Look at the fun in…feeling terminal, la da da da da da da da, feelin’ terminal to parody Simon and Garfunkle. I noted in Van’s notes she made note of my breakdown after my visit with Dr. H. She had asked me what he said about chemo and I broke down in tears for a moment. Every time I do that the absurdity of it all seems to overwhelm the tears. If ever their was a font of humor at a funeral it is I (I have done some of my best work at them as Family will testify), so the disease and the visits with the doctors and the acronyms and the terms and the questions by the Women are intrinsically part of the process that Dr. E talked about in the beginning.
I wondered if the ologists were reading the same Google stuff that I had been reading. I remember saying boy I hope I don’t get to that point when I was doing my initial research, and here I am. I never had pain from the cancer, just from the treatments and unintended consequences. I asked the surgeon where the pain would come from when it did.. ‘Left leg’ he replied, ‘of course we will give you what ever you need.’ ‘Of course’ I replied. Sometimes the weight of it hits bottom and comes back up. Of course I do not want to leave, although I am not afraid for my family, for their strength and bond would see them through my passing and they will all continue to thrive. I just don’t want to miss out on the show as it goes. Since all of my Women reached adulthood I am surrounded by very beautiful and gracious Ladies. It is every Father and Husband’s dream. Who wouldn’t want to hang around as long as possible to be part of it.
Feeling sorry for me is a luxury I cannot afford and feeling terminal equates to that so I put those feelings aside. I am staying on the job, keeping my calendar full and taking advantage of my good health and increasing mobility. Now 10 days since my surgery and I am healing pretty much on schedule I think. Most of the time I am like an old dog, laying around here and there all day long every day, eating and doing that other thing. I am still taking the generic vicodin so I do not have to worry about overwhelming ambition to do anything. I am content to just sit in my drug induced haze and heal.
Freedom of flagellation is a totally unique experience for me. Mostly gas passing is frowned upon in my life. Beyond sitting around with the boys there is no appropriate venue for cutting loose. A delightful unintended consequence to that recovery from surgery was the amazing level of support and encouragement given me to let em’ rip, so to speak. Farting was a coveted sign of recovery in the hospital, and encouraged by Family and Staff I did my best to work one up and once started proudly ripped whenever I could. So now these days later we still celebrate the gas although I sense Vanessa’s enthusiasm is waning in this regard. It is impossible to minimize the miracle of medicine and that we are so advanced that I can have my colon cut in two and reattached and be near normal only a few days later. I know it won’t last. Already there are hints that I will have to return to civilization, where farts and belches are socially unacceptable sooner rather than later. No matter, I shall toot proudly and hopefully often for the time I have to do so.
Sunday and the clocks are turned back in that peculiar Hoosier ritual whereby we reset our clocks. Long after Vanessa retired I found her standing at the foot of the bed with that self satisfied look of accomplishment. ‘There’ she declared, ‘I think I have reset every clock in the house except this hall one (it’s atomic and will)'. I checked my solar powered atomic wrist watch and it had reset as well. No small feat resetting the clocks since we are surrounded by them. As I write I see one lower right, a phone with one next to me, a small decorative thing on Vanessa’s side table, and very large and intimidating round one on the wall behind me, time.
I am not sure why Hoosiers feel compelled to force themselves by law to give or take an hour. The entire concept of any typical Hoosier to have such power is a downright scary.
Vanessa makes a fun ritual of the rite twice a year, and I must say I look forward to it as well. This is not the first time she worked through a part of her process with this ritual in the middle of the night. I went out for a paper this morning, still pretty sore. Gerald stopped by yesterday. When I met him at the door I just felt relief, he and Joe are family now, if you define it as the ability to sync up upon meeting each other and mutual love and respect as you do. Seeing him for the first time since surgery helped me sense the magnitude of the accomplishment. Under the knife and back again, as they say, or maybe just I said that, not sure. I enjoy his stories and projects and we often brainstorm in the classic sense through some homeowner hell issue and the like. Sometimes he patiently allows me to ramble as I do and more often than not we laugh until the tears flow in our meetings.
It hurts to laugh, literally, but I just can’t help it.
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