It Might Get Messy

Back in Thee Olde Dayes of ecology, say maybe the 1950s, we were all about “limiting factors”. Via forestry and agriculture, we figured there was always one (in the real early days) or more (as we got sophisticated) environmental parameter(s) constraining runaway expansion of one population vs. others, and that the balance of multispecies multiple limiting factors generated the complex biological communities we found in various locations around the globe.

Now, of course, you can recite the limiting factor lists and chuckle over our primitive belief that temperature, moisture, oxygen, nitrogen, light, whatever, assembled the puzzle pieces of organisms on the geological card table where we found them and counted them.

Of course, in many ways, we now know that it is just that simple, at some level. There is always too much or too little of something keeping organisms from thriving or even surviving. And of course, in the most fundamental (and brutal) way of things, there are boundaries beyond which life as we know it—carbon-chemistry, water-operated, cellular-bundled, DNA-recorded—is impossible. 

I suspect we’re going to find that “life as we know it” is in fact a tiny sideshow in a much larger universe of “living” things that confound us as to what the hell they are and how the hell they operate. Cross-reference here last week’s entry in this blog pointing out the quirky appearance of that blob in the time sequence of photos from Mars last month. 

And yet. There will still be limiting factors. Temperatures, for an easy example. Maybe there are things that “live” on solar surfaces, and some that “live” in the barely-above-absolute-zero of dark matter and dark energy swirling in intergalactic space. Still, at temperatures where matter comes apart or ceases to move, we will find there is only physics. Not even chemistry, let alone biology.

But, for the moment, in the real world of earth’s biosphere, temperature is indeed an important constraint on life. I know it’s important to ME, anyway. These last few weeks of intense cold have put some clear boundaries on my ability to function. I went out to run a few errands one day, and almost seized up at the pain of the cold air pouring through my bronchi into my lungs. Because, of course, the air I breathe now runs right through a hole in my throat, bypassing the nice and warm sinus cavities that, back when I had a functioning physiology, made the air nice and warm and moist on its way to my respiratory system. 

So, my recovery is actually stalled by my own new world of limiting factors. I can barely make it out and back to retrieve the newspaper, much less walk myself and/or the dog around the block. 

And this is not, in the long run, healthy. The longer I sit with my butt parked in the recliner, reading World War Two history and living from medicine-dose to medicine-dose, the longer it’s going to take me to reach some level of functional strength in the spring when I can take my shiny new Canon with the 50X optical zoom out to photograph the hell out of the Patuxent Reserve across town. 

Even this forced time out, though, comes with benefits in my world of body-by-cancer and/or surgery/radiation. Slowly, the glandular production of slop—mucous—in my oral cavity and throat, seems to be reaching a sort of balance. I no longer risk drowning if I don’t take massive doses of antihistamines. I can take a comfortably reasonable dose, prop myself up on some pillows against the headboard, and generally sleep with only occasional moments of panic needing me to cough up goo so I can breathe. 

Plus, I get to read a lot of World War Two history. Now, if I can discipline myself into a moderate level of activity, working on things like retaining my mouth gape in an environment where my mouth no longer serves any real function, and getting my brand new photo printer up and running so I can put together a portfolio of framed photos from my big backlog, I’ll be ahead of the game when spring finally gets here.

Meantime, it seems like there’ll be at least a small party on hand for the Super Bowl tomorrow. In addition to Cathy, Lucy and me, we’ll have Molly, plus Jesse and Kim. I’m gonna make some crisp salmon bites (Seattle) and Bison Balls (Denver). Maybe some sausage carne secca, fruit chunks, and small stuffed pastries, just for general principles. 

Since the Winter Olympics are shaping up to be more entertaining from the geopolitical than athletic perspective, we’ll have to take maximum advantage of the Super Bowl as epic winter sporting event. 

I’ll have my butt parked right here in front of the TV. Until I’m released from my limiting factors, when spring cycles around. And until then, my love to all of you. Take a moment every day to simply savor the fact that you’re alive, breathing, functioning. Because that’s the simple, brutal message of Stage 4 cancer. Those days are numbered. Make every one count!