Oar What?

I remember one time I was in the back of the canoe, paddling through the Great Swamp with Sandy, an old girlfriend from college, and I was looking behind us for some reason. Just as I faced forward, a low-hanging branch swept me from the canoe, and I tumbled backwards into the slow-running water. I came up spluttering and Sandy retrieved me, giggling.

I am equally surprised to find myself still in the hospital on Saturday. I got out of the hospital on Thursday morning, and Stacy was kind enough to retrieve me and bring me to Wavertree. I have been very chilled a lot lately, and figure that chill is just from my challenged metabolism. Stacy comes back with these awesome oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies, which are a little too crisp for me to eat robustly – I can nibble them. I head to bed and wrap up in a pile of blankets. When Dana gets home around 4pm, she adds the electric blanket. She heads to the pharmacy to pick up some meds, and I wander downstairs with a blanket wrapped around me.

I trip over the blanket near the bottom of the stairs, and end up in a jumble on the living room floor. It takes me a long time to get up – I am very weak. I stumble into the family room and fall again. Woody, my dog, is no help. I get up and get on the couch, and Dana takes my temp when she returns, and it is 102.8, She calls the doc, who sends me to the ER. Dana gets Craig next door to help me into the car, ER checks me out and checks me in, and here I remain.

I am alone in this room, just as well since my counts are plunging, as expected from the chemo. Yesterday I was in a funk all day, low-grade fever and no energy, oh woe is me. I feel better today, having gotten my peeing routine down as they flush the chemo with non-stop IVs of saline. I pee every forty-five minutes, whether I have to or not. I saw the Doc last night, and he scheduled an ultrasound, wants a peek into my gut. So no liquids after midnight, and I finally get the ultrasound at 9:30, even thought there is nobody ahead of me,

When I finally get breakfast, the Belgian waffles have been tossed. The mucositis is ramping up, and my lips and inside my mouth are pretty busted up, so I get Rice Krispies for breakfast. It was not as bad as it sounds, I just let them soak in the milk for 5 minutes until they were nice and soggy, and let the coffee cool for half an hour And lo and behold, I have an older style TV in the room, with a lengthier boom but no number pad. It’s not in my face, but to get to channel 72 from channel 4, you hit channel up 68 times. That comment about ‘A Clockwork Orange’ is strange as I just watched that 2 weeks ago for the first time in decades. Is that why I am here?

The Celtics managed a win last night in spite of the refs and Kendrick, so all is well. I hope to be out of here tomorrow. They are continuing to dose me with antibiotics in IVs, and my temp is 97.6, normal for me, I am so cool. Dana and her sisters came by this morning, Barry also, and Dana will come by later to trounce me again in Gin. I keep changing the rules as long as she leaves the Hoyle’s Book of Rules behind, but I am zigging when she is zagging, so ……

Here is a poem Sharon Bray of ‘Writing Through Cancer’ emailed me. She has been a great mentor and supporter through this.

How to Read a Poem: Beginner's Manual
by Pamela Spiro Wagner
First, forget everything you have learned,
that poetry is difficult,
that it cannot be appreciated by the likes of you,
with your high school equivalency diploma,
your steel-tipped boots,
or your white-collar misunderstandings.
Do not assume meanings hidden from you:
the best poems mean what they say and say it.
To read poetry requires only courage
enough to leap from the edge
and trust.
Treat a poem like dirt,
humus rich and heavy from the garden.
Later it will become the fat tomatoes
and golden squash piled high upon your kitchen table.
Poetry demands surrender,
language saying what is true,
doing holy things to the ordinary.
Read just one poem a day.
Someday a book of poems may open in your hands
like a daffodil offering its cup
to the sun.
When you can name five poets
without including Bob Dylan,
when you exceed your quota
and don't even notice,
close this manual.