Snail Trail

My wife pointed out to me the other day, that maybe the hardest part of being really sick is the lack of consistency; you can never really plan for anything. And when I say anything, I mean anything. Think of something (anything), place it right (here) and know that you might or might-not be feeling up to doing it (I realize that by even saying “feeling up to it,” I am in fact planning something (anything).

Okay, back to my story: For a while everything was on the up and up. I was exercising every day, doing yard work, eating a clean diet and reaping the results of my new, healthy life style. Every once in a while I might have a seizure or two, but that just made me fun at parties. Then being sick strikes again and lets you know that you were never in charge in the first place. It's like running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, blasting 70s anthem music that says, “even though you're a cloddy moron, this time will be different, this time you will win,” people are cheering for you, your sweat suit has holes in it and looks like it smells like ball sweat, but you don't care – not even a little, you're just running and smiling like an idiot, when you finally reach the 71^st step of the 72 step climb and boom; cancer takes you out and you roll – not slowly slide down – head over heels to the bottom and slap your face on the hard reality that you thought you could escape. You know what? It is actually just like a Rocky movie. The difference in my movie is that after all the training and build up, I just get knocked out within 10 seconds of round number uno. Cut! It’s a wrap!

The cool part about falling all the way down the 71 steps though, is that when you hit the bottom, all the people that were cheering you on while you were running up come running down to help you. I do, sometimes wish that there was a way for them to help me back-up, without actually looking at me though; nobody wants to be in the center of a crowd while they are crying about their skinned knee from falling and snot is running down their nose.

The other day I had seizure at church. When I have seizures, all my muscles flex and pull me into odd poses. I don't fall over and shake or even make sound; my body just becomes rigid and my face (the only cool part about having the seizure) becomes slightly demonic and extremely angry looking. I am telling you this in the hopes that someone at my church will explain to the poor guy that was sitting behind me that I was not, in fact, trying to eat his soul.

All right, that taken care of. I have not written in a while, or I have not written on my blog in a while; I wanted to give you all a much needed break – plus, I have been devoting all of my time to writing a book. Books take forever, by the way.

So, the update: I have brain cancer, but you probably already know that though. I am two months into my year of double chemo and I am doing fairly well with it. It most definitely is not the greatest thing I have done, by any means, but it is also not the worst thing I have had to do either.

Other than that, things are just busy – like always. Doctors’ appointments every other week (that honestly, instead of making the drive down and wait in the lobby, could be summarized in a simple 2 minute phone call that says, “Sorry David”), I get blood-work and labs every week, chemotherapy infusions every other week and by mouth every four weeks, and I finish that off with being very sleepy and napping a lot. At least mosquitoes don't bite me anymore.

This brings me back to my original point; I can't plan for something (anything) with any type of certainty. Anything (something) that I plan runs the risk of not fitting into the slots that my schedule permits or the unknown time frame that permits my schedule. So, I am busy and franticly trying to accomplish what I can, something (anything), before I can't accomplish anything (something). A snail on a pole; 12 inches up, 6 inches down – until I dry up and permanently suction to the spot where I could go no further – still looking up at my own snail trail and attempting to re-climb it.