Mi novia called my oncologist’s office yesterday to report that I was weak and my blood pressure was quite low again—and to ask whether I should return for more IV fluids. A return call from the cancer center advised me to cut my blood pressure medication and to return this morning for more IV fluids and another infusion of magnesium. Today being Friday, the office nearby (less than 20 minutes away) is open; that is where I will go in in less than 45 minutes. I suspect I have already rehydrated myself, thanks to consuming what seems like a massive volume of water, but I will follow the doctor’s advice and mi novia‘s rabid insistence. I wonder whether my day-to-day experience will ever return to what I once considered normal? The current version of normal leaves a lot to be desired.
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There was a time when a ready reserve of energy was always available to me; when I wanted or needed it, I simply called it up. Ever since I began this seemingly endless round of chemotherapy treatments, though, I have to gently coax—or prod—my energy to surface. Only through persuasion does it cooperate. That is not entirely true. Sometimes I feel just fine…two weeks or so after a round of chemo. It occurs to me that I may be experiencing a placebo effect; the fluids the nurses pump into the port in my chest may be harmless fluids that I simply believe are harsh chemicals. The medical team could be playing with me…laughing hysterically behind the scenes when I report psychosomatic side-effects. How incredibly embarrassing that would be! Of course, I do not believe I am being tricked, but….hmm.
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I have decided to get rid of my pricey treadmill. If I can sell it, great. If not, I will donate it to an organization or an individual who may put it to good use. A home health nurse who visited me after my last hospital stay suggested I stay off of it because it could present a danger to me if I tried to use it during one of my “weak spells.” That’s been a while ago, but the idea still resonates with me. By freeing up the space in my study, I could turn my desk to face the door and still look out the windows. In fact, my view would be bigger and broader and more enriching. In times past, I would have insisted on selling the thing for top dollar, but I no longer feel the need to squeeze every available penny from the unwise expenditure. The money has already been spent. The lesson has been learned/re-learned/ reinforced. Spending money on fantasies is a waste, although I might feel more inclined to throw money at luxuries than at promises I should know I will not keep.
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The older I get, the more unsure of myself I become. I used to think I knew things. Clearly, though, I simply bought into my own arrogance. Now, I question everything I once believed I knew. That mindset opens up an entirely different set of possibilities to explore. Science has the right idea; everything is…and should be…open to question. Until I have been exposed to absolutely everything (which I think is utterly impossible), I cannot really know anything.
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Time to saunter into the kitchen and then to the car and then to the oncologist’s office. I slept far more than I needed last night, but I suspect I might want to sleep even more when I get home. Or maybe not. I do not know.
