It Might Get Messy

Reading. It’s a way of life for most of us. If we’re sitting—in front of supper, the TV, on the porch, in the morning with a pot of coffee—we’re reading. But here’s a question for you. How many of you out there in weblog land fought your way through the fourth book of the massive bestseller set by George R.R. Martin “Song of Fire and Ice”? Uh huh. I thought so. And after you got frustrated with a storyline that didn’t move a SINGLE FRICKIN’ CENTIMETER in the course of a whole book, with the promise that the fifth book wasn’t going to move a SINGLE FRICKIN’ CENTIMETER with the remaining characters and that the story would pick up again in the SIXTH FRICKIN’ BOOK you just walked away from the whole idea, didn’t you.

At least I know I did. Finishing that fourth book was almost (but not quite) as disappointing as me finishing my first set of cancer treatments, only to find the cancer recurrent, and having horrific surgery as a second round of treatment, only to be informed by the doctors that there was residual cancer they couldn’t treat surgically and I would have to undergo a second round of radiation and chemotherapy after I recovered from surgery that removed my tongue and other key components of my throat. 

But I worked my way past that. But let’s not go there yet. Because, as Doctor John said on his first (and by far greatest) album “Gris Gris”, I got the quew-ah foah ALLL yoh’s eels (that’s “cure for all your ills”, if my dialect is too far from understandable, which is as I expect). Or at least for that George R.R. Martin ill. And that, my friends, is to pick up “The Mongoliad” series by a list of 7 authors but with Neal Stephenson as first author. I know, you’re suspicious that anything that email-rocketed back and forth among 7 people could flow, much less flow like a bottle of 2005 Chateau Petrus down the gullets of a roomful of drunk graduate students who stumbled into the wrong hotel on the way back from a night of pounding Guinness in an Irish pub somewhere in downtown Houston. But believe me, this series kicks some serious ass. I haven’t finished the third book. I know, you’re suspicious that George R.R. Martin managed to get through 3 books, at least, before he stumbled. But remember, I’m missing my tongue. And I have a permanent tracheotomy. I have a lot of time on my hands. I ripped through the first 2 volumes (hefty volumes) in essentially 2 days. And there are enough threads of plot (and theme) remaining that I already know the third volume (I’m about a dozen pages in) is going to be phenomenal. I’m pretty sure the author’s (many author’s) intention is to finish the whole thing up in 3 volumes. But I hope not. These books kick ass. And they DON’T bring  FRICKIN’ ZOMBIES BACK INTO THEIR FICTIONAL WORLD as a loose-ends plot tie-up to get out of tight spaces.

OK. Now that I’ve got THAT off my chest. I haven’t been as productive of writings the past couple of weeks as I should have. That’s because I’ve been gritting my teeth and waiting with clenched fists to get through my doctor’s appointment earlier this week. This was the first time one of the docs has been able to get a videoscope into my throat, because the damage from the radiation was so catastrophic that nobody could see a thing until now. But the thing is what they did NOT see. They did not see cancer. At least as far as first-tier diagnostics are concerned, my treatment was successful.

This is far from definitive, and much diagnostic work and monitoring remains to be done. In particular, there were known regions of diseased tissue in my oral cavity that can’t be seen by videoscope. Those require a wait of several months (roughly until mid-September) until we can do a PET scan to ascertain the metabolic condition of tissues throughout my oral cavity.

But if not definitive, it is substantive. Because, as Dr. H explained to the sharply-dressed young medical student he had with him, he could indeed see places on my palate that were diseased tissue before. And are not diseased tissue now. So, if the “hidden” areas of my oral cavity responded to treatment as effectively as the ones that can be videoscoped, there is at least a possibility that I am cancer-free.

I know. We’ve been here before. And the doctors gave me only a 20% likelihood that the course of treatments would put me into remission. And I’ve been disappointed before. 

But I worked my way out of that disappointment with the help of Neal Stephenson and 6 other hard-working, imaginative, impeccably researched authors. Maybe I’ll catch a break on this cancer deal.

With that said, I’ve been too wound up to be productive this week. I am not going to get the other 3 weblogs (counting my professional blog at www.aehsfoundation.org ) in this literary empire updated this week. However, I know for a fact that Dr. Crossley shares neither my sloth nor my indolence. So surf on over to http://www.daccrossley.typepad.com/ to get your weblog fix this week. And next week, check back here for the latest update (I’ll be scoped by my radiologist on Monday, so may have more news), and of course I’ll provide links to the other 3 blogs I try to keep up.

Thanks everyone, for the great good wishes this week. I may live to see many yet again, depending on how this all works out. I can’t wait to get together—my scribbling on white boards and electronic notepads is getting spectacularly fast. I can almost get the cynical jokes out in time so they are understandable. I’ll keep working on it!