Somehow, our society seems to have determined that we must choose between white color careers and blue collar careers. If we choose the former, we are asked to accept that our education should be delivered in college; preferably through a four-year program or through a more intense path that leads to an advanced degree. If we choose the latter, we are expected to attend trade school or learn on-the-job. In making the choice, we are asked to accept that white collar careers should correlate with higher incomes, more prestige, and opportunities for greater social mobility. Blue collar work, on the other hand, should correspond to lower income, less prestige, and limitations in one’s ability to climb the social ladder. It’s either-or. One or the other. A blue collar worker is not expected to appreciate or understand sophisticated literature, complex scientific or engineering concepts, art, or mathematical theories. And white collar workers who also have an interest in working with their hands are viewed with suspicion, as if “manual labor” is embarrassingly “beneath their station.” Bullshit. I think lives which combine engagement with both worlds are far more likely to be fulfilling than are lives limited to one or the other. Who are the people whose lives are apt to be most enriched? Plumbers who enjoy philosophical discussions or reading the great works of literature. Doctors who spend their spare time doing landscaping. Carpenters who express themselves emotionally by writing poetry. Lawyers who immerse themselves turning wood or building furniture. Electricians who delve into the physics of astronomy. I believe people who venture outside the assigned “color” of their chosen career paths probably develop greater respect for and appreciation of those who have chosen different shirt collars; routes to job satisfaction and career success.
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Yesterday’s chemotherapy session delivered two anti-cancer drugs, an escalation from recent treatments. I was infused with two medications (gemcitabine and navelbine), but “appropriately” reduced dosages (compared to…?), and given an injection of bone-strengthening medication. I have lost track of the chemo meds I have been given since my original diagnosis and even since the diagnosis of recurrence, two years ago. My oncologist explained that the “abstruse report on genomic & epigenetic biomarkers measured in a blood sample,” which I mentioned in a recent post, revealed “no actionable (genetic) mutations.” She will continue to periodically schedule the measurement (which she called a “liquid biopsy”) periodically, in the hope that any such mutations might offer additional options to stall or otherwise slow the development of my cancer. The latest information yields “good news,” but “good” might suggest a tad more optimism than the news deserves. When I hear her review the meaning of recent developments, I interpret her words as saying something like, “the good news is that your inevitable death due to cancer is unlikely to occur within the hour.” Just a touch of black humor.
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Shortly after I left the clinic after yesterday’s chemo treatment, I began to feel tired. Or maybe it was a little more like empty or like I had suddenly been robbed of even a shred of energy. I took a nap when I got home. No long after I awoke from the nap, I was ready for bed. So, about 8:00 p.m. I called it a day. Usually, my energy seems to spike upward for a while after treatment; no so, yesterday. My calendar for today includes a follow-up visit with the podiatrist to complete the treatment of my onychocryptosis (ingrown toenail) by applying a chemical to thwart the nail from regrowing along the edge. And, later, I have an appointment for a haircut. And, this evening, we have reservations for a wines of the world dinner. Because my energy level remains quite low, I’ve decided to postpone the first two obligations. I hope to meet the third one, but that remains to be seen, depending on how I feel as the scheduled time approaches. Normally, I can count on at least a little boost right after chemo; I guess I should not count on that expectation.
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My treatment yesterday concluded with the administration of the bone-strengthening injection. I sat in a chair against a wall to get the injection (in my stomach). Just as the nurse plunged the needle into me, I heard an odd noise above the back of my head. And, then, I felt a strange sensation on top of my head. The nurse started laughing, which caused her to jiggle the needle, significantly amplifying the pain of the normally quite painful injection. Her laughter was triggered by the fact that the odd noise and physical sensation were caused by a wall-mounted hand-sanitizer, which began releasing its foam onto me because of the proximity of my head. No permanent damage; the stuff evaporates quickly. More humor; not sure of its hue.
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Back to work and life satisfaction: I sometimes wonder which career path I would have found more appealing: college professor or stone mason? I suspect I could have been comfortable in either role; but happier dabbling in both. I admire people who work with their hands; people who have gotten good at that work. Many kinds of blue collar work are far more artistic than most of their white collar counterparts. Which is likely to be more creative, an office administrator or a wood turner? A plumber or a wedding planner? A paid assassin or a volunteer doing the same work?
