Although my chemotherapy sessions and blood-letting (known euphemistically as “labs”) and conversation with the oncology staff) generally last in the neighborhood of only four hours, Poison-Pump-Thursdays consume essentially my entire day. And, of course, mi novia‘s days are similarly committed. Today is a Poison-Pump-Thursday. After the ordeal (not really an ordeal, but truly an interruption to normalcy), we might stop someplace for lunch. And then the countdown begins…first a couple of days feeling reasonably decent, but tired, followed by whatever side-effect-of-the-week happens to occur. Then, a week or two (or three) feeling absolutely exhausted, fatigued, and otherwise devoted to multiple lengthy naps. I’m sure I’ve written all this before; what else can a frazzled brain do but repeat replay the same script? It can try to be entertaining, but it can be annoying, instead. I would not be surprised to learn that people who know that my mother insisted I take a course in typing while I attended junior high school wish she hadn’t. Though she died long before the internet became universally accessible, she was my internet-enabler. Other people may begrudge her for that, but I remain eternally grateful. Adequate typing abilities literally have improved many areas of my life.
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I have no children, no grandchildren, no grand-nieces, no grand-nephews, and—at my age—no prospects to have any. My remaining small extended family (which never did extend far) represents what probably (almost certainly) is the last of our limbs on the family tree. Less than half a century from now, when my nieces and nephews become cosmic dust with the rest of us, family memories will be no more. Even if some of us, between now and then, have note-worthy achievements, the legacies will not last long. In the time equivalent to another generation or two, everything we were and everything we accomplished will have faded from human memory. Though these thoughts may seem to have emerged from a depressed state of mind, the fact of the matter is that it is quite the contrary. It relieves me of any irrational worries that future generations involved in reprehensible behaviors could be traced back to us. And it relieves me of worries about my family members’ future. We’ll all become endless and blameless cosmic dust. I’d like to be conscious of that existence when it occurs; but of course, that’s quite likely impossible. I cannot know that, with certainty, but it’s a disappointment I fully expect. Except that I cannot experience disappointment in the absence of existence wrapped up in a human brain…as far as I know.
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Tomorrow, I will return to the oncology team to get my follow-up injection. But, now, I must scramble to eat breakfast and hit the road. An engagement with the Poison-Pump awaits.
