The Aerie
I have to admit, I was nervous.
The cancer treatments for my friend Moldy have been proceeding, and I
guess they've been going okay. As far as I know, he's responding to
the treatments, which is the important part. But apparently this is
going to go on for quite some time to come, maybe months.
His wife set up a mailing list -- actually a Yahoo Group -- and has
invited his friends to use it to sign up for nights to sit with him.
You see, she works evenings until about 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. He not only
has to take medication at 10:00 p.m., but his condition (brain cancer
for those of you just joining the program) makes his mental functions
uncertain.
When left alone, he has sometimes forgotten to take his medication. At
other times, he has forgotten THAT he has taken his medication, and
takes a double dose. Neither of these alterations of his medical
regimen are advisable.
So Blondie, (Moldy's wife) has set up the Yahoo Group to help
coordinate volunteers to come and sit with him and make sure that he
remembers his meds, doesn't take them twice, and doesn't suffer from
any of the other small symptoms from thrush to seizures that have
accompanied his condition.
I was ready and willing to go -- whenever asked -- and do whatever
needed doing. But one thing I was unconciously resisting was
volunteering to just take a night. Fortunately our mutual friend Tim
voluneered the both of us for Tuesday evening, or I might never have
gone on my own.
Because, frankly, it's just too soon after my Dad. All this shit with
memory lapses and thrush and seizures, it's just too fucking familiar.
(Regular readers will notice an excess of unedited expletives when
discussing this topic. The author begs the reader's indulgence, but
seems unable to discuss this topic without becoming somewhat vulgar.
This is because the author is furiously angry, which is apparently a
stage of the grieving process.)
So while I appreciated Tim's assistance in helping me step forward and
volunteer, I was very anxious beforehand. I was crabby to my family,
and as the time grew closer I became more and more headachy and
nauseous. I wanted to convince myself I was sick, but I knew the truth
was that I was just knotted up inside with anxiety. And the only thing
to do in such circumstances is to face it and get on with it.
So I prepared as best I could. I read a book about cancer that I found
while out and about. I printed out and reviewed his wife's
instructions, his list of medications, and the names and contact
numbers of his doctors and oncologists. I reminded myself that Moldy's
situation is rather different from my father's. And then when I could
wait no longer, I got in the car and drove over, my stomach doing
flips.
Fortunately, as is often the case when one worries oneself nearly
sick, the actual situation was anticlimactic. Really, it was fine. His
condition was not too bad -- puffy and a little creaky in the joints,
but overall he was the same old Moldy. Then when Tim showed up, well
it was the three Musketeers all over again. Well, okay, the Three
Stooges then.
We ordered pizzas, watched Tim's 'Underdog' CD (don't ask), an ancient
'Outer Limits' program ("The Misfits of Zantac" or something,
featuring aliens that were oversized ants with human faces), and
watched "The Brain that Would Not Die" episode of 'Mystery Science
Theater 3000.' (And no, the irony of the title was not lost on me.)
It was fun and relaxing after an initial difficult start for me. The
only "cancer moment" came when Tim ran across the street to a grocery
store to get a bottle of soda: halfway through this three-minute
process Moldy turned to me and said "Where did Tim go?" He had
forgotten: for him, Tim had simply vanished without explanation.
We wrapped the evening up with a weird 30-minute DVD of Blondie (the
singer, not Moldy's wife) performing in 1978 in a German nightclub,
then Steve kicked us out and headed off to bed.
So while nerve wracking, it turned out okay. Hopefully I'll have the
guts enough to step up to a few more volunteer evenings now that I
have done one. And hopefully this will all help Moldy and Blondie get
through the next few months a little more easily.
And, oh yeah, I hate cancer.
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Posted by Albatross at April 9, 2003 12:00 AM