I haven't eaten since February. February! Oh sure, I've had a strawberry and a piece of apple and a tiny piece of cheese but that's not eating. And no, I'm not hungry because I ingest these cans of nutrition and they keep me from losing weight and they help me stand upright and take walks but this is getting to be very abnormal. They keep assuring me that when the tumor shrinks I'll be able to swallow and therefore have a piece of fish or something soft and yummy and maybe I'm torturing myself by watching cooking shows and seeing people like this very plump, happy, Southern woman named Paula Deen bake things like peanut butter cakes and eat them all up and just be so damn happy about the whole thing...Maybe I should watch the History Channel instead where people cross the Atlantic and starve their way to America. I don't know. Maybe I should just read anything beside The Joy of Cooking.
Today is chemo. I am still so sick from last weeks drip that I cannot imagine how I'm going to feel tomorrow but here I go. There is some good news to report...My blood work is very strong. My tumor, according to the work, has shrunk quite a bit. Couldn't tell by me but that's what Dr. Shaum said and I don't think she'd lie just to make me feel good. So that's the happy news. Oh happy happy joy joy. I am dancing across the room, doing my first dance to a joyous Spring.
Now here's a word whose meaning has become quite clear to me in recent days...Clumps...My hair is now falling out in...Clumps...I just have to run my fingers through it and small dyed blond birds nests appear. In fact I'm leaving it all in the yard in case a bird might be looking for some house building material. Maybe I should leave a sign...Like the signs that say FREE DIRT. How about a sign that says FREE HAIR. But then, of course, as I lie in bed I imagine that some birds have taken my hair and they come looking for more and fly into my room and start pecking at my bald head to see if there's just a tiny bit left for maybe a family room...Or a second bedroom...
I think I've watched just a few too many Hitchcock movies.
There is a bird on a tree right outside of my study. He has a very mean look on his face. Maybe he hates blonds. Maybe he wanted a brunette nest. Maybe I should take another pain pill.
I'm off to chemo. Does one's mind come out with their hair?