I cannot blame yesterday’s chemo treatment—because the pain began before the treatment started. And I seriously doubt I can legitimately attribute the pain to a previous treatment, the most recent of which took place many weeks ago. In fact, I wonder whether the tenderness, the stabbing torment, or the other manifestations of the aches and agony are related to my cancer or its treatment? Theories abound, of course. Doctors and nurses and other people who have experienced—or know others who have experienced—such pain posit a broad range of possibilities. But most of those ideas assume a relationship to cancer. None of them have drifted into the deeply unlikely, though…no one has yet proffered damage from dog bites or an allergy to water or a measles variant. Some ideas, though, seem (to me) plausible, but not sufficiently so in the eyes of medically trained observers to merit focused attention on matters that might demand expensive, insurance-reimbursed tests. And, of course, I have no idea what those tests might be. I’ve begun to think I’m willingly giving consideration to utterly absurd possibilities—bypassing perfectly realistic ideas that should be explored first. While enduring my chemo yesterday, I overheard an old man telling another patient that he’s never had COVID, thanks to the wonders of ivermectin. Under her breath, one of the nurses in the treatment room said something to the effect that the drug “seems to work wonders on sick horses.”
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Clothing designed as penance-wear might conjure solutions that can solve my dilemma. Perhaps I should wear a hair shirt…clothing stitched from fabrics capable of imposing on me the appropriate punishment, suffering, sacrifice, and penance for whatever “sins” I may have committed. Something that can be translated into a penitential “reward” that forgives me for drifting into the realm of “sin.” It sounds quasi-religious, doesn’t it? Fortunately, I do not buy any of it. I refuse to be shuttled from hell-hole to demonic hell-hole. But do I have the ability to overcome the hellacious climatic conditions of eternity? I’m taking bets on it.
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The magic light switch that wirelessly controls the lamp in my study has stopped working. Should I take that as a sign? If so, what sign should I assume the switch is delivering? Do Not Enter? No Trespassing? You Break It, You Buy It? Keep Off the Grass? No Smoking? ID Required for Entry?
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My mind is bouncing off the windows…hitting them so hard I’m afraid one or more of them may break at any moment.
