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That’s one way of looking at it.
February 2nd is the traditional Groundhog Day in the USA. It’s thought if Punxsutawney Phil, the designated “local groundhog” in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, sees his shadow, we’ll have six more weeks of winter. To us, here in San Diego County, California, it means six more weeks of daytime highs in the 60s and 70s instead of the 70s and around 80, but we still manage to get through it.
However, my agile and always alert mind noted March 22nd is, effectively, my “ground-chemo day” with very similar consequences. See, that day, (Thursday of next week), is the day I’ve been tentatively scheduled for my next chemo session. I say “tentatively” because it’s up in the air as to whether of not I’ll have the chemo.
To provide you a slice of background, chemo has been approximately as much fun for me as any of my four marriages, all of which have been “extinct” since June 1st, 1999. I haven’t been married since. Granted, I could get married again … assuming some woman pissed me off enough to force me to go that far. While I never had any problem getting women to want to be my wife, I had immense difficulty being happy it happened with any of ‘em.
My chemo, according to reports I get from Alex, who keeps a better eye on it than I do, gives me one good day afterward, then 7-10 days of pretty much wishing the damned cancer had killed me on schedule. Theoretically, I should’ve been dead 6-12 months ago. C’est la vie, huh? Then I “enjoy” a period of 5-10 days of ennui. Weakness. Sometimes so dragged out I can’t make it from one end of the house to the other without sitting a while. (My condo is only about 40 feet long).
Following that, based on recent history, I have a few days of feeling “okay”, then I show up for another chemo session and it starts all over again. Crap! Even with marriage, I was smart enough to catch on after four “catastrophes”. Yet, I’ve had four chemo sessions to date and, just like marriage, haven’t enjoyed a bleepin’ one of ‘em! Each one starts with a frantic moment where they need to draw blood. Then I wait an hour and go into the Infusion Center. Once in a chair I get another IV jammed in my arm, (I’m told I’m a “hard stick”, meaning they have trouble finding a vein), and it starts. Two or three hours later I’m back in the car heading home. I know I’ll feel good the next day, then feel “married” after that for almost two weeks.
On the 22nd my cancer doc, Bill, “The Boy Wonder Doc” Mitchell, will look over the CT I get on the 19th. IF there’s no significant improvement in the cancer, I’m told he’ll probably call off that day’s infusion. IF there’s significant improvement on the CT, he plans to have me do that session and another after that, as we’ve been doing. By my math, that’s six more weeks.
It’s a lot like saying if I find out marriage didn’t make my life better, I wouldn’t have to do it again. Yet, if it made my life pure hell, I have two more brides in my future. That doesn’t look too good. On the other hand, all but one of my marriages was happy for at least six weeks.
I hope I don’t have to get married after the chemo session.
I’m just sayin’.
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