The chief problem in using gasoline to douse a fire is obvious. Equally apparent is the fact that employing rage to quell anger will lead to similarly unsatisfactory results.
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My computer clock gently reminds me of the time: 4:57 AM. By the time I surrender in my effort to write something that carries even a touch of value, the sun probably will have risen. I wonder how it is that the temperature outside the windows of my tolerably cozy study can be only 14°F, while the surface of the sun is roughly 10,000°F, a difference of 9,986°F. The sun is about 91,472,000 miles from my house (depending on the route taken). Assuming the ambient temperature declines at a constant rate over that distance, the rate of decline would be about 0.000109 degrees per mile. Among the reasons I believe that is not true is that space exploration vehicles would fracture into billions of icy pieces before entering the atmosphere. Speaking of space exploration, I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I am fascinated by the scientific advances uncovered during the course of pursuing space exploration. On the other, I am woefully disappointed that the human and financial resources invested in space exploration have not, instead, been devoted to addressing famine, war, poverty, inadequate availability of potable water, climate change, and dozens of other existential problems facing the inhabitants of this planet. Human beings have been too stupid for too many millennia to cling to any realistic hope that the species will long survive the damage we have inflicted on ourselves—this is in spite of the incredible advances we have made in gene splicing, metallurgy, heating and air conditioning, and several other stunning achievements. If only we had directed our attention to the core problems facing us…
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One of the myriad drugs injected or dripped into my body as part of my cancer treatment is a brand-name drug called Aranesp (generic name: Darbepoetin alfa), which is labeled an “erythropoiesis-stimulating agent,” or ESA. While the drug is meant to be beneficial in addressing anemia by reducing the need for red-blood cell transfusion, it comes with some rather significant risks. Among the many, many warnings associated with the drug:
- ESAs shortened overall survival and/or increased the risk of tumor progression or recurrence in clinical studies of patients with breast, non-small cell lung, head and neck, lymphoid, and cervical cancers.
- ESAs increase the risk of death, myocardial infarction, stroke, venous thromboembolism, thrombosis of vascular access and tumor progression or recurrence.
- In controlled clinical trials of patients with cancer, Aranesp® and other ESAs increased the risks for death and serious adverse cardiovascular reactions. These adverse reactions included myocardial infarction and stroke.
If I were afraid of dying, such warnings would be terrifying. But I’m not. Nor am I looking forward to it, though. I would much prefer a complete remission. But a recurrence of the kind of lung cancer I have comes with the unhappy understanding that its treatment does not seek a cure but, instead, is meant to extend life (and, presumably, enhance the quality of that extended life). I’m all for that…but only with the provision that quality of life is improved.
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My attempts to keep my mind off the side effects of my cancer treatments are largely unsuccessful, thanks to constant reminders of those effects: fatigue, nausea, upset (should I say fiercely angry, instead?) stomach, weakness, runny nose, bloody nose, moodiness, etc., etc. I think my complaints about sleeping so much may be misplaced; sleeping through the side effects is far more tolerable than confronting them while awake. Again, though, I have it relatively easy, compared to some people whose lung cancer experiences are truly monstrous. I am grateful mine are just irritants and not full-blown hardships. I keep promising myself I will get serious about meditation as a means to minimize the impact of the side effects, but thus far have broken most of those promises. Perhaps I break the promises as a means of punishment for whatever infractions justify them. I hope note.
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I’ve taken a break or two since beginning this descent into the bowels of the Earth, where I hunted for rabbits and conversed with gnomes. Among the semi-conscious dreams that interrupted my serenity was one in which I finally returned to a car dealership several weeks after purchasing a car, only to find it had been sold to someone else. Probably part of the same dream, when driving a luxury car at night I realized the car’s headlights were not on and I could not get them to work. And I left work for several days, telling my long-dead, real-world boss that I had to pick up a rental car at a massive, cheesy resort hotel in Florida. There was more, but the confusion involved in the dream-like experience was beyond my comprehension.
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Time to plunge ahead into Monday…after exploring the possibility of an early-morning nap and some easy-on-the-gut apple sauce.
