"You're gonna turn me into an optimist..."Baby called me kinda late yesterday, and though our conversation was not really long, it was full. I needed time to process it, so I didn't write last night.
We were talking about life and stuff: her treatments, her 'future' (to the extent that that is a knowable subject), our future (under the same constraints). She had been in to the clinic for her immuno-booster (the "Hulk" shot), and had returned home with a couple of girl-friends. She'd played hostess, which I'm guessing she enjoyed. She called me after they left. She sounded pretty energized. The shot hadn't been bad, and the after-effects weren't noticeable, yet.
She told me more about her conversation with her oncologist. The doc warned against placing too much hope in announcements such as those which attended the LIFT mouse experiments (the ones locally, in her area). He said it is 'rare' that results from clinical studies with mice are even remotely as effective when transferred to humans. (Of course, the mouse results were 100% effective, so there some margin for error, to me. But even if the results transferred to humans was reduced, I do bel;eive we'd BOTH settle for 10 percent, if hers was one of the 10%). He warned against trying out a lot of "naturopathic remedies," ingredients in which can possibly counter-act what the chemo and the rest of the pharmacological drugs are designed to do. I guess that's plausible, til further notice.
He said that if she had come to the clinic two years ago with the same symptoms as she now presents, in the same stage of advance, they would have told her, as gently as possible, to go home, sign a living will, and enroll in hospice. In just two years, the treatments for this (extremely rare) cancer have developed to such a degree that it "may" be possible to talk of "managing" it not long off, with the application of biotic, genetic and chemical agents in development and coming on line all the time. This is probably "optimism," and I'm embarrassed (not really, cuz when it's the life of your love on the line, you're not 'hoping,' you're insisting!).
The program she's on right now has but one telos: extending life. Her original diagnosis/prognosis was pretty grim. Untreated, mortality was "almost certain" within about 6 months. "By Xmas," she/he/they said. The oncologist's demeanor and discourse suggests he's looking further out than that, and he has now laid out a schedule for continued chemo treatments, after this first round concludes in three weeks, with a hiatus immediately afterwards, and a space of time to conduct the necessary tests and scans. Resuming in September, probably.
How I figure it, then, is, "make it through December." After Xmas, we're playing with the house's money. If you can, you ALWAYS want to play with the House's money. It's the ONLY way to win.
Lila went by the local Cancer Society office on Wednesday, too, and says she was less than enthused about the selection of wigs available through the local Cancer society. She said they were all pretty dated, being mostly hand-offs from folks who, for whatever reasons, no longer needed them, and often not being very good quality to begin with. So the "Lila's Locks" program might be viable again. We'll see. In a culture such as this one, where such an illogical and impossible premium is placed on cosmetic 'beauty,' when a woman is undergoing cancer treatment--which often as not attacks the very substance of what it means to BE a woman--and when the treatment itself robs her of the last of her 'assets,' that has got to be an unhealthy environment in which to try to make oneself well or even better...People only think such concerns are trivial who either have never faced them, or are in denial about it.
My baby called me today, already, too, around noon...Her son the guitar player (she has a son also who plays trombone) is over at the house today doing stuff that needed doing. Her roses were falling off the trellises, and Son G (vs Son T) was outside restoring the vines to their supports. They've had a lot of rain. (We had a nice long soaker here in the early AM, about an hour, around 330. I awoke trying to remember if I'd covered the MG. I had. Before going back to bed, I called Lila's cell-fone and left her "the (almost every) nightly love-drop," a message usually of 20-30 seconds, full of endearments and wishes that her coming day be pain-free. Also, if I've sent her anything interesting, i'll pass a heads-up; and close with clouds of love.)
She sent me a video of the concert we tried to watch on 7/4, of Son G's James Brown cover band, where the audio was so bad. This vid is much cleaner, and the band sounded very tight. They need some animation on the stage, they've gotta develop some 'steppin' stuff, but musically they're purty hot already...their vocalist is going to have to "work" harder, though, to emulate the "hardest-working man in show-bidness." He needs to "SWEAT"...He's got a good voice, but needs to work on the 'presence'...They're already booking gigs for the fall, as far off as Charleston, SC. They'd be a GREAT "Animal House" frat party band...
Last evening, my Lila seemed pretty bouncy, perky. We talked animatedly, and laughed, and touched difficult topics too. Then she had an in-coming call, and then another. We rang off, she saying she'd call me back. An hour, then another, passed. Then she called. She said one of the things she hadn't reckoned on was the amount of well-wishing, expressions of concern, and out-pourings of real affection, to which she would have to reply. She has a wide circle of professional acquaintances, she is known and admired in several professional academic curricula. She taught almost 20 years in the same place.
I told her she should put an ad on craig's list for an amanuensis, and hire me when I applied. I'd certainly out-qualify any potential competition, and I'd work cheap. Nobody'd ever suspect a thing, and I could be there running interference for her, and answering the inquiries about her health, and progress. I mean, it's got to weigh on her to constantly be repeating the same semi-grim agenda. I could 'spin' it, plus fix the plumbing at need... After we finished laughing about it, I said I worried there's no one there doing that for her. She said she knew a plumber. I said that wasn't what I meant. She said she knew that. I said ...Great minds...
Another thing, yesterday, we just about decided/concluded that if we were gonna meet again anytime even remotely soon (YES! we are), it was gonna hafta be I who did the rolling. With her relatively frequent medical appointments, etc., it would be foolhardy for her to come to NM, even if, with a compromised immune system, she didn't have to fly in an airplane full of recycled human air-borne toxicities. I don't even like to think about it, and my immune system's still in pretty good shape (okay, you could probably dribble my liver, but that aside) for some old, over-the-hill, 'dirty-fuukin-hippie.' I think whatsoever the final decision, it's probably gonna involve me, and a dog, on a road-trip.
So now there is a new game afoot: Trysting the night away...Finding time and place reassert and rebuild and recover something of OURS from the outrageous slings and arrows flung our way these last--and future--several months.
Lila didn't sleep well last night. She attributes it to the steroids that are administered along with the chemo drugs. After we'd been talking, I could tell she was getting drowsy. So we rang off, she for a nap, me for the further consideration of life, the universe, and every-bleeding-fing!
Where I've been ever since.
And it's still an hour to 'beer-o'clock,' damn it...
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