The Man In The Mirror
Standing at the sink, I look down at my hands. I have old
man hands. There are splotches on
the back. Age spots, I think they’re called. The Boston Celtics haven’t called
to offer me a tryout. I suspect I’m no longer on their list of who to call in a
pinch. I can’t dribble a basketball, shoot or rebound, but I am slow.
The last time I came home from the hospital I saw my
grandfather in the mirror. He had pasty white skin, a hairless head, sagging
jowls and he was none too stable on his feet. I don’t see him when I look in the mirror now. There’s just some old codger who has a
certain resemblance to me.
More frequently when I open my mouth now either my father’s
or my mother’s words come out. Actually that’s not a problem. My parents pretty
much know what they’re talking about, even when they’re channeling through me.
These days before I go on trips, I count my pills to be sure
I have enough of each medication to last through the time I’ll be away from
home. When I arrive I have more pill bottles than electronic gizmos
to plug in by a ratio of at least 2 to 1.
Maybe I’m feeling a bit morose because the current round of
chemo is kicking the crap out of me.
I can walk in the morning only because I’ve figured out all the possible bathroom stops
along the way. I’ve had some close calls. Getting older is not for
sissies. Chemo is something sick people should never have to endure. I have only one Velcade shot
left in this round. I feel like
Rocky Balboa coming out for the last round against Apollo Creed, battered and
bleeding just putting one foot in front of the other.
I may never climb Mount Everest, but I’m still on my feet. Don’t
count me out just yet.
Keep going, Warren. Just keep on going.
ReplyDeleteThanks, LD
ReplyDeleteBut that's all you've got to do, Rocky--put one foot in front of the other.
ReplyDeleteSeriously, Warren, you look remarkably well for all you're going through. And I'm amazed at all you do. You haven't let this kick your ass. You've gotten up swinging every time. You have my deep admiration.
Thank you, Linda. Sometimes it would be easier if it showed.
ReplyDeleteI agree, you've hid your ordeal well--almost too well. I knew something was going on, but then the last time your life was disrupted it was due to moving to and from New Zealand--a happy thing.
ReplyDeleteYour experience will make you a better writer with insight that we lucky ones lack. Small consolation, but your writing and blogging is very much needed and appreciated. Step by step...
Glad you're still kickin', Warren.
ReplyDeleteThank you, EB. One when a doctor put me on a new medication, he described the medication as, "Old, Cheap and Reliable." That's my new mantra.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Alyx. Kicking is what I do.
ReplyDeleteI so admire you, Warren. I had no idea you were back to fighting your old enemy. And throughout it all you've kept your sense of humor. Your positive attitude will go along way towards winning your battle.
ReplyDeleteAs for seeing your grandfather's face in the mirror, some months back I saw my grandmother's face and I'm not even going through any problems. I also keep soft lights in my bathroom so I almost always look better there than anywhere else.
I'll be rooting for you, Warren, and remembering you in my prayers.
People are much stronger than they think they are. You know you can do this. Step by step, just keep moving. I'm rooting for you, too.
ReplyDeleteGloria, Thank you. MY wife says I was very funny when I was completely out of it.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dianna.
ReplyDeleteI had no idea you were going through this, Warren. The fact that I'm still seeing your name around the Internet tells me you're a fighter. Keep it up, and know my good thoughts are walking beside you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Marja,
ReplyDeleteFriends and family give me energy.
Wow, Warren. I didn't know. I thought your post was so touching, and that's before I knew your battle. Kick that nasty disease down the road, and just keep on kicking.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Polly
ReplyDelete