Fentanyl and fat. Lots and lots of fat. Direct quote from Dr. J: "Don't even talk to me about that vitamin water shit; you need calories, and real food."
So, the theory is this: The Fentanyl will smooth out the rough edges, enabling me to feel like, I don't know, getting out of bed and eating a Big Mac. The hydrocodone is for breakthrough pain -- perfectly OK to pop one on top of the Fentanyl. My sister just called to say she is on her way over with "fattening crap." So, when I go in for chemo, I should feel like a shiny new nickel, my body will tolerate it better, I can get enough of it into my system to beat back this fucking tumor, and everything will be rainbows.
Unless I fall asleep. In which case, jamming fat into my face may be a challenge.
My friend Julia is lovely, and so generous. She is a massage therapist. I started seeing her once a week four and a half years ago, when this Second Wave hit. When things were going to hell in 2007, Julia brought her table to our house. She waived her fee. When I was too weak to come downstairs, she jumped up on the bed with me and gave me the most relaxing massages imaginable. It was a point of pride for me when I was well enough to resume our appointments in her cozy office. But this morning, it was pouring rain, I was stressing about the Dr. J appointment, had slept poorly, and so I asked M to call Julia to cancel. Instead... she invited him to take my spot. She is an angel. She told M that she would come to our house next week, to make things easier. I am so grateful to her, but it makes me sad that we are edging once again toward that dark place where just driving ten blocks is too much for me.
Hard to live in the moment. Hard not to anticipate difficulties.
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5 comments:
Making you eat fat? But I thought Fen Fen was a diet drug? I wait, Fentanyl. . .
Sorry Pooh, that was my lame attempt at a joke.
I was on IM with M just now and I asked if I should tell you I love you or make a joke. He said (wisely, as he is a very wise man) that I should make a joke, since you already know that everybody loves you. Well, I couldn't come up with one on the spot, so. . . that was my attempt.
But now check this out (and I swear to God this is true) -- as I was on IM with your M, a dear old friend of mine popped up and told me that - out of the blue - someone had mentioned to him that she read my stories (she took the book off his shelf I guess) and loved them. The timing was uncanny. Because, as you know (and I HOPE you know) none of those stories would have existed except for you. I'm not saying existed in print - I'm saying EXISTED, period. You inspired all of them; without your encouragement I would have never completed them. Just wanted you to know that.
And despite all the crap I said in earlier comments to earlier posts, I WILL write again, at least in part because I know you would want me to.
Sorry all I left was fat.
I feel like Jack Sprat.
Or maybe his wife?
Or...wait. Did she eat lean?
Now I'm confused.
Never mind!
oxoxoxox-h
D, you won't write because I want you to; you'll write because that's what you do.
Write a new fiction for me. Something short that I can submit to Night Train or wherever. Something that lets me see what you see in that startling way you have of connecting disparate parts of the whole.
The joke was awful, which is what made me laugh.
Love,
E.
I feel PHAT. Thanks for the snax, Little Miss Sprat.
Actually I feel pretty good this morning. Slept HARD last night, and no pain.
This Fentanyl-n-Fat thing's so crazy it just may work.
xoxo
E.
The 'sprat' bit is oddly uncanny as well (although they come in cans). I did not see these comments until today but last night I went to the Russian store and bought, for the first time in a long time, a can of sprats, which is really not food Americans eat. Its Baltic food.
Okay, I'll write something, but not for submission, just to amuse you. Stay tuned.
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