Can You Really Be Friends With Your Neuro-Oncologist?

I don't think I can be friends with my neuro-oncologist. You think I'm being silly?

She's saved your life, you say? She's intelligent; she's pretty. Why can't she be your friend?

Because I don't think we could really be friends.

When we're together, in the same room, like we were today, just hours ago, I'm so focused on the images of my brain that shine behind her that I can't pay attention to the words she says.

I mean, I can only pay attention to my brain. All 16 images of them. This hole here, that hole there, the white, the black, the white, and so on.

If we ever bumped into each other at a Cubs game or a play, my words would stumble. And she'd think it was a seizure.

But it wouldn't be the kind she was used to reading about, no, it would be an outrotextbook kind but she wouldn't accept that as an excuse.

She called me a boring patient today, I think. Because I had a stable MRI. And that was the sweetest thing she ever said.

Cancer, Kabbalah, and the Cubs

Maybe that should be the new title of my memoir and this blogger. Perhaps The Year of Death is indeed, um, too Freddie Kruegeresque.

I think I remember why I gave it that title--the death of cancer, blah blah blah; radiation and chemo in dark winter, blah blah blah; perhaps the rebirth of my belief is kinda like the death of, well, enough already. You get the point.

By the way, that title is more appropriate for this year's Cubs' season.

Sorry, Sir Ron.

Supreme Snort Slugs

a sonnet round in honor of Ump Sotomayor

Senators say that judges are like umpires
as if to imply
there are no liars
only those who know the rules
and command them among the fools
of the country who hired the hirers.

This patient says doctors, cancer doctors,
are more like the managers
who must decide the batting orders,
when to bring in the relievers,
and when to argue with the senators.

umpires differ. judges differ.
managers differ; doctors, too.
same evidence: it's always up to you*

*here's where i want to end with the patient. but don't forget the pharmaceutical industry, and the insurance one; or the slow motion on your tv. and history. and me.

Now this is a round, so on the word "you," go back to the beginning.

Garage Diem

After something like a bt hits you, you're supposed to appreciate every moment. Seize the day! Don't waste time and stuff.

So after I ate a mushroom and cheese and garlic omelet this afternoon while watching the Cubs vs. the Cards, I hit our garage. And for the first time ever since moving in over seven years ago, I cleaned it.

I carried heavy stuff into the enormous dumpster in front. I threw little stuff into the garbage cans in back. I put whatever people might want into the alley.

And I rearranged things--little garden items here, bigger tools against the walls, car stuff on the other side. And I swept swept swept ancient poison and dirt that inhaling must have been like smoking half a bag of Drums.

and when i was done
all i wanted
was a shower and a beer
and if Karla were here
she would kill me
and I'd say
all I was missing was a boombox
playing the smiths or something
stop me if you think you've heard this one before

maybe tomorrow i'll take care of the attic
if I'm not too sore