Life or limb?

I couldn't write much more than a two-line email yesterday, if that, because the pressure on my chest was so great I could barely sit up. It's now four a.m. Thursday morning and I'm feeling a little better, so will try to catch up.

My radiation doctor refers to cancer threatening both life and limb, and she allowed as how my case was "frustrating" because it appears my life is not being threatened, only my limb. In other words, I'm not ready for end-of-life care but I am probably going to be quite disabled. Which means very different kinds of preparations.

I reminded Dr. Noguff that she had told me Friday night that the radiation treatments were very likely to work. She explained that she meant they're very likely to arrest the tumour growth, but not necessarily to make my leg any better than it is now. She mentioned a fifty-fifty chance of ever walking again. You can imagine Mom and I were taken aback. Apparently miracles do happen, but they don't call them miracles for nothing.

So...my last radiation treatment will take place next Tuesday the 19th, and then I will be spending a good long time in a rehabilitation hospital (barring the aforesaid miracle). I am praying it will be Bridgepoint Health, since it's not far from my house and therefore easier for my mom to get to me.

I am stunned, of course, only partly absorbing the news. The Pollyanna side of me always surfaces first, the part that is always bored and looking for some new venture/project/happening in the future. "I'll get a new apartment! I'll start a new phase of life! It will be an adventure!"

The reality will be less than stellar. One day at a time. I am heartened this morning that I'm able to sit up and type with only a little discomfort, thanks to Atavan and Nortriptyline. That's a small step.

The woman with whom I am sharing my semi-private room snores. Not like a freight train; I've heard louder. And I would prefer the rhythmic cadences of a freight train. No, she snores operatically (no offense to opera fans, but I don't find the genre very musical), in great narrative arcs. Little whinnies of helpless despair, moving to short bursts of peaceful contemplation, building up to a wide variety of loud exclamations, existential questions, flights of fancy, and culminating in cacophonous roars of insight and bombast. A very expressive instrument, but it's impossible not to concentrate on it and therefore sleep is dead for me.

However, the lady told me that she had not had a good night's rest in six weeks, and when they gave her something that allows her to sleep, she was so excited that she'd slept the night through, I couldn't help but be happy for her. I know too well what it's like not to be able to rest because of pain, and my pain is much lessened now. So I will listen to her snoring and smile and thank heavens for small blessings.