Footnotes of the Big Joker

Indian summer ended abruptly today, right about when I was at my doctor’s office. The lab report came back for my mastectomy. They went through the severed breast bit by bit and discovered a couple more tumors, one .9 and one 1.7 cm. The latter puts me in a different category. It means that I’ll probably have to have chemotherapy. This was a bit of a blow; I had been told I had escaped that fate, or at least that is what I heard and so did Howard.

I went into the appointment with all confidence. My friend Deborah drove me there because Howard broke his foot and is now more of an invalid than I am at present (but I’ll go into that later.) At any rate, I believed that the only reason I was to see the doctor today was to have my drain removed (the one for the mastectomy). Deborah waited in the waiting room while I saw him. I had no expectation of bad news so I was alone and hardly tracking what he was saying as he told me the news. Normally I have someone with me taking notes when I see a doctor, someone to ask the questions that I miss. I was stunned and only got the gist of it, not the details. And the gist is, I will probably have to have hormone therapy for five years and chemotherapy anywhere from two months to six months, depending on what kind(s) they choose, and how fast they give it to me, at two week or three week intervals. He will meet with a oncology board on the 19th to determine the best course of action and I will call him that afternoon to find out what they determined. Of course, I could always say no, but it does make sense to at least find out the recommendations. I left his office in a state of shock.

When Deborah and I emerged from the building, the weather had changed. The sky was cloudy and the temperature had suddenly dropped several degrees. It seemed fitting somehow that the optimism of the past week fled with the good weather and colder, more somber skies greeted us.

So, as for Howard, he was performing last night and ran off stage for a costume change, only to trip over coiled ropes which, of course, should have been secured, but weren’t. He fractured his fifth metatarsal. He spent much of the night in an emergency room, and then the guys had to drive through the night to the next gig, which was a matinee. He’s not allowed to put weight on it for at least six weeks, so they quickly revised the show to take into account his new status as injured person. That was okay but then he had many misadventures trying to navigate the airport, missed his connecting plane, had to spend the night in Chicago. He’s finally home today and is exhausted. Andrine, who has been the main caregiver, is completely stressed out at having to take on another invalid. I’m fairly self sufficient now and don’t need a lot of personal tending, but I’m still not terribly useful. I can’t do housework or run errands or be terribly helpful.

Deborah helped move out of the downstairs room I had been staying in so that Howard could move in there to convalesce. We seem to be keeping the infirmary full. I filled it full of flowers for him since flowers were so important to my recovery.

It’s nice to be back in my bedroom. It’s much larger. And I set up a nice chair in it to play the banjo, right where Howard is accustomed to place his suitcase and general personal mess when he comes home. Since he won’t be coming upstairs for a while, I can use that area for music. I’m also continuing to drum and rattle outside. We have a big Japanese bell in our front yard so I have added that to my repertoire as well. I go out there in the morning in my pajamas and bang on that for a while. I must be quite a sight in the early morning.

So, it was all looking pretty hopeful a couple of days ago and now it’s all falling apart. Isn’t that how it goes, though? My dear friend Gregg used to refer to his higher power as the Big Joker. The Big Joker certainly has an odd sense of humor. It’s quite a way to start the New Year. L’Shana Tova. Perhaps we were written in the Book of Life this year, but watch out for those footnotes.

In reading over the Torah every year, especially Exodus and Numbers, I’m always struck as to how it is probably not advantageous to have God pay close attention to you because often it turns out badly for the individuals concerned, especially if they are childish, arrogant, or clueless. (So who isn't childish, arrogant, and clueless at times?) When the Israelites were trudging around it the desert, they lost people right and left to God’s ire. And these were his chosen people. Maybe it's a good idea to keep a low profile. That's never been my strong suit.