Bittersweet

Today is December 12 and it is bittersweet. It is Michael's (Dorothy's brother's) birthday and we try to get our holiday tree around this date. So today, we will have fun and go tree hunting. It is also a sad day because Michael died almost 2 years ago in a motorcycle accident. He was working in Texas to provide for his family, who was living in Georgia. Bittersweet.


I am also a bit down today. Last night's gig at Ze Mean Bean in Fells Point went very well. Gerry and I (Blue Moon Revue, see us at www.myspace.com/heartherevue) sounded good. Jack, from the Del-Rays, came to listen and said that we sounded better than the Everly Brothers. That's quite a compliment (more on the Del-Rays later). 


I joke about the chemo pump and its complications, but I am realizing that the pump and I will be attached to each other until mid-January. This is the path I chose -- to wear the pump continuously throughout the radiation period. The ultimate goal is to reduce the tumor so that, when Dr. S operates, I will not need to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of my life. I am trading one inconvenience for another.


It reminds me of my father, who spend his final years attached to an oxygen tube. The kids and I joked about the "tssst" sound made by the regulator and how Granddad could never sneak up on people. I have tubing attached to me and my pump makes a sound every 2 minutes or so (I finally traced it -- it is the sound an automatic toilet makes just before it flushes). I can sneak up on people if I do it quickly.


I empathize with my Dad's loss of dignity and why he chose not to venture out with his oxygen (fanny) pack and the regulator that went "tssst."  I know some of the feelings he experienced as medical devices worked to extend his life and mobility.


There is one difference. His glide path was toward that ultimate end that we all must face in our lives. Mine is toward a healthy outcome and many more years before the final trajectory.