Cancer the little witch

I’m learning that cancer is one of those things that can either be the scariest word on the plant or some stupid little bitch that wants to ruin your day. Despite some early morning pill confusion I get through a pretty good night. The cleaning lady pops in and checks on me, at around 6am during blood collection rounds. I notice without meals it is so hard to figure out that you are suppose to be doing at any time which led to long times when you are doing nothing and then you realize you haven’t showered in three days. Doctor T shows up 8:30 nothing new to report, not only that crazy nurse from last night hasn’t shown up, so I do a swing through the bedside physio and theraputty exercises. Then I begin to feel a little like a trouble maker so I stand around the bed doing a couple of two stepping or just standing in place, laughing like a little kid. It might sound stupid but a week ago I couldn’t get out of need without an oxygen mask and when I first hit Sudbury I was forbidden from putting a toe out of bed without help from at least two nurses. Everything seems to be going so right I decided that I am not going to ask for help and for the first time in almost two months get dressed in real human clothes by myself and wait for the shop guy to pick me up. My dad is able to score me access to the rehab wood shop so I am in the midst of making a bird feeder. After an hour of sanding I am exhausted but pretty thrilled with the progress but by the time I get back to the room I’m ready for a little side trip to morphine junkie land and sleep off some of the pain.

Ended up with a really relaxing afternoon, watch some TV and generally chill out until later in the afternoon when I do regular physio which I happen to nail again, freakin nail it again, manage to get through the big loop, 10 minutes on the bike the only drawback is that my right arm is still acting like it is to cool to join the rest of the body so I’m in pain.

And then....... that stupid bitch comes back, cancer cloud that is. I get back to the room and Kerrie starts showing me my daily loot of things they pick me up either as some sort of physio or something to do, up today is Guess Who the game, hair clips (for the Monica) and a cursive writing book. And I lose it, just absolutely lose it. No reason everything up until this point has been a great day minus some arm pain which I get morphine up for and I am a sobbing two year old. I am realizing that part of it is timing I can’t remember long parts of the last couple of months so all I can see is this completely destroyed body where the rest of the family saw how it broke down and then started to rebuild its self. Problem is every time someone says I need patience I feel the urge to hit them with a hammer.

Baby steps Kilby, just remember your baby steps (I think I need a new motto). At least I am winning the world cup family pool J

Tomorrow the story of Clive and how after I spent the last two days bragging about my new found freedom I just did the greatest ass over tea kettle wipeout (don’t worry mom I am fine J)