Good Blood, Bad Blood

Stray cats prowl our neighborhood. Each day, I leave a small portion of kibble on our porch. I place it under the eaves, sheltered from rain and gusts of wind. The food disappears.

I’ve noted two visitors. One is burly. He has the demeanor of a New Jersey mobster. He must have a home. His stout physique suggests regular meals somewhere. He glares at me with his fugettaboutit attitude, scowls, and departs when there is no treat.

The other stray is a medium sized tuxedo cat. She makes her home among the lost and found. She is slim, perhaps under nourished, and skittish. Sometimes she limps. I don’t encourage her, but I do make an offering of food after she wanders past our porch doors. She sniffs the spot where I usually place the food. She circles back and forth to get attention, then runs away when I step outside. Eventually, the kibble vanishes.

There’s another opportunistic burglar. A Stellar’s jay greets me when I water my flowers. He squawks occasionally, especially when I fill the bird bath. It’s his yard, or so he thinks. I am the interloper, or, perhaps, the employee. I’ve seen him visit the stray’s kibble. He steals a portion and sits on our porch table.There, he breaks the food into bite sized pieces. Everybody’s gotta eat.

*******

Today, I awoke at first light. The pungent smell of skunk permeated the house. Fresh gopher tunnels had erupted beneath the bark dust and leaves from our neighbor’s oak tree lay strewn in the yard. Autumn tip toes into the evolving pattern of seasonal change.

Change: the counter intuitive constant. It’s evident in my aging. Small inclines sometimes leave me gasping for air. Now that I have renewed treatment, I wonder: is it the cancer or the drugs? Or, is the warranty on the engine of my body expiring?

It’s a conundrum. Multiple Myeloma is not a static disease. I scrutinize its activity in the graphs of my blood draws. It’s akin to watching the stock market. Up today, down tomorrow. A plethora of hot commodities create volatility. We watched the slow upticking of relapse last fall. Then, the euphemistic correction or crash this spring, which necessitated my current treatment program.

I’ve completed five consecutive weekly infusions. Tests were run, a bounceback was observed. And, a new distinct side effect pattern appeared. I remind myself that the remedies are poison. So, it’s only natural there are consequences.

We mitigate infusion reactions with pre-meds. Steroids, in particular, alter the status quo. The first night’s insomnia keeps me up well into the morning. It’s just me and the gentle whooshing of the dishwasher. I buzz like a long haul truck driver on speed. I write; I read; I think; I’m lost; I’m found; and I daydream. After the second day, I slump for 48 hours, my energy depleted by a lack of sleep. GI issues come and go. The side effects diminish. After that, it’s rinse and repeat as the next cycle begins.

I’m not complaining. I’m not fishing for sympathy. Modern American cancer healthcare is an interesting dynamic. I have a front row seat in the infusatorium. I get to spend time with healers. I chronicle the journey, elucidate the details. I’m entertained.

Treatment from hereon will be every other week. Soon, we will bolster the plan with an oral chemo agent. In my case, that drug derives from the infamous Thalidomide. That’s an iconic poison from last century, repurposed to fight bad guys. The goal is stability. There is no cure. Perhaps, if my luck holds on, a chronic disease tug of war will ensue. 

I don’t worry much. Frankly, I’m more concerned with how that tuxedo cat will fare this winter, than I am with my own situation. It will be an adventure for both of us. But we’ll battle. That cat and I both need a helping hand. I have doctors and nurses to rely on. Little Ms. Scrawny Tuxedo Cat is stuck with me and the precarity of my generosity. Our welfare is tied together. I’m rooting for her.

Here are links to other writers living the life.

https://www.instagram.com/andreagibson/

https://www.suleikajaouad.com

And, here is a song for those of you in the Lost and Found.