Writing my wrongs.
Abstraction. It was truly a one off. I guess it should have been considered as nothing more than “bothersome.” If I let it be more than that, it might become part of me. I should not, I should not have let it, become more than a simple abstraction, yet it evolved and became so much more than I would have liked. I have let this psychological, this addiction become more. She, my doctor, specifically said, “Don’t let it control you.” Instead, I must take the reins. I must control my “addiction.” I must control my abstraction. After all, it is exactly that—an abstraction. A few months later, there were few changes. My doctor didn’t quite understand what was the cause of this “journey”, so they I sent me on some damned walk-about, as if I was on some Australian venture or a sole searching mission. Maybe, they knew something I didn’t and thought, hmm traveling kinda guy? I guess getting loosed might be the perfect medicine. Just for the fun, they sent me over to had undergo an MRI, a neck scan or two. It all turned out that I had a couple of forms of epilepsy. However, it wasn’t that simple. There were lots of reems of paper spent on my case, alone. Til this very day, the files aren’t shrinking. Not real hopeful, but no problem. There was this abstraction that the doctors were mostly concerned with. The “abstraction,” said the doctor, is a shoulder tumor. Maybe, after an operation, I would come out like a shiny penny, maybe even a dime. My question was: “What are my chances?” The doc said that with today’s technology and medicine there is about an eighty/twenty chance, probably a lot better. I said, so what is it? An 80/20 or an 80 or a 20? She said, that is being really conservative. What is conservative? “We, honestly,” she said, she’d be giving me a list of patients who have come out just fine. “I don’t want to sound too cavalier,” she said, “but I do at least one of these tumor surgeries a day. I am planning on giving you a battery of chemo that will make that tumor wish it didn’t show; wish it didn’t even pop up at the end of my scalpel (the doc was famous for ripping tumors out at will and being about right sometimes. It is all part of the cleansing. You’ll learn more.” Jokingly, and I knew this doctor pretty well, she said, “I hear that they have learned to perfect the art of making shakes and ice cream here.” She added, “You are, an ice cream fan aren’t you?” She knew, no matter how brave a face I put on, I had to be buckling under the pressure. But, there is that twenty percent. It is no doubt the fact that I am a guy in my early 50s and the anesthesia isn’t such a great thing for anybody. The doctor said that it is a tumor on my upper neck, kind of near my shoulder. I separated my shoulder a couple of years ago and the doctor is surprised it didn’t show up in any of the MRIs that I had then, back in the 90s. I suppose it was just as well since the medicine today has become so much better and my doc can deal with the tumor like it is as if it is a penny or a dime. Today, the operation is hardly considered a big deal. Or at least I hope that it won’t be a big deal. The procedure is probably going to be nothing more an abstraction. I have completed a couple of chemo trips, they were merely going in and getting a couple of shots. The chemo deal was fasting. I couldn’t eat anything for a day before the shot. That was really no big deal. But, I am not a real “needle” person. It isn’t that I’m a wimp, but I don’t like the prodding and poking. It seems there is always some 19-year old who doesn’t really know what she is doing and invariably gets the right arm, then the left, this vein and the next, until you are feeling like a damn pin cushion. The older ladies; the nurses who have been doing this a while are great. Modern medicine it too, is great; I can’t deny it. And, after a day of getting poked and prodded I am really ready for a good chocolate shake. Not a bad way to go. I still have a real appreciation for hot candy stripers and chocolate milk shakes. I wouldn’t mind Overdosing on a good Friendly’s Frappe.