Alien Port

 

Have you ever gone through something in your life, something that you hope you’ll never have to go through again because it was so unpleasant? Well, shit happens. Again.

Thirty seven years ago I had a cancer and had to do twelve weeks of intense chemotherapy. It was unpleasant.  A week from today I start another twelve chemotherapy treatments for transitional cell carcinoma in my kidney. I think it’s stage three, but it might be stage two. I’m not sure because I tend to space out and my eyes glaze over when the doctors are talking to me. It gets to be too much information, too fast.

Last week they put what they call a ‘chemo port’ in my chest. Some kind of tube that they’ll use to administer the chemo. Which is fine with me. The last time I did chemo, I opted for no port and had to go through a poke in the vein every week. It turned out that I opted for the wrong thing because it hurt more and more with each treatment. Anyway, this time I got the port and it is creepy. A lump of plastic under my skin with a giant purple bruise that spreads out past my nipple. I can’t help thinking of the movie ‘Alien’ every time I touch it. Like maybe it’s going to pop out from under my skin and skiddle across the room. Oh well, I’ll just have to pull up my big boy pants, grit my teeth, and deal with it because it will all be over at some point. One way or another.

Fried Kidney

 

I turned seventy five years old about two weeks ago. I don’t think I’m old, but since I turned seventy things around me have got weird. For instance I feel some doctors think they’re wasting time healing a guy who’s going to die soon anyway. So I have to keep reminding them that my grandfather lived almost to one hundred and two, and Mom lived ninety nine years. Also, young people don’t seem to see me. I’m just an impediment between them and the cute, hot people on the other side of the room. So I get out of the way. Worst thing about living past seventy is your body starts breaking bits and pieces before the things that broke the month before can heal. If you read my earlier blog posts, you know of my problems. Now that they yanked one of my kidneys out of me, it turned out that the kidney had a cancerous tumor. Well, son of a bitch. I now have twelve weeks of chemo-therapy ahead. All I ask it that my hair doesn’t all fall out again. I went through that thirty seven years ago, and clumps of hair washing down the shower drain creeped me out.