It Might Get Messy

Although, then again, it might not. I was admitted to the hospital via the Emergency Room a number of weeks ago. That was when I was, by Friday, catching the hell that comes with the chemical soup administered as chemotherapy infusion on Tuesday. Basically, every week on Thursday, Friday and Saturday I was having intense nausea and powerful, and weakening, hour-long sessions of reflex vomiting. Like clockwork, Thursdays would be suspect, and Fridays the start of two days of gastrointestinal ugliness. 

It’s now the Sunday following my last Tuesday of radiation and chemotherapy. And the pattern seems to have finally broken. Yesterday, while I was weak and queasy much of the day, I managed to get some food down (at least three 250 ml cartons) and never did vomit. Today, I got 5 cartons of food in. And while I felt a little bloated and acid-tummied, I never even got a twinge of nausea. Signs of recovery? I’d say so. 

Remembering, of course, that that’s recovery from the treatment for cancer, not the cancer itself. That diagnosis is months away at best. And while my gastrointestinal troubles may be abating, I am still one sick dude. My energy level sucks. Today I was able to stumble precisely the 200 meters to the beach, then could proceed no further. Had to sit in the dunes and watch the breakers while the rest of the party proceeded to chase a Portuguese Man O’War that a ghost crab had claimed. Katherine went on the offensive, and pulled the stranded jelly out of the crab’s hole. The crab, understandably pissed off, emerged to see what in hell was going on. Then decided better of it and retreated. The jelly’s bulb floated off with the next tide. 

Which means it’s goddamned time for me to be able to start functioning like a human being. If Sargasso and other pelagic material are making it to the surf, I need to make it to the surf. Cool things come with southern waters. Hopefully I’ll be able to do some dipnetting in the surf to see what I can come up with. The only place I’ve collected Janthina snails, the gorgeous purple fragile-shelled free riders with the Man O’ War was in southern Florida. I’d like to get one, preferably intact, here on the Outer Banks. And, while I failed to bring medical alcohol, I can get some at the grocer’s if I can come up with odd little fishes in the surf. Over the years, we’ve collected quite a number of not-easily-identified little fishes, likely juveniles, in the surf. I’d like to get those identified at some point, and add more species to the biological community that makes the surf zone here far more biodiverse than expected. 

Anyway, what I’ve managed to do so far, with Dr. Dan driving (that’s how frickin’ weak I am) at about sundown, was corral the fattest, strongest, nastiest cottonmouth I’ve ever caught. In fact, he refused to release more than a drop of venom into the collection jar. He was saving it up to kill me at the end of our acquaintance. Which he took a good shot at. While I crawled around taking photos, he saw his opportunity and dashed straightaway for my crotch. Fortunately I was able to stand up in time to let him slide right through and back to his cozy swamp. 

I’ve still got the original trip goals—a green snake, a king snake, and a legless lizard. Oh, and more cottonmouth venom so we can run the toxicology tests. Hopefully it will be cloudy but not pouring tomorrow. If I can work up the energy to hike through the marsh behind the campground at Hatteras Light, I might have a chance. 

So that’s the plan. I seem to be recovering. Not fast enough to satisfy me, but it’s better than the alternative. I love you all. Hopefully more good photos tomorrow or the next day. Thanks for being here for me, everyone. You are a large part of why I’m still alive and why I might yet manage to live for a few more years. So pat yourselves on the back, and check back here in the next day or so. Oh. I won’t get any of the other components of this weblog empire up and going this week. Next weekend will work. I’m on vacation!!!