Stealing Down A Wrong Way Street


I am having a glass of bourbon and crying, both from my good fortune and ill fortune, all wrapped up in one terrible day, part of a very bad week that I look forward to putting behind me. If that is somehow possible.

It’s been a hard week. Kind of a hard few weeks. I’ve had some close friendships and relationships come to an end in the last few weeks, and things have been very hectic and difficult at my day job. My shoulder injury, which drove me to the hospital in March as I thought it might actually be something wrong with my heart, has not gotten better and so I recently started physical therapy for it, and for my ankle, which continues to be weak and loose, with the super-stretched ligament that may never return to normal. So I am trying to get stronger, everywhere, but particularly in the ankle and this shoulder. But the shoulder has not been cooperating, and last week was so bad I couldn’t do my PT stuff. I went for a steriod injection this week, and the doc said we should really have an x-ray to make sure nothing is super fucked up (well, he didn’t say that exactly, but something like that). He squeezed me in, even though I didn’t have an appointment, because he loves me.

In the course of getting the shoulder x-ray, completely incidentally, they imaged part of my left lung.

There is much that remains unknown, but what was seen wasn’t normal and since I didn’t spend my childhood working on a maritime vessel filled with asbestos, we will have to get more films and some tests to learn more. At this time, not much is known. It could be “bad, but not doing anything,” “bad, and at some point in the probably not-so-distant-future, likely much, much worse” or “really, really bad.” Until I know more, I don’t know more, and so here I sit prior to a long holiday weekend, when getting appointments anywhere is probably really unlikely, and I will just have to try to be patient (HA) and keep busy (well, maybe), and distract myself (BOURBON!) in the interim.

I went outside in the insanely intense pop-up summer shower we had a bit ago, and sat in the rain and let it wash all over me on my lounge chair, while I drank my cold bourbon with one ice cube, rain dripping into my glass. What’s a little acid rain when you could be on your way to lung cancer, right? Or not. I guess we’ll find out.

The rain soon stopped and I came in and changed my clothes. I have been happily inundated with support since I told my friends about this whatever, even without a lot of details. Damn if people don’t love my fucked up ass, and I have no idea why. I had offers to come stay overnight at people’s houses, offers of people who said they’d come by right away for a visit (I am a serious wreck and I smell because I went for a lunchtime run – now overexamining why and how it was so hard to run and always is), promises of drinks soon, plans made to meet, and a couple of really good fucking soldiers who have even offered to come with me during whatever tests I yet need to have done.

I have nobody to come to tests with me. So this means a lot.

I’m a testing, surgery, and hospital veteran, but this is a part of the body that doesn’t usually give me issues so the offers are appreciated and those tickets will be punched. It’s both sad and wonderful to think of people taking time away from their own families or jobs to come be with me when I need someone. I am so fortunate, so lucky. And yet wish I didn’t need them. But I do, and they will not let me slip under the riptide.

And then I just have to deal with whatever, because that’s what you do.

It will be a busy, long holiday weekend and my son doesn’t need to know of my concerns. He was indeed found to have some diminished hearing on one side at his annual checkup today, so it isn’t just that he wasn’t listening, and I knew it, since I have hearing problems myself and could tell, by how he was saying what he thought I said and how angry he was that he doesn’t hear me sometimes. I don’t understand and can’t fathom what or why this is, but I will find out and then me and his Dad will figure out how to deal with it. My poor kid.

And so I cry. For my good fortune, and ill fortune. For my wonderful, wonderful friends and support system, and for how unfair life is, and how fucked up. For the loss of my friends who are gone and the support of my friends who remain, and who lift me up.

I ran just shy of four miles at lunch today. It was incredibly hot out and it was a really difficult run and I had to walk a bit. I keep using this fucking body, even though it is deficient and broken and problematic. It is to be used. It is not to sit idle, until it is forced to do so.

But there is no time for tears right now. We have cookouts and picnics to attend this weekend, and there are day trips and festivals, and probably the pool, and certainly lots of ice cream, as it will be very hot.

That’s when ice cream tastes the best.




7 thoughts on “Stealing Down A Wrong Way Street

  1. The waiting is always the worst part. Once you have answers, you can start acting and dealing, but until then, the sitting around imagining the worst is the shittiest part. I am sending you prayers and good vibes for strength, a fun and busy weekend to keep your mind busy, and good thoughts that in the end, the “not normal” is something easy to deal with.

  2. Hoping that they’ve discovered some unknown body part that reveals you are actually a hybrid humanoid species crossbred with a highly advanced alien master race from a neighboring galaxy changing everything we currently know or theorize about the origins of mankind and our place in the universe..or I’d settle for just an equipment malfunction.

    Seriously though thinking about you and yours and sending you best wishes and positive thoughts.

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