Radiation Therapy (Stage II)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

For those not of the local citizenry, “Three” is a class II casino owned and operated by the Confederated Tribes of Coos, Lower Umpqua & Siuslaw Indians. Tribal policy presently precludes me enjoying my own tribe’s casino, so if I want to gamble, I go visit my Coos cousins.

Radiation Therapy 

(Stage II)

 

I guess the laxatives phase is behind me now, (pun intended).  The doctors warned me that this was coming, so it’s no big surprise, or anything.

 

Now that I’ve reduced my intake of pain meds to the infrequent flare up or road trip precautionary dose, I don’t have to worry about those tying me up anymore.

 

For months before I stopped going to work I carried a waist down change of clothes in my computer backpack; socks, shorts, jeans.  It became a necessity, given the nature of the job and the frequency and urgency of nature’s call at the onset of my illness. Fortunately there was only that one time that I had to bust out my supplemental garb. 

 

They’re still there. Packed and ready. I rotate the wardrobe from time to time.  Although at present, I’m not really sure why. I rarely leave the house except for treatment...oh, and the occasional foray across town to “Three”, just to combat boredom and make my donation to that other tribe.

 

I’ve discerned that alcohol is no bueno in my current condition.  No, not because of any of that “don’t mix booze and medications” hogwash.  As often as not, I’ve found mixing pain meds and moderate amounts of alcohol to have a positive medicinal effect. But obviously I’m no medical professional. My unfounded medical theories are likely flawed, to put it mildly.

 

Have you ever had a CT scan with contrast? You know that warming sensation that washes over you immediately after the contrast material is introduced into the IV port? You can taste it too, that bitter, metallic taste.  It’s amazing how fast it travels from your arm to your tongue. I have always marveled at that! 

 

I’ve discovered that if I ingest a beer, a glass of wine, or a Costco vodka-pop; a similar biochemical reaction takes place.  Only this thing goes from my tongue (or stomach) immediately to my...uh...GROIN.  The sudden urgency to urinate is brutal. And the acute burning sensation is excruciating and wholly unpleasant.

 

It doesn’t seem physiologically feasible, at least not to me.  What amazes me more than anything is that it took three separate experiences for me to put two and two together. You would think that a bright fellow, such as myself, would have picked up on that shit right away. At first I didn’t think it was possible. But given the contrast thing, you would think that I would have known better.  Maybe I didn’t want to believe. Whatever. 

 

I used to do a bit...kind of a sick joke...and (I don’t even remember who I originally lifted it from, might have been Robin Williams.). In a rasping, wheezing voice I would do a kind of darkly disturbing PSA about smoking:  “Hi. My name is Harv Zimmerman and I used to smoke 20 packs of cigarettttttes  a day. But since I lost one of my lungs, I’ve cut my smoking in half. (Wheez. Wheez)

 

Yeah, pretty frickin’ sick. I know.  Honestly, it’s just as bad in person.  The point being, I didn’t just cut my drinking in HALF, I cut it out almost entirely.

 

Eddie Murphy had a bit about painful urination, (which we won’t go into), he was talking about a flamethrower.  My experience has been more of the Bryan Adams variety...it cuts like a knife. Nuff said.

 

But we started out talking about laxatives, or the lack of that necessity at this stage of treatment.  The radiation lab techs predicted this. 

 

I really don’t wanna know HOW they know what they know. There’s obviously years and years of specialized schooling involved.  But it does impress the hell out of me that these young medical professionals can predict, with a high degree of accuracy, when I transition from being constipated to having to worry about a stray shart. I guess that’s why they went to college for eight years and earn the big bucks.

 

Now if anyone is still reading this, those brave souls who weren’t sent scurrying by all of the colorful Harv Zimmerman, flamethrower, shart references; here is the point of my irreverent rambling beyond all standards of decorum or good taste.

 

As an adult male, of not so advanced age, circumstances have dictated that I formulate a responsible plan to counteract physical considerations that I had always attributed to the incredibly young or incredibly older members of the human population.  I have done so with reasonable success.  I am neither proud nor ashamed of the infrequency of my biological confidences. I only recognize that they are what they are.

 

If my lunatic ravings can help to placate the fears and concerns of another adult person under similar stresses...OR if some young buck reads these words now with an arrogant smirk, but comes to recall them at some future date, then this sleepless morning will not have been wasted.

 

HELLO-ELLO-ello.

 

Is there anyone still here-ere-ere?

 

 

 


Submitted: November 22, 2020

© Copyright 2021 ShadyBrady. All rights reserved.

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88 fingers

Stay strong and keep positive.

Mon, November 23rd, 2020 12:32am

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I got this.

Sun, November 22nd, 2020 5:43pm

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