Much hoopla, in the much subdued professional manner found at the oncologist’s office, I received some X-rays of the chest and my date with chemo was postponed for yet another week.
Well, I’m certainly not living up to my newly minted moniker “Chemo Kev” now am I? What with all the radiation therapy, 9 so far with 6 to go, if I could claim Italian heritage I would announce my new name “The Day-Glo Dago” with great fanfare, in some medieval Florentine manner not doubt, and what with fashion in retro, find some clothes to match, clothes like polka dot shirts with flared sleeves, wide angle bell-bottomed blues jeans, and for home a few black lights and complimentary posters and some really bad psychedelic tunes for the old hi‑fi. In-A-Gadda-Davida, any thing by the Moby Grape, The Jefferson (Prop plane, Glider, Airplane, Starship, et al…).
My family and I are now well into the third week of this rather dramatic event. Nothing has leveled to where there is the standard daily routine, but we are all working together separately and together to forge a daily routine from such a set of alien demands. I, at the moment, am listening to Martin Goldsmith on XM 78, Symphony Hall. It’s a piano concerto by a composer I’ve only heard of in passing, a Henry Charles Litolff, music has always been my musical anchor and this happened to be the next link in the chain. Meanwhile, my lovely wife has set off to her yoga class where she finds a spiritual center.
So, as you can see, new information, requiring a rearranging of our standard earlier morning chores. Done in an order I’m certainly not comfortable with, but done any way, and producing the quite same results. A want and desire to go forth and participate in a practical and beneficial way with those we live and work about.
There have been no report cards as of yet, but my wife, children and close friends have never been more immediate, loving nor have I been so aware of those attributes either.
Onward into Chemo Kev’s delayed Monday…
Well, I’m certainly not living up to my newly minted moniker “Chemo Kev” now am I? What with all the radiation therapy, 9 so far with 6 to go, if I could claim Italian heritage I would announce my new name “The Day-Glo Dago” with great fanfare, in some medieval Florentine manner not doubt, and what with fashion in retro, find some clothes to match, clothes like polka dot shirts with flared sleeves, wide angle bell-bottomed blues jeans, and for home a few black lights and complimentary posters and some really bad psychedelic tunes for the old hi‑fi. In-A-Gadda-Davida, any thing by the Moby Grape, The Jefferson (Prop plane, Glider, Airplane, Starship, et al…).
My family and I are now well into the third week of this rather dramatic event. Nothing has leveled to where there is the standard daily routine, but we are all working together separately and together to forge a daily routine from such a set of alien demands. I, at the moment, am listening to Martin Goldsmith on XM 78, Symphony Hall. It’s a piano concerto by a composer I’ve only heard of in passing, a Henry Charles Litolff, music has always been my musical anchor and this happened to be the next link in the chain. Meanwhile, my lovely wife has set off to her yoga class where she finds a spiritual center.
So, as you can see, new information, requiring a rearranging of our standard earlier morning chores. Done in an order I’m certainly not comfortable with, but done any way, and producing the quite same results. A want and desire to go forth and participate in a practical and beneficial way with those we live and work about.
There have been no report cards as of yet, but my wife, children and close friends have never been more immediate, loving nor have I been so aware of those attributes either.
Onward into Chemo Kev’s delayed Monday…
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