I am already in mourning for the light-hearted me of yesterday--the one who was thinking of the neat stack of goals he would have to attain until the next time he could eat a Girl Scout cookie.
In fact, I'm making a list--growing lengthy--of all the things I look forward to eating once power has been restored to the machinery. Today I fixated on birthday cake and Super Duper Burger in SF--with the sun on the back of my neck outside on Market Street, grass fed beef juice vulgar all over my face.
Today's long day of consults and testing I lurched from blow to blow to blow. I yelled at the Pre-op counseling doctor who wanted to take my blood pressure for the 3rd time within a half hour. I can't stand that horrrible feeling once and during this outing into the Cancer Leagues, I've had my BP taken every time I'm found standing still.
It's higher than normal right now. As I told the doc, I'm aware of that. Maybe the round the clock drugs; maybe the stress of a 2 month explosion of news growing steadily worse--one of those Chip n' Dale traps to blacken the garden guard dog. Maybe it's higher because I hate having it taken and you FUCKING WILL NOT STOP TAKING IT!!!
Higher because I slept 4 hours broken by 3 trips up and down. Elevated because I can't quite balance my diet as easily with liquids as I could with meat, starch, veggie. Maybe it's higher because yesterday--literally--was way more innocence than today.
The Dietician looked at me like a pear that was only half baked, and only half suited for a sprinkle of cinnamon and ice cream. I have to triple my intake. But at least she arranged all the background elements to get that done--all I do is sit like Jabba the Hut and let crap drip into me on an almost 24/7 basis for a while....tons more water! I'm zinc deficient! I hate multi vitamins and it shows!
The surgeon who will reconstruct what gets removed (tongue certainty--jaw seems a certainty to him--voice box a distinct possibility--permanent hole in my neck to breathe--without which either pneumonia or despression will kill me long before any cancer might do so. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR NOT SUGAR COATING A SINGLE THING!
He pointed to the bone in my leg that might become that new jaw--the one that is bisected by major nerves, any damage to which might leave me gimpy, though that seemed remote to him. The one patient to whom such had happened appeared to relish the affectation of a cane. Yes, I'm not kidding.
The lezzie CT tech who nearly bulldozed me on and off the table with all the savoir of a much younger bulldagger encountering her first hardware store. I should have called her girl. it would have relaxed things a hell of a lot more.
Then finally, the rose of customer service at the Oral Surgeon's office who couldn't understand what I was saying and had to inform the woman next to her--in front of me--that she could get why I was there or what I wanted--because god knows if an Athena like that triple process can't figure you out, there's no reason for you to try. Silly, in fact.
I said to the goddess that I was there was a surgery consult about implants in my surgical plan. Apparently, this has never happened in the history of the IU School of Dentistry's Oral and Maxillofacial Surgical Practice...which either means there's a gross level of incompetence or no one is Indiana is smart enough to replace what they lose. They just get Aspen flippers.
Her problem, though, is the second oldest one known to man--encountering a person of dis-ability, whatever that disability is, is simply a way to exult that even something as low breed as you have thanks to give to The Lord for what he's spared you. Indeed that job must be perfect for her. Being a bitch of that degree requires a steady contribution of victims to feed its dumb.
I'm home now. I've had some Impact pre-surgical nutrition and some coffee that tastes shitty to me. The dogs are glad I'm back. Scott and Chuck have told me to dial it back and go one thing to one thing. The chief ENT called me to make sure I was ok after meeting his erstwhile partner--brilliant surgeon, twitchy face, blunt of manner.
As long as I wake up on Monday night or Tuesday morning his manner doesn't matter.
Soon enough, thoughts of a peanut butter sandwich will be supplanted by my new illegal drug--that of tomorrow, a bright pill, that when swallowed properly, allows spontaneous singing even while learning to speak again.
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