Emotional breakthrough

Nothing left to say, nothing left to do. I've been too busy doing nothing to write a blog post. So, nothing doing from a do-nothing.
What has happened since May 10? Much ado about nothing. The damn mucositis has flared up more, so I am back on steroids, 20mg/day, and maybe for a long time, a year or two. The doc believes this is my gvhd, and I have to agree, and that is fine if all that is left is no hot or spicy foods. Minty toothpaste is like fire-eating. Sharp edges, as in chips and toast, are also painful. Consequently eating is not all that pleasurable and I am stuck under 160 pounds, even hit 155 if I don't focus.

I wrote this Tuesday morning, early:

'I woke at steroid-early, time to take some jangle extender, read the nonsense, and watch dawn in the chemo-red sky. I lie there pondering more sleep, but my brain is jumping through memories. I watch myself stand in the radiation booth and think, 'Don't move, be steady, hold on.' I don't want any stray bullets piercing my lungs. The machine across the room reminds me of the mouths of the sand worms in 'Dune' or 'Tremors', but it's the sound that sticks your hair on end, a sound of thousands of gees at work, and they will just do their work if you just stand still. I hold on to the handlebars and stay as steady as I can.

My wife is moving large volumes of air, so I think I can rise without waking her. I take a right at the foot of the bed, aiming for my sweats in the closet. Sometimes I get lost and end up at the door, and she wakes while I fumble around, and says 'What are you doing?' I tell her I am lost, but about then I find the closet and my sweats, then out the door and downstairs to start another day.'

I should be doing more stream of consciousness writing in the early hours.

I played 30 holes of golf back in May, and on hole 30 my left hip left in protest, and has been very slow to recover. No golf since. I have some plays on a ten-play card, but after those I will retire from golf until I get a hip. It was taking too much time and money, a fickle mistress that didn't put out, so what was the point? Humility? Despair? Hopelessness?

My house looks good now, since I have all this time for doing chores. I treated the older wood floor areas with a revitalizer, and they look great. I pruned up the trees by the creek and cleared out a lot of brush, improved our views, repotted a slew of pots, pruned a bunch, and organized John and Laura's stuff in the garage so I can still get to the weight set. I fought the dragon of Adobe Photoshop until I submitted to an upgrade, man I hate that program but I am committed now.

Last weekend (5/29-30) was the high schools 24 hour relay, and I was volunteered to be a parent participant, which meant being there for 25 hours straight and trying to stay out of the way. Imagine a few hundred kids drinking mass quantities of energy drinks and trying to impress each other, some for the last time. I tried to read and sleep, but it was loud and cold. Mike and some fellow musicians threw together a band and played a 45 minute set, Hendrix, King Crimson Epitaph, Leggy Blonde, War Pigs, Wanna Be, and more. Some of it rocks, some of it looks like a band that practiced twice. That is Mike on stage in the green shirt.

We have been busy also going to things like end of school year awards and concerts. Mike received a Golden Tiger for Outstanding Senior Choir student, Best Actor in a Musical, and then Outstanding Vocalist for 2009. Man, I am swelling up with pride.