Thursday, October 17, 2024

     The waiting room chairs have been moved to face away from the windows. I miss looking out at the street activities.   I want to rearrange the chairs.  Not my job. I ask the doctor about my future with cancer. He reminds me that I have to live in the present, no one knows the future.  Each day find some happiness.  He is kind and supportive, and I leave feeling more alive. He writes a Physical Therapy referral to help me become stronger.

     A humming bird visits my newly planted nasturtium flowers on my deck.  I immediately plant more. The same flock of pigeons fly the same circle near my house. The birds haven’t started eating the red berries in the front yard. A record number of construction trucks clog my street during this week.

     Apple plus has the most shows interesting to me now.  Netflix is next.

     I am mentally living in Shanghai China as read ENIGMA OF CHINA. I receive daily pictures from Ireland and India as my siblings continue to travel the world. I finish reading the study of rocks and earth science, TURNING TO STONE. A marvelous book.

 

Wednesday, October 16, 2024

     In the dark I first hear the sounds of the 5a.m. airplanes overhead. Then the sound of a car driving by the house.  At 7 the bugle music from the Army Presidio, the first of three bugle calls each day. During the daytime, the weekly garbage trucks, the street cleaning truck, the constructions workers trucks.  I recognize the mail delivery van. The high school, a block away, sounds of kids talking, bells, announcements, cars, ebb and flow of school life.  I hear the sounds but not the words. Dogs and sea lions barking. Always the distant sounds of highway traffic.

     I start reading, ENIGMA OF CHINA, by Qui Xiaolong.  The 10^th of the twelve detective stories set in modern Shanghai. Comfort reading. I have voted and now am tired of hearing about the campaigns.

     I dog sit the old fluffy dog for a couple of hours. This dog does not bark or bite. This is a stubborn smart dog who can read my mind. I don’t give out treats. The dog mostly stares at me or sleeps.  Sometimes she is at the screen door watching the birds.

     The California tax people have surrendered, and returned my money. None of their documents are signed. They are announcements of actions taken or threatened. I suspect I am communicating with an AI machine. But they returned my money. I guess I still almost understand how government works.

 

Tuesday, October 15, 2024  

     This is the hardest infusion treatment yet out of the 29 treatments. I finish feeling defeated. The treatment is not unusual, lots of waiting, kind nurses trying their best. I feel I have failed the test, and I am not sure there was a test. I suspect my despair comes from the past. I am tired. I should feel better in the morning. This pattern is so familiar to me.

     The nurse is sitting at the desk looking at her computer screen.  She asks me, Are you drinking enough water? What, I don’t know how to answer the question. What is enough water, how to know? But she wants a yes or no answer for the computer. Is there a real answer?  I say yes. A day later I am still pondering this question of what is enough water. One of the many questions that interest the computer but confound me. There are no easy questions here.

     The nurse says you are taking the bicarbonate pills, right?  No, I say I can’t swallow them. I have told this to the nurse the last ten times here. The large pills are chalky and get stuck in my throat. I can’t find an alternative.  She says she has never heard this before from patients. She once again says she will check it out and let me know.

     The supervising nurse is training a new nurse. We are crowded into the small treatment room.  I am lying on the bed waiting and listening. I wear a hat to shield my eyes from the bright ceiling light.  My job is to be quiet and not cry, and stay still as they practice installing the catheter into my urethra. The third try with the third catheter is finally successful. I do not cry.

     This morning, I have recovered and life is good again.