Day five

This sounds from the title like a blow by blow accounting of treatments. Really, it's just meanderings, as well as much needed practice keeping my thumbs off the touch pad and mistakenly sending the cursor off to some corner of the screen. (any hints?)
So, meanderings: After four trips to to the radiation room, I'm getting used to what is mostly a very uncomfortable experience. The young radiological oncologist seems to have two pairs of shoes. One has the sole detaching all around the front, the other looks like he borrowed them from a shopping cart that had been abandoned in front of a Ralph's in, say, 1953. Just thought it worth mentioning in passing.

Then there's the rest: thoughts about existence, mainly. Or, shouldn't this house have better weather-proofing? What about the fishpond problem? Bamboo: boon or boondoggle?

In case you didn't know, there are myriad blogs and websites devoted to and/or created by other poor souls in my situation (whatever that is). All it takes is a google search and you'll be inundated with far more than you ever wanted to know about any of this. I'm not averse to talking about any of it, so if you have questions, fire away. I just don't at the moment see the point or necessity of going on and on about the scrappiness of this day by day ...struggle? Fight? Sufference? Whatever.

Yet, I'd like to know if I have anything anything inside of me in these moments, in this position in the universe or in life that is insightful or perhaps at least interesting. I always assumed that people in precarious, extreme circumstances had special thoughts. Maybe not, though. Maybe it's all just more of the same. When the brother of a friend of ours got the word that his days were numbered and he analyzed how he wanted to live them out, he decided that he just wanted to live as usual. Nothing special. Time with friends and family. No exotic vacations or fabulous sauna treatments. Me, too. Not that I know anything about numbered days. That's all completely ambiguous and therefore ignorable.
What a joy to hang out and watch spring come to full expression in the garden, to relax and doze off without cares (thanks to hydrocodone, oxicontin, ativan and the rest of the narcotics) What a joy when Andrea comes home from work, filling the house with his particular, busy energy. And what a joy to spend time with friends who have graciously volunteered to baby sit. I'd like to be painting, and hope to be able to again soon, but for now I can muster the energy to write. xoxoDan