Yesterday I was bound and determined to go to the car show. My father came in town and went with me, something I had wanted him to do for years, but after the events of the last few weeks, it seemed to have a little more sense of urgency. I was feeling a lot better. I would be doing this if I weren't in my cancer fight. I was going to go to that show and prove that I am getting on just fine, with or without cancer.
The day started out cold, but by the time we made it to the car show the sun was out and we ended up leaving our jackets in the car. I received free passes from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend type thing, so I wasn't really sure that I was going to get in, or how to explain how I came to possess said passes because I wasn't quite sure the whole story myself, but they waved us right through. The day was going great. We got there when I wanted. It was sunny and warm. We start my usual attack for this particular show. Walk around the perimeter, then move to the inside and shoot down the rows that look like they have something interesting. We go straight to the very back of the show where some of my favorite cars tend to park. Today was turning out exactly like I had hoped as we were walking down the gravel path between aisles. I am walking with almost no pain, still with my pants and boxer shorts up around my belly button like a cartoonish old man, but my t-shirt is hiding that, kinda.
Then, when we are a the very back side of the fairgrounds, literally as far away from my Jeep as we can possibly be and still be at the car show, it happens. I take a step, just a normal step, the same type of steps I have been taking thus far. My foot doesn't land exactly level. I don't trip, slip, or twist my ankle, my foot is just a little off camber. A searing pain instantly shoots from about eight inches below my incision to just above my incision. To describe the pain, it feels like a monkey had run up with a white hot knife and stabbed me and sliced from one end to the other. I look around and see no monkey, much less any white hot knife holding monkeys. I thought maybe it could have been an invisible monkey and knife, or even koala bear, but my pants have no sign of being sliced, so I give up on that theory. It hurts like hell, but I just assume it's an isolated incident. We walk a little further and it happens again, except this time the pain takes a little longer to go away. I having been dying to come to this. I talked my dad into leaving at five this morning to get here in time. I am NOT leaving this car show until I have done everything I want to do. I don't want dad to see how much pain I am in, or he may try to talk me into leaving. I don't think he notices. We make our way to the center, and the shooting pain is happening more and more often, and it is getting harder and harder to walk. Still dad doesn't notice. "You're hurting aren't you?" he says. OK, he noticed. But I don't have to let on how excruciating this pain is, because I am not leaving until I am done. I wish there was an invisible ice pack throwing monkey to help me feel better or pain killer dispensing monkeys, but I couldn't find any monkey evidence at all (tons of koala bears but they just had eucalyptus oil. I decide that cancer may not have an ass to kick, but today I am going to do what I want to do regardless of what cancer treatment throws at me. I can tell I am slowing down. And limping. I am doing a lousy job at hiding it. Almost every step hurts now with the almost crippling pain happening every few yards now. On one hand I want to hurry up and get out, on the other, every time we stop to look at something it gives me just a second to rest and the pain subsides a little.
We make it out of the cars and now just have to go through the exhibits and the parking lot. We stop at one tool vendor. He is selling a very long, heavy duty blow gun, which I need, but I have an ulterior motive. I buy it. When dad isn't looking I rest one end of it on my shoe and basically use it as a cane. He almost catches me doing it a couple of times and I think he assumes it is tripping me. He keeps pressing me to let him carry it, I can't let him know what I am really doing with it or he will make us walk out right now. With cancer, it seems sometimes what may be the best decision for your physical health is not always the best decision for your mental health. I NEED to leave here on my terms, when I want to. We just have to go through one more exhibit hall, the last tool vendor, then out of the gate. Dad starts to walk through the hall, when he is not looking I take a short cut and rest while I wait for him to notice I am on the other side of the building. Luckily it took him a while to notice. I don't know if I should be glad I get to rest or mad that it took him so long to realize I'm not beside him anymore. We walk out to the last tool vendor, buy a couple of things, and out the gate. The walk on the pavement is smooth. I am still in incredible pain, but not the intense shooting pain. We get to the grass parking lot with big ruts in it. I don't remember them being the huge chasms they seem to be now. Is it possible they were strip mining in this lot between the time we left and the time I hobble back? It seems like forever to make it to the Jeep.
I can't wait for the relief sitting down will give me. I go to hop in the seat, and I can't lift my right leg high enough to get in. I look to see if dad noticed. Good he didn't. But now I am stuck. How to I drag my lifeless right leg in, without him forcing me in the passenger seat or insisting we go home? From the knee down, my leg feels fine, but every little movement from the knee to the waist is like giving birth, I assume. If giving birth hurts any worse than this, I think everyone would be an only child. I back my butt up to the seat and push myself in with my left leg. I am then able to swivel my body, and my defective upper leg, inside the car.
Common sense would say we should go home. I think I felt something "pop" out at the car show, and the shooting pain feels like it is pulling something apart inside. Cancer would like me to go home. I am not going home. Not yet. We head to the tool store and a couple of other places. Cancer can't win. Not the war, and not this battle. I wanted to go to the tool store, and I am going regardless of the pain I am in. And I am going to buy whatever I want there...provided it is very light and I can carry it in my left hand so it doesn't cause more pressure on my right side. We also go into a sporting goods store and I am wore out from the pain. Almost unable to go any further, I am ready to leave. Dad says he is going to check out the shoes real quick. I stay there just staring at the kayaks, unwilling to take a step. The shooting pain rarely happens when I am standing still. It's at the end of kayak season anyway. Maybe when they take the kayaks out for the year, they will move the shoe department up here so I won't have to go anywhere. Doesn't look like that is going to happen any time soon. Finally I walk to the shoes...at the back of the store. I can't take it. The benches look so comfortable, but they are so low to the ground I don't know if I can get back up if I sit down. The pain takes over and I sit down. The moment my butt hits the bench dad says, "They don't have anything let's go." I urge him to look some more so my pain reprieve will last a little longer. I know he is looking for running shoes, but I think they have hockey skates in his size, maybe he should just take a few minutes to try some on while I sit on this bench. No such luck. But I was able to get back up, which surprised me. We get back home and I get inside the house. I can collapse now.
The day was confusing. I proved that I can move on with my life regardless of what my illness will throw at me, but at what cost? It took forever to get into bed and get comfortable. Any movement of my upper right leg causes intense pain, and the shooting pain while walking is coming close to dropping me. Physically, I feel like I pushed back my recovery two weeks. Mentally, I feel absolutely wonderful! Almost. I had planned to go play in my little music room after everyone left today, and instead I think I spent three hours trying to walk upstairs, fix lunch, and walk back down again. BUT, I did do what I had planned to do before this cancer crap happened. I did have fun. I did enjoy myself. And I did get to spend some quality time with my parents. I am just hoping my mom didn't hear all of the times I muttered the "F-word" when the pain shot through me.
So, I am going to win this war with cancer. And in my mind, I have proven I will not let cancer beat me on these little battles as well. However, after yesterday, I didn't lose, but I wouldn't call it a complete victory either. I think yesterday's battle will have to just be declared a draw. But, that's the last time I plan on letting these battles be that close.
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