Some mornings, I write a post for this blog from start to finish, as if the words were waiting impatiently to be released from the prison of my mind. More often, the words hide within my brain’s recesses, revealing themselves only after carefully assessing the potential dangers that might await them in the open. Occasionally, though, the words remain safely hidden in their protective caves, shielded from condemnations or complaints—declining to show themselves for fear of unpredictable recriminations. I wonder whether, then, this blog’s posts materialize (or fail to materialize) from the mind of just one man or, instead, emerge from distinct personalities that share a common residence. Evidence of the latter is scattered throughout this blog—conflicting opinions, incompatible emotions, and ideas that are at odds with one another. That sort of chaotic mix might be found—in more extreme cases—in a murderous pacifist who rejects both violence and peace. A person who, when not feeling utterly apathetic, loves and hates with equal intensity. This morning, I have taken several breaks from writing, pausing just long enough each time to switch personalities. This happens so often I have long since forgotten which one is the real me. If, indeed, any one of them can make a legitimate claim to reality.
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After mostly unsuccessful efforts to sleep last night, I finally rose for the day just before 4 a.m. I have been up for about an hour as I write this. My first, and possibly only, expresso of the day is gone. The cat has been fed, much earlier than usual. I’ve consumed a café mocha flavored Ensure, strongly encouraged for several months by my oncology care team and mi novia to help counter my tendency to skip eating. I am working on drinking artificially-flavored, electrolyte-laden water to counter my history of dehydration. The day, so far, is like most other days—except it has begun far earlier than usually has been the case for several months…but is typical of my life in the days pre-cancer. I miss those days when I was up every day by 4 or 5 when I felt a close kinship with the very early morning hours.
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A whirlwind of healthcare procedures and processes are in store, both for mi novia and for me. She has an appointment for labs this morning, in preparation for her annual physical. My labs, for my physical, are scheduled for tomorrow. Our respective physicals are on next week’s schedule—both on Tuesday. Today is another day of chemo treatment for me, meaning several hours in the oncology clinic’s treatment room. If the day-after schedule follows my history, I return to the oncology clinic for a post-treatment injection tomorrow. I return for another physical therapy session (yesterday was the first) on Monday. Our medical matters are not the only ones. My oldest brother’s wife soon will fly to the U.S. for assessment and treatment of two lumps in her breasts; my late wife’s sister has been diagnosed with a malignant lump and has scheduled a lumpectomy. Human bodies apparently are magnets for disease, especially as they age; hence the checkups and relentless treatments that command so much time and money. Were it not for excellent insurance coverage, both Medicare and supplemental policies, I would have long ago either used up every nickel of my retirement money—or died. Or both.
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Both of us voted early yesterday, casting our votes with the full knowledge that they express principles and positions that run counter to the vast majority of people around us…in this county, this state, and this region of the country. Not too terribly long ago, differing political philosophies rarely were enough to generate blind rage and heartfelt hatred. Times have changed, though. In some places—probably including this one where we live—one is not safe expressing minority political positions. Political philosophies define friends and enemies. Both sides of the left-right divide claim the other is populated by dangerous, un-American traitors who wish to utterly vanquish their opponents…to the point of wanting them imprisoned or dead. And both sides each make invalid claims, unwilling to recognize that their own seething hatred triggers the same in the other. Religion, often said to be an important factor in creating brotherly love, is instead used as a deadly weapon; a justification for conquest and control. The only reliable solution, I think, is extinction. I would rather believe the animosity that is tearing us to shreds can be eliminated or controlled, but my faith in humanity is insufficient to support that belief. Which of the personalities holds that position, I wonder?
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Manic depressive. I think I understand the description better with every passing day.
