04 March 2007
To My Friends 3
09 March 2007 : To
My Friends Collated
9th March 2007
What do you say when it all seems so boring. I’ve just walked back from the hospital after my daily treatment or searing as I lovingly call it with the radiation therapists. We have a very good relationship. I think they see me as a bit eccentric but basically harmless This morning I was trying to coach them into some variation in the roles.. Each morning they come in and say “How are you today?” They said that’s what they were taught to do. I tried to coach them into saying “Shit, you look feckin’ terrible today or something like that. They weren’t so sure that that was a good idea. We did agree that they would try something new with me.
The symptoms now have certainly got a firm grip. Sometimes I feel really terrible, close to just sitting down and crying until it all goes away. Its funny really, I feel like that during the day, but at night when I’m awake most of the time I don’t feel much at all. I just lie there not thinking much and not feeling. Its interesting to note what I do to comfort myself when food and booze aren’t available. I like to sit even on a warm day with a blanket wrapped round my legs. Never done it before in my life
I am losing weight and they have now put me on a supplementary diet of soy milk drinks with all kind of additives. The radiation therapists are still fantastic. They try everything to help me deal with the symptoms. One brought me a pamphlet from her dentist advertising a salivary stimulant. Another has been giving me (on the quiet) a few spoonfuls of powder they have but is not yet available in shops but which mixes into a drink that tends to stay around longer in your mouth and keep it moist. I’m in love with them all. The lettuces in my garden of which I’m so proud are just going to seed and I haven’t got the energy to find someone who would have them. Julie keeps making me meals which I eat. She continues to be an angel although I suspect her patience is stretched at times.
The latest thing to be really affected is my voice. It has now become so hoarse that sometimes it doesn’t come out at all. I grieve for my voice. That voice, once almost Pavarotti like in its clarity and tone now sounds more like Tom Waits. Mind you I have always rather envied Tom Waits. How can you spend all those years in night clubs without dying of something awful. I see he’s just put out a new record. Anyway I expect that I will regain my melodious tones once I am over the treatment..
From today which is Friday I have five treatments to go. Monday to Thursday next week will be full treatments and Friday is what they call a cone down. It’s a modified treatment focusing on only one place. Then after a visit to the oncologist I’m on my own for a month. The symptoms are expected to peak 10 days after treatment finishes and then healing cuts in so they say. So that’s just over two weeks away. Until then as they say in the music world ‘the beat goes on’.
I’m still writing poetry although the muse sometimes deserts me. Anyway I’ll include another little poem that I wrote about the mask. Actually, they give you the mask when the treatment’s over But I think I’ll have to be very creative to have it accepted as a regular part of our lounge furniture. Probably get the same response that I received from Julie when I suggested that I get a cheap coffin for myself which we could use as a coffee table until it was needed. This suggestion which I thought was pretty good, you know talking point and all that, was not well received. Anyway, The poem and I’ll write again in a wee while. Might have a wee rave about water thieves people who steal our water, legally!, and then return it to the waterways full of crap. Next Time.
The mask
He lies still
trapped on the table
head covered
in clear plastic
flexible not malleable
unable to move
he waits
beneath the mask who knows
apprehension, excitement
acceptance
a thief
a husband
a child molester
a Samaritan
the mask offers its
succour to all.
the plastic is littered
with archaic symbols
like a Masonic star or
a fleur de lise
membership of the club
restricted to
those who can make
meaning of the signs.
the white coated voices
return, hands on
soft hands
gentle hands
talking hands
hands that bring
the comfort of competence.
10th February 2007
What do you say when it all seems so boring. I’ve just walked back from the hospital after my daily treatment or searing as I lovingly call it with the radiation therapists. We have a very good relationship. I think they see me as a bit eccentric but basically harmless This morning I was trying to coach them into some variation in the roles.. Each morning they come in and say “How are you today?” They said that’s what they were taught to do. I tried to coach them into saying “Shit, you look feckin’ terrible today or something like that. They weren’t so sure that that was a good idea. We did agree that they would try something new with me.
The symptoms now have certainly got a firm grip. Sometimes I feel really terrible, close to just sitting down and crying until it all goes away. Its funny really, I feel like that during the day, but at night when I’m awake most of the time I don’t feel much at all. I just lie there not thinking much and not feeling. Its interesting to note what I do to comfort myself when food and booze aren’t available. I like to sit even on a warm day with a blanket wrapped round my legs. Never done it before in my life
I am losing weight and they have now put me on a supplementary diet of soy milk drinks with all kind of additives. The radiation therapists are still fantastic. They try everything to help me deal with the symptoms. One brought me a pamphlet from her dentist advertising a salivary stimulant. Another has been giving me (on the quiet) a few spoonfuls of powder they have but is not yet available in shops but which mixes into a drink that tends to stay around longer in your mouth and keep it moist. I’m in love with them all. The lettuces in my garden of which I’m so proud are just going to seed and I haven’t got the energy to find someone who would have them. Julie keeps making me meals which I eat. She continues to be an angel although I suspect her patience is stretched at times.
The latest thing to be really affected is my voice. It has now become so hoarse that sometimes it doesn’t come out at all. I grieve for my voice. That voice, once almost Pavarotti like in its clarity and tone now sounds more like Tom Waits. Mind you I have always rather envied Tom Waits. How can you spend all those years in night clubs without dying of something awful. I see he’s just put out a new record. Anyway I expect that I will regain my melodious tones once I am over the treatment..
From today which is Friday I have five treatments to go. Monday to Thursday next week will be full treatments and Friday is what they call a cone down. It’s a modified treatment focusing on only one place. Then after a visit to the oncologist I’m on my own for a month. The symptoms are expected to peak 10 days after treatment finishes and then healing cuts in so they say. So that’s just over two weeks away. Until then as they say in the music world ‘the beat goes on’.
I’m still writing poetry although the muse sometimes deserts me. Anyway I’ll include another little poem that I wrote about the mask. Actually, they give you the mask when the treatment’s over But I think I’ll have to be very creative to have it accepted as a regular part of our lounge furniture. Probably get the same response that I received from Julie when I suggested that I get a cheap coffin for myself which we could use as a coffee table until it was needed. This suggestion which I thought was pretty good, you know talking point and all that, was not well received. Anyway, The poem and I’ll write again in a wee while. Might have a wee rave about water thieves people who steal our water, legally!, and then return it to the waterways full of crap. Next Time.
The mask
He lies still
trapped on the table
head covered
in clear plastic
flexible not malleable
unable to move
he waits
beneath the mask who knows
apprehension, excitement
acceptance
a thief
a husband
a child molester
a Samaritan
the mask offers its
succour to all.
the plastic is littered
with archaic symbols
like a Masonic star or
a fleur de lise
membership of the club
restricted to
those who can make
meaning of the signs.
the white coated voices
return, hands on
soft hands
gentle hands
talking hands
hands that bring
the comfort of competence.
10th February 2007
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