Yesterday’s visit with a stand-in radiologist (mine has been away for several days) ended with me viewing images (from a CT scan, I presume) taken concurrently with my radiation treatment. The doctor showed me the area, in my mid- and upper-chest, targeted by the radiation treatments. And he explained the cluster of cancerous lymph nodes would shrink, over time, after the treatments end…assuming the radiation achieves its intended objective of killing cancer cells—the malignant bastards! If cancer cells were consciously motivated to do harm, they might be characterized as malicious, pernicious, malevolent, or spiteful…or all of those traits. Without synonyms, wouldn’t the English language be dull? Those of us who have an intimate—almost erotic—relationship with words would be forced to be content with a more platonic involvement with vowels and consonants…and the words and syllables that emerge from our penetrating engagement with the sounds and thoughts that letters make. Do you see what I did there? I allowed myself to abandon thoughts of a venomous disease in favor of the amorous seduction of verbal communication. The real question, though, is this: was the transition intentional, or was it simply an example of attention-deficit at work?
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Dictionary.com chose the term, nolens volens, as its Word of the Day for January 4, 2025. The adverb means “whether willing or unwilling,” as in: “The prisoners were strapped to the gurneys, nolens volens, on the way to their appointments with a needle.”
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Weekends have become respites again. Respites in the way they once were from work. Today, though, they are respites from treatments. But, like those work pauses were interrupted by worries involving work, these treatment pauses are interrupted by musings about mortality. When comparing the two interruptions, work shrinks in importance. All the times that could have been spent in grateful appreciation of life outside of work become incorrigible regrets. Work was only a means to an end, but it was assumed to have importance far greater than it deserved. Treatment and mortality, though, are inseparably connected. Treatment is not really a pause, not a respite—it is inextricably linked to both survival and mortality. Like weekends away from work, which were far too rare, weekends away from treatment simply provide opportunities to dwell on matters that seem no longer within my control.
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I still haven’t sold or given away my treadmill. I spent a small fortune on it, but have since decided the expense was simply a lesson to me. If you or anyone you know would like to buy it or simply take it away, let me know. Moving it will require a truck and at least two very strong people. I was advised not to use it any longer, for fear I might lose my balance and hurt myself badly. Or die. Something untoward, anyway. It’s a highish-end Horizon. I prefer cash, but will accept sincere appreciation.
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You may have noticed I have nothing of consequence to say. I did, too.
