Two miles, even with jaundice and highest PSA ever

Like Prufrock, I measure out my life with spoons. This morning I wondered if I had enough spoons to walk Sir Gibbie two miles and have any spoons left for the rest of the weekend. I also wondered if I could still walk two miles, something I haven’t done in weeks, since before my liver enzymes blew up at the end of May. Could I, one who for the past two weeks has mainly imitated a patient etherized upon a table, walk two miles through my yellow fog of fatigue? Continue reading “Two miles, even with jaundice and highest PSA ever”

Another puppy, another book milestone, another appointment

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Sir Gibbie and Lord Digory in repose

I’ve learned not to miss my cancer support group meetings. I was gone one week and found they’d nicknamed me “Sunshine” in my absence. Heartfelt, I’m sure. But now I’ve also learned not to go to church without Liz. She said she didn’t feel up to it last Sunday, so I went by myself. When I got home, she had a big smile. And a puppy picked out. Continue reading “Another puppy, another book milestone, another appointment”

Forget the Serenity Prayer: Pet the Dog

 

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Gibbie, doing his job of being a companion

Over the past three weeks my PSA only went from 44.7 to 46.3, making me very happy. But the previous rise from, 30.7 to 44.7, over seven weeks, was more concerning. My oncologist isn’t worried, as I’m not feeling worse. I shouldn’t be worried either, right? Right.

Cancer carries with it a host of small and large anxieties. Not all of them are unique to cancer. But some are cancer-related anxieties people without cancer may not be aware of. Rather than cataloging all my current anxieties (it would be long list) I will instead list the ones at the forefront.

Continue reading “Forget the Serenity Prayer: Pet the Dog”

Canine Cancer

Yesterday I walked Gibbie in the evening rather than in the morning as is our habit. At the slightest sign or mention of a walk, Gibbie jumps around like a crazed rabbit. Putting on my shoes and socks becomes for me a tricky affair, with him trying to help me tie my shoes faster. I put on his harness, his leash, pick up a poop bag, start my walk-tracking app, and we’re off.

At the beginning of the walk he pulls hard on the leash, so eager is he to get going. The image for me is indelible: his long black body with just a few white triangles, his forward movement constrained by a red harness and red leash, driving ahead with tank-like tenacity. He stops to sniff mailbox posts, shrubbery and other dog news sites. Continue reading “Canine Cancer”