Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire The Shaman and the Last Round

Hang in there Mr. Shaman!

You will soon have some pep in that step!

Keep up the fight.

Get Better,. Hunting season not to far off!

Yesterday was a real ass-kicker, but I brought it on myself.


. . . something like that. I was 5 days past my last poisoning, and was starting to feel jiggy. I finally screwed up enough gumption to drive out to McD's for breakfast-- hadn't done that in weeks. After I got home, the Mooselette's Marlin 336 was sitting in the corner, daring me. I've got to get the rings screwed down. I thought it would be easy.

Getting down to the basement was easy. Getting out? Not so.

My problem has been one of blood pressure. Laying in the recliner, I'm fine. However, if I get vertical, my BP drops down to ridiculous numbers. There just isn't any blood going to my brain.

I started noticing trouble, trying to get the nuts on the rings. Something wasn't happening right. It was like there were no threads to catch. I eventually got them tightened down, but by then the last train to Safeville had already pulled out. By the time I got back to the stairs, I was having trouble with basic concepts like Up and Down. I crawled up the stairs and threw myself out onto the kitchen floor and just waited for sensibility to return. When I could, I staggered out to the recliner.

Dumb ass.

In other news, KYHillChick went down to get her first bloodwork done in 2 years. She's with the same Oncology group and she's just passed 4 years since her lumpectomy. We share a doctor. All the bloodwork came back stellar.

While she was waiting, Mo, the pharmacist dropped by. Mo is this ball of fire that rides herd on me. She dropped by every day I was in Chemo Camp to make sure things were going to plan. She and 'HillChick talked, and I want to publicly forward her commendation of my two sons, Moose and Angus. Yes, indeed, they were with me all the way in this. However, we all thought it was just SOP. That's what I did for my parents. That's just what you do for your parents. What I did not realize was how rare this has become-- enough so that Mo came out gushing her praises for them.

I have to say that my sons never left me wanting for food or a ride. Other Chemo Campers had that kind of help from their family, but most of them that did were pretty far down the bunny hole on the palliative side of things. A lot of the folks that were as healthy as I was were coming in alone.

Did it make a difference? Damn, right it did. All told, I've driven myself to anything only twice in 8 weeks, and that was just to prove that I still could. I've walked out of Chemo Camp barely able to hold my head up-- not what you want out on the roads operating a vehicle. I'm also Diabetic, and the key to keeping that disease at bay is regular feeding, and Chemo Camp makes no provisions for catering. Moose and Angus were always there for me as needed with a dog or some cheese coneys.

The big worry: Moose and Angus have been taking care of the house and the farm, keeping the grass mowed down and so on. I've been to the mailbox once since Chemo Camp started, and that was just to show a physical therapist that I didn't need him.

Chemo has become such a common thing these days, that I think folks take it for granted. Cancer is now looked at as a manageable disease. Believe me, even as healthy as I was going into this, I was draggin' ass by the time I got into the middle of it. If you ever get the chance to help a family member or an acquaintance through Chemo, jump on it. It's an offer from God Almighty to earn your wings.

You have only to look at yesterday's fiasco to see what I mean. This was one of the first days I've really been left alone. Chemo Brain told me I was cool for going to the basement. Anyone watching me would have said I was a damn fool.

The good Lord has blessed you with a supportive family. Slow down and take your time getting back into doing things. I'm very happy that you beat this cancer. May God bless you and your family.

Shaman, we don't need to try to inspire you, you inspire us.

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That really is sad, My wife never went to a treatment alone. Looking back I really don't remember many that didn't have someone with them.


Lol, Oh well, that wasn't the first time you were a fool and it damn sure won't be the last......

Kick cancers ass Bud.

When they drop dirt on the box, or start the last fire, one of the measures will be how you treated your family. The way you managed that will be a pretty good indicator of the way you treated with the population in general, and I think, (however inconsequential that is) we get graded regarding those interactions.

Glad you seem to be pulling out of the nose dive, always interesting to read your stories. We are better for having been allowed to ride along.

I'd say a good half the folks I met up with were coming in alone. Some were those ones without faces, etc. One hearty fellow I met had been at it for 6 years. The first thing that happened after his cancer diagnosis was his wife dumped him and threw him out of the house.

What was really heart-rending was watching someone barely make it into the recliner giving it maximum effort and then seeing the nurse come by and tell them they were being denied treatment due to their blood results coming back with dangerously low levels of this or that. I had a couple close shaves myself, on that front, but I had somebody to pile me back in the car and take me home. If I'd spent my last full measure on getting there, I'd not want to be schlepping my carcass home alone.

Hoping nothing but the best for you.

Setback.

I'm back in for fluids, magnesium and platelets today and probably tomorrow.

I was getting so I couldn't stand up without passing out.

Sorry to see this Shaman. Your attitude alone will get you through this! Never, ever give up!

Aw! Shucks. This is turning into just another tricky day for me. I made a few kerfluffles today passing out in reception and had to get dumped in a wheelchair and ridden around like a sack of potatoes.



The one really funny part was that KYHillChick had to run me down to Hoxworth Blood Center on an emergency trip for platelets. She let me out and went to park the car. I stumbled into the donation waiting room. Inside were a dozen of my darker brothers and sisters, and they were all jawing about the best soul food restaurants. I couldn't get a word in edgewise to ask them to find me a wheelchair, so I just passed out on them-- they were laughing and jawing so much, they didn't notice. I guess folks pass out in that room all the time. I finally came to and started asking questions-- found out a couple of good soul food and BBQ joints I didn't know.

I believe that is what is called "a silver lining behind a dark cloud."

Sorry things aren't going as well as you'd like. As the famous horse packer, Joe Back, said in his book, Horses, Hitches, and Rocky Trails, "When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on!" Hang on, Shaman. Best of luck to you.

L.W.

Never ever give up, Never Quit. Prayers for complete recovery.

I don't know if this is going to make sense to anyone, but it ain't about fear.

I"ve had plenty to fear in my life. I don't have to look back all that far. It was just a year ago I realized I had something growing between my legs that shouldn't be there. Fear played a big part in that late-night inner dialog. It also gripped me at that last moment I was crawling on the table in the operating theatre. I was just too drugged to do anything about it.

Yesterday was particularly bad on a lot of fronts. The biggest problem is that when I stand up, my blood pressure crashes. I don't know if I'm going to have 10 minutes or 10 seconds of walking-around time. Fear? No. I just have kitchen chairs lined up along the way. If I start to go down, I just aim for a chair. At the blood bank yesterday, I knew I had a target chair 15 yards from the car. I just aimed for it and got there, even though I couldn't see the last couple of feet. I'm sure chronic drunks do this as a basic matter of course. Fighter pilots do it as second nature. I'm sure Jorge and Pugs are masters at it.

There's another aspect to this. KYHillChick and I had to have a talk yesterday. She could see changes in me that are pretty scary. I ain't all pink and healthy looking, in fact I am getting pretty damn gray. She wanted to know if I thought I was going to meet Jesus anytime soon. The answer I gave was strictly negative, but still pretty scary.

First off, I'm skirting territory where healthy people don't go until their last days. I've been put there through chemical poisoning. Years ago, I had the pleasure of knowing a fellow who was a low 2-digit liver recipient. They invented the process here at U.C. He was one of the guinea pigs. He explained to me that at some point the body starts releasing chemicals that . . . well, the short of it is, they tell you you're going to die. I'm low enough right now, that I'm starting to get into that territory. I've been there before. It really is like walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The difference is that the first time I got put there back in the 90's, I really thought I was dying. This time through, I know I'm not. It is an effect of the poison. That's all. The Valley is just a shortcut, not my destination. I'm just setting up for a High-G maneuver.

Second. I've had a recent brush with the real thing, sitting right here in this chair, typing on the 24hourcampfire. I had a clot break loose and go through my heart and into my lung. I know what it's like. I didn't even know there was a problem. I just found myself on the floor with the chair on top of me. That was back in April, before the Chemo started. Believe me when I tell you, you've got nothing to fear. I'll never have a bit of guilt pulling a clean double-lung shot on a buck. It literally is nothing. I can't even tell you which post I was typing. I just picked myself off the floor and resumed typing. I didn't figure out what it was until that evening, sitting in the ER.

My guess is that some of you are reading this and wincing. Dad used to have this running gag with the bartender at the place we used to eat lunch. The bartender used to ask "Hey Ralph! How's your Prostate?" My Dad had outpatient prostate surgery years ago, and we used to laugh at the guys at the bar that would squirm in their seats when Dad described his "Ream Job." I don't write this to make you feel uncomfortable, but there is less here to fear than you may think.

I'm due back down at the Cancer Center this AM for a repeat of yesterday-- blood tests at 0900 and then a bit of wait to see what they need to dump into me this afternoon. This is not how I wanted to spend my birthday weekend, but it beats the alternatives.

I am amazed at the fact you have such command of your language skills whilst all this is swirling about you.

I often wondered about my Mother as she progressed into the oblivion that is Alzheimers, in her younger days articulate and bright beyond compare, then when the grip got her she could only say yes or no...I am sure the intelligent woman still in that husk screamed to communicate. The day her hip broke, she answered the question the nurse asked on the way up to surgery, if I was her son, by saying "Yes, my middle son Richard", she had not spoken a word in a year, I guess the pain had her focused, I was stunned.

Shaman you are blessed with the ability to converse intelligently, I am grateful that you take the time to share with us this journey.

[img]https://i.imgur.com/VM5gaui.jpg?1[/img]

It's the combination of boredom and existential clarity. It's the mix of extreme banality and the singularly sublime. This is the shaman with left hand raised and right hand touching the Earth as witness. It is the Bhumisparsha mudra.


. . . and then the compressor in the snack bar's reefer case snapped on, and the shaman found himself back in some semblance of reality. The light of mid-morning streaming through the snack bar windows. He looked down and saw the laptop was quickly running out of battery and needed recharging.

The results of the morning's bloodwork is still not back. I've got another hour or so of waiting to see what they'll be dumping into my veins today.