— Second week of cancer treatment. So far, so good.
— People tell me it will get worse, but today, after radiation and chemo, I ate, napped, walked and ate again. Even wolfed down my hideaway peanut butter and jam sandwich earlier in the chemo chair. Feel good except for the gasping that comes from that darned tumor collapsing part of my left lung.
— Ran into neighbor on the road at dusk who’s taking care of someone with a much more aggressive tumor than mine. Clearly not all ease and peanut butter sandwiches there.
— I can see that cancer does not discriminate. I see daily the range of people being treated. I am also impressed with the helpers and supporters coming with patients, from wives doing needlepoint to teenagers in gang outfits waiting on grandmothers. I get a kick out of the uncomfortable-looking , middle-aged guys in work boots, heavy shirts and jeans who would be restless in any waiting room. But they stick it out. With big guts, sun-creased faces and battered hands, you have to wonder when their time will come. I hope they would be as attentive to their own health as to the spouses and co-workers they seem to be waiting on, but I suspect they are not. You gotta love ’em, though, for getting the jobs done. As I leave the parking lot, I see an overweight, 50-something guy walking slowly down he street with a shopping bag. The walking looks difficult. I wonder when was the last time he saw a doctor or whether health care to him only means emergency room.
— I think each day that I am not seeing the hospice cases, nor the pediatric ones.
— Rawest part of the day for me was gagging on my own strong coffee at 5 a.m. It was shock to my way of life, but many who know me would say it’s about time.