It’s been a rough couple weeks for Yours Truly, dear (hypothetical) reader.
On the 3rd, I started the radiation treatments for my prostate cancer. Now, here’s a deceptive thing: lie inside a big, active, spidery machine for maybe four minutes each weekday morning, feeling absolutely no sensation at all from the radiation, and then go about your business. Sounds pretty easy, right?
Except it turns out that a couple weeks of having your back passage get Hiroshima’d for a few minutes daily starts having an effect on operations down there. Emails get lost, inventory goes missing, people stop showing up to work. You get my drift. At this point, straying any distance longer than about 10 minutes from a restroom carries all sorts of risk to one’s social standing.
And then there’s the daily prep before each treatment, to make sure the radiation has a nice, clean shot into the target, without any major collateral damage. Not to put too fine a point on it, but let’s just say at this point I’m having a little bit of a hard time sitting down on the way to the treatments.
Still. When cancer calls, you can’t quibble overmuch about small indignities, amirite?
On the other hand, stupid, self-inflicted injuries are less easy to justify. Sunday a week ago (3/8), I got to enjoy my third trip to the Sierra Vista emergency room this year, after accidentally slicing completely through my right pinkie lengthwise (and into the adjacent finger). I’d tell you the whole story, except there’s no way to do it without convincing you that I’m dumb as a box of rocks, so we’ll just leave it there.
A dozen or so stitches and a few pounds of gauze later, I was starting on my fourth — fourth! — course of antibiotics in about the last two months. At this point, my gut flora have all gone to join their ancestors, and I’ve been learning to do a lot of stuff one handed.
Anyway. As I mentioned, not a great couple weeks.
Today, though — good old Saint Paddy’s — I began at long last to see some glimmers of real sunshine. First, Carol and I got the news that someone has offered a contract on our two-years-on-the-market French house. The prospective buyers still have a week to back out, should they decide to for any reason, so we’re not celebrating yet — but my oh my, how sweet it would be finally to have the place sold!
And the good news wasn’t over yet.
Yesterday, I went to the local medical lab and had a new PSA (prostate antigen) test. The results came back today… and my PSA is down from 30-something to about 6! Whatever discomforts may be involved in the radiation rodeo, it’s working.
And so, my dears, for today at least:
We’re all good here, thanks.
Ronald Crittenden 