I didn’t mention mirrors. Stay away from them. THEY ARE EVIL!!!

I made the mistake of looking in a full length mirror the other day. Of course, I had just come out of the shower. No clothing for camoflage. It wasn’t pretty. It never has been, but now the evil side of the mirror came bursting forth. It had stolen my shoulders. I had shoulders, I know I did. It took way my rear. That was one thing I always could count on. Even my grandfather said to me once “Yup you’re a —–. You’re short and you have a fat ass.” Made me feel all warm and fuzzy. That mirror stole every bit of muscle I had. It stole it all and gave me the body of an eighty year old. Bones, wrinkly skin, sunken eyes. I’ve seen people in caskets that looked better. And for what?! What is that damn mirror going to do with my body?

Mirrors. Don’t trust ‘em. Don’t even look at them. I’ll look at a blank wall and see who I want to see right now, thank you very much.

SK

There is one thing you quickly learn about Chemo Therapy and fighting cancer. It is the lonliest experience you will ever have. While you have family and freinds wishing you on and telling you to get better, it still falls on you to make it happen. There isn’t anyone else who can do anything. It is up to you the “loser” to grit your teeth and move on. People are shocked when I tell them I feel like the biggest loser ever. Unless they have had cancer. Then they get it. You are a father, a husband and a son or daughter. People count on you – especially your children. And what do they get? Someone who can’t even stay healthy. Do you know of a son or daughter who are happy hearing that their mother or father may die? Me neither.

You get beyond that and you promise yourself not to let anyone down. You promise that you willl keep putting one foot in front of the other, even though you have no idea where your journey will end.

Then it happens. It may be on the arm or through the computer screen. You get the touch. Someone reaches out and touches you. The other day it was a nurse working with my kidney specialist. She had been following my case. The medical screw up that took away 15% of my left kidney. The eight days in hospital getting blood transfusion after transfusion. “You have had a rough go” she said. She touched my arm and said “I have been there and even though you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, its still there.”

And that was all it took. Like an email from an old friend that said “You have beat it before, you will do it again”.

The little touches that keep you going.

SK

Chemo wards are interesting places. The whirring pumps, deliverying the poisons into each patient’s body. The bald heads and blankets. The smiles and comraderie. Yet no one tells you their name. Everyone battles in silence, knowing that you are all fighting the same foe. Young and old, male or female, the enemy and fight is still the same. It is a quiet dignity. Nobody complains. Bodies wasted away from the long treatments, people endure. It is actually a source of strength.

Then there is my little pixie. A young girl from Newfoundland. I got used to her pink and fucia hats and bandanas. I got used to her smile. She has been through a lot and has more to come. I complained of a procedure that I have had to endure five times. She told me that she had more that twenty one. She told me with a smile. THAT smile that could still light up a room. On her last day, before she went home to finish her treatments, I wished her luck. I should have thanked her for making the world a better place. I should have asked her name.

Sour Kraut