A regular guy

Things are flowing along just fine these days. I started walking regularly, a little over a mile a day, and I have been active around the house. I even went to the driving range on Monday, first time in six months. I didn't swing hard, since I have no left hip, but just tried to stay balanced, and it went well. So, no hip turn, shorter distance, but who cares? I see a twilight round in my future.

I am getting chemo as described before, every ten days. We have dropped the vincristine because of the stomach problems it causes, and the neuropathy has spread in my hands and feet. I couldn't type before, and now, sheesh. Otherwise, not much negative effect, mild nadir around days 4-6 after the chemo, like today and yesterday, for a few days, just feeling a little low energy and stomach ache. My legs are feeling the effects of adding walking, and with Metamucil every night, I am as regular as the sunrise.

Dana and Stacy are at the world's happiest place, Disneyland. They went down yesterday, coming back today. I am spending my days just puttering around, driving Dana nuts, moving stuff around. I have spent a little time working on the blog-to-book project, but not nearly enough. It seems too daunting. I am hoping to go spend 4-5 days with my brother at Big Bear lake, in a cabin a friend of mine has offered us to use there. That would be right after chemo in the 7th, coming back the 11th. I have to be back for an appointment with Social Security, very important.

So that's the nut of it. I am actually considering putting on the wet suit and flailing in the ocean, we'll see. Maybe just with a boogie board, because I don't think I could motor my surfboard for more than 15 minutes. I might drown trying.

I forgot to add this poem:


Gathering

I am gathering things,
living things,
bribing them to come closer
with seeds and nuts,
asking them with food and water to open to me,
begging them to show their beauty,
to display their force of life
so that I can breathe it, see it, feel it,
gather it into my arms and my mind.
I walk the dog and smell the roses,
the orange-reds and pinks are best,
and the honeysuckle melts me,
and I hold those scents of Eden in my mind.
The flowers are a glorious palette,
every color I ever wanted to be,
rainbows scattered in my garden.
All this life force can’t sustain me, I know,
but it charms me so that I
feel less pain, and I step outside myself.

I sleep with the window open
and the fan on, and hear the sound
of water rushing down the street as the
neighbor’s irrigation leaks,
and I am by a river in the Sierras,
wind rushing in my tent,
nestling in my bag,
sleeping the sleep of the healthy wanderer.
When the steroids wake me too soon,
I rise back to reality, ready or not
to greet the day, thank the world
for another day, to gather beauty and breath.