Living in the Realm of Possibilities

September 1. The “ber” months are here. I’d say “brrr,” except the coldest months don’t end in b-e-r.  The “ary” months are colder, and maybe even the one ending in “rch.”  I think about death, but I started preparing for that years ago with a trust, will, and medical power of attorney. I finally sold troublesome properties in Michigan, so my heirs won’t have to deal with them. My house is fairly clean and I’ve not been a hoarder. I’ve told my grandsons that I’ve lived a long life, filled with joys, tragedies, and plain living, and when I finally face death, I think I’ll go willingly. I’ll be tired.

Not that there aren’t things I’d like to do and see. I’d like to be proud of my country again. I’d like to see my grandchildren and great-grandchildren stable and happy. I’d like to tour the east coast, maybe see some plays in New York City. I might go to Europe again.

September 4. Day before the biopsy. Methodist Hospital calls with instructions. The oncologist’s office neglected to tell me to stop the blood thinner, so my biopsy is delayed until September 9. I am furious with the oncologist’s office. Yes, I should have thought to ask, but…

I take solace in the pups. It’s been hard for me to cry since the estrangements. I want to cry. I can feel tears swell behind my eyes, but they don’t fall. I sometimes think there’s a river of tears inside me all dammed up.

I’m sure the cancer is growing by leaps and bounds.

Something else the oncologist’s office didn’t tell me: I need bloodwork before the biopsy. I drive to the hospital, let the lab take my blood, and go to the oncologist’s office, which I know closes down for the lunch hour. The new office manager is there, and I tell her about the misinformation the office has passed to me. She is supportive, gives me a hug, and says she’ll make sure employees are better trained in conveying information to patients. Right. She tells me the insurance company that runs the department doesn’t fire people.

Had a dream about a deceased grade school classmate. She said a lie I’d told caused her to redirect her life.  She wouldn’t tell me what the lie was, and I had no recollection of the matter. Might be a good plot for my next book.

September 6. Ryan’s family come for dinner. He grills hamburgers outside. I make salads: kidney bean, cucumber, and a nine-fruit salad—everything fresh except the peaches and maraschino cherries. Baby Colton is unhappy: I rock him and sing to him. He likes “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Had.” I sing it for both of us.

Next post: Finally, the biopsy

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