Update.

I don’t post about cancer and chemo for a bunch of overlapping reasons, not least my discomfort with expressions of concern and support from truly dear and wonderful friends.
I am a graceless bastard, but I simply cannot bear the loaded way folks ask, “How are you doing?”; the uncertainty that’s still baked into truly excellent test results about which they are overjoyed to learn; the weirdness of not being sicker, especially compared to some of the other patients I’m now sort of semi-regularly dating; the well-meaning advice about everything from keto diets to turmeric to the evils of Big Pharma…
One prefers to shove all that nagging chaos to the back of a dark corner and talk about *other* things.
Still, I would like all of you to know how deeply and sincerely I appreciate your concern and support…and, very practically, your kind generosity in helping me defray the cost of this program of therapeutic nausea and fatigue. As mentioned, all test results are excellent – no signs of anything that makes doctors say, “Hmmm.” I still have my hair…but given the buzzed down layer of grey I wear, it wouldn’t have been especially noticeable anyway.
There are still a few bags left in the rack, but the end is almost in sight.
If you’d like one last shot at kicking in to make me feel reasonably awful for a little bit longer, this is it.
Massive hugs to all y’all. It’s fucking dusty in here.

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One Response

  1. Some people rescue lost pets, others rescue flood victims. You rescue a canvas painting being attacked by a circular sander. Does this mean that you decided that the past is more precious than the future? I think not. Did you feel empathy toward the painting because you yourself are stamped with unchanging ridges of color and feeling that even through extraordinary effort cannot be altered? Perhaps. A man saved a painting from destruction by its creator. He denied the authority of the one who painted it to decide the artwork’s fate. He usurped divine right and stepped between God and Adam thereby disrupting the eternal Sistine balance. Is that your action? Or in fact by elevating the persecuted canvas doomed for destruction to a place of honor were you not Jesus washing a prostitute’s feet? The scratch and dent sale for souls. Bargain basement of brains. Yard sale for hearts. One man’s trash is…well you know. Is preservation of liberal art a conservative act? Or is all art conservative the moment it locks the future into the past? Who would waste time on daydreams like these? Someone for whom a momentary anecdote about a painting with the shredded corner became so much more than just a retelling. Was it true? That didn’t matter. The world is fueled by stories that are undeniably human truth. What is more human than a man begging another man not to destroy a thing of beauty?

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