and you feel great! My wife asks me to please just come to bed and watch television, or read a book, or play on the laptop, anything, just come to bed. And when she asks me I have every intention of doing that. But as the day draws down, and I find myself getting ready to go to bed, the thoughts creep in. Do you remember how the old cartoons always seemed to have robbers as these big burly guys, with buzzed-cut hair, black masks over their eyes, usually wearing dark yellow shirts with black pants, and tiptoeing around with little sacks? I feel like those guys are walking around in my brain stuffing little bits of my sanity in their little bags and tiptoeing out with that "tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkle" sound effect. And I don't know how to stop them. And I don't know why they wear those little masks just over their eyes, wouldn't you still be able to identify them? And why do they always "tinkle tinkle tinkle" when they walk? These are the kinds of brilliant observances you make at three in the morning, when you are either lying wide awake or sobbing about the stress you are putting on your loved ones. It wouldn't be so bad if I was coming up with something to make me a millionaire like a jetcar or the next Flowbee, or how about finding a cure for cancer, that would solve my insomnia and the cause of it! But no, I am thinking of cartoon robbers and wondering how come my sanity can fit in such small bags as they tinkle off with it.
The thoughts are crazy. First and foremost, my wife and I received some great news that is really the driving force for me to fight as hard as possible to get better as quick as possible. And I also can see the finish line now to all of this cancer crap. Well, at least the finish line for the treatment, the observation part is a different story. But as I get closer to starting chemo, and as we buy more stuff to sustain me for the next four weeks, what I first envisioned as a sprint to the finish gets longer everyday. It soon changed to a marathon, then hurdles on the marathon, then hurdles on an ironman triathlon, and now it feels like I am getting ready to do the Tour De France but I don't have a bike.
And the thing that makes all of this worse, is there isn't a surefire way to cure these feelings. My wife took me out today and distracted me at stores and I actually enjoyed shopping with her. Yes, you read that correctly, a man actually enjoyed shopping with his wife!!! Just proofreading it, I want to call myself a liar, but it actually happened. And I know what you are thinking, you're saying "Yeah Tom, that's what happens when they cut out one of your nuts, you start enjoying shopping with your wife." Who knows, that maybe right. It's hard to argue with that logic. But the point I was getting at, shopping may not be the smartest thing to do for an unemployed cancer patient. I mean, we need the stuff we bought, I just hope I am not trying to plug up the drain so the whirlpool stops with shopping. But these things are just distractions. I want a cure. If we treated my cancer this way the doctor would have said, "OK, you have testicular cancer and we figured the best thing to do is to give you a brand new Paul Reed Smith guitar, American made with double cutaway."
I would be like, "But doc, what about the cancer?"
"Did I mention it has twenty-four frets?"
"Thanks doc! I'm cured! But why is the lump still here?"
Although that would have been really nice, and I could have bought at least five of those guitars in the past month with the money spent on medical bills, it would have been the same as what is happening now. Sure, I would feel good for the time being, but eventually I am back alone in my dark place, which I mean quite literally as I sit in the basement with all the lights out except for the glow of the computer monitor, hoping that my wife will see all the lights out and think that I am in bed. Sometimes I stack the basenjis up in a line where I should be laying, so there is something in my place when she rolls over needing something to sleep-smack. So I sit here night after night, writing gibberish, and feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes it is a catharsis that makes me feel better. Other times it is only a diversion until I get exhausted. All I know is I have someone up there that loves me and can't wait for me to get better, so I should probably get off of here and slide the basenjis over before she sleep-smacks again and notices me missing.
No comments:
Post a Comment