Yesterday I finished my radiation treatments. I asked for a diploma, and, to my surprise, the techs said that they actually used to give out diplomas, but had stopped a few years ago. The system moves more quickly and efficiently here in Topeka than at KU. Everyone is friendly here, but on the day before Thanksgiving, they gave 38 people treatments, so there isn't much time for idling. The effects this time have been more pronounced than before, especially some nausea. But I really haven't had trouble swallowing, so that has been good, especially on Thanksgiving, which we spent with the same group as usual for the last six years in a beautiful home just west of Lawrence. There was, of course, a huge spread of delicious food, including my Thanksgiving favorite, chestnut dressing.
Thanksgiving kicked off five consecutive gray days with heavy rain, freezing rain, and sleet--just an unpleasant hint of the four months that are to come.
Small pleasures of the last few days:
Suspenders. Although it's completely counter-intuitive given the effects of chemo, I now weigh more than I've ever weighed in my life. I bought bigger pants, but pride goeth before a fall, and even these risked falling off. I could wear them like an old man, hiked up over my belly (no way I'd do that) or let them slide under my paunch and trample on the bottoms while pulling them up every thirty seconds (my inconvenient choice). And then we thought of suspenders, which turned out to be a perfect solution. So far I haven't gone the full Larry King route and have been wearing them under my shirt where they're not visible. But one of these days, I'm going to be brave and make a fashion statement.
A sixty-five year old heating pad. I've had a lot of back pain lately, pain which neither the oncologist nor the radiologist thinks is related to the cancer. I tried ice packs and that ridiculous gimmick that Shaq recommends, but what works best is a heating pad that I remember from my early childhood--at least until it bursts into flame.
A new subscription to The Nation not even primarily for its liberal politics, but because each issue has a British-style crossword--all puns and anagrams and tricks.
