After I wrote about the essay on books that describe living with and dying from cancer, I decided to read one of them, Christopher Hitchens' short collection Mortality.  The book is a series of essays with the last chapter being fragmentary thoughts when Hitchens was too ill to compose complete essays.  One, on the "etiquette of cancer," was similar to my early blog on what not to say to people living with cancer--the well-intentioned remarks that don't come out the way they're supposed to.  As an outspoken proponent of atheism, Hitchens was involved in many debates with religious leaders, many of whom write him to say that they're praying for him.  (There are other letters from Christians that are much less charitable.)  Combative as always, Hitchens spends this essay ridiculing the urge to pray and the contradictions prayer involves:  "Lord, I am not worthy, but please suspend the natural laws for me anyway."  I've gotten many fewer responses that involve praying for me, and I tend to say thanks, assuming the writers' good will--as long as they're praying for my body.  I'm less tolerant of those who are praying for my soul.  The most depressing of Hitchens' essays are those that chronicle the actual physical pain he experienced, both from his esophageal cancer and from the endless treatments he received.

After two weeks on the reduced chemo regimen, my far too common bouts of diarrhea seem to have calmed down.  The problem has always gone in cycles, but these two weeks have been a particularly welcome break and, I hope, one that is attributable to fewer toxic chemicals being introduced into my body every day.  The nearly narcoleptic crashes haven't diminished, however.  Once every morning and once every afternoon, my mind and body shut down.  Still, I'll take the one benefit while it lasts.

Except for packing and figuring out why the low tire pressure light is on in the car, we're ready for tomorrow's trip to Des Moines.  We'll drop Kimber off for boarding and then make the four-hour drive north.  Depending on when we arrive and how much energy I have, we'll pick up the license tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday morning.  How strange it is to think that at 68, I'm entering into a legal marriage!  One in a rose garden with an "officiant," rings, and a grand total of four guests. 

We drive back on Thursday, so the next blog entry won't appear till Friday.  I'll try not to make it too saccharine.