What a difference two weeks make. No Doctor appointments, no poking and prodding, no blood tests, no scans, no toxic poisons coursing through my veins. I feel like a new man. In fact I am a new man. You can call this one Ted.
My “Oncologist who no longer hates me” gave me a few weeks off treatment for a little vacation. Charleston, South Carolina. Grammie and Aunt Kelly. Sun, sand, humidity, thundershowers and lots of southern, low-country food. Sweet tea glazed salmon and smoky gouda gritcake, hush-puppies, fried okra, fried flounder, fried green tomatoes… fried everything. I gained four pounds. Most of it gritcake.
It was much needed and much appreciated. To feel normal, to cook and clean up, to put on my adventure pants and run errands and drive around and haul suitcases through airports and up and down endless flights of stairs just like a big boy was a joy.
To be able to take care of my family, instead of being taken care of by my family was a gift.
My wife, especially, needed the break. I’m grateful she got it and not a minute too soon because Wednesday we are right back at it. We have two more chemo cycles, six weeks all together of the full American plan and all the fun that carries with it and just in time for August in Southern California. I mean, if you’re going to be bald, nauseous and tired, why not do it in 95 degree heat?
Six more weeks. But we’ll get through it.
But I’m not going to lie, it would be a lot easier with a little gritcake.