Mabon and the Samain Moon
Sabbath gratefuls: Joanne. Alan. Cold night. New ceiling fan. Shadow, smiling. Sheet pan recipes. Hot Italian sausage. Mark, the Ameriki. (American in Saudi Arabic) Mary, the Hoosier in Oz. Rich. Artemis, ready for a day of harvest and planting. Me, too. Garlic Cloves. Great Sol lower in the Sky. The downed Lodgepole. That Pendleton Wool blanket. My peculiar electric blanket.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Radiation
Life Kavannah: Wu Wei
Week Kavannah: Hochmah. Wisdom. “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.” Perkei Avot: 4:1 Making medical decisions this week.
Tarot: Paused
One brief shining: That newish fan in my bedroom has a not so funny quirk; its light turn on on its own, sometimes a lot like last night, other times not at all for weeks lulling me, it’ll be ok now; but it’s not ok and I spent much of last night getting illuminated, finding the remote to switch off the light, darkness ah, oh damn it! Looking for a new fan.
My medical October continues: On Wednesday I learned that nobody, at least for now, can make me a lightweight, elegant brace for my floppy head. Not even in the world of custom orthotics. I’m not giving up, even if I have to figure it out myself.
Maddie, my palliative care nurse comes up for a visit on Tuesday. She’s a good woman, attentive, caring, knowledgeable. I’ll discuss my back pain, torn labrum, and recent PET scan with her. She often has interesting ideas like adding acetaminophen to my tramadol to make it more effective. Or, prescribing Ritalin for fatigue.
On Thursday I see Kylie, my pain doc, to continue the slow march toward nerve ablations for my back pain. She will review my pain diaries and send a report to my insurance company. And only then will we be able to schedule the actual ablation. Since late April. Geez.
On Halloween I get to do something truly scary. I’ll see Dr. Carter, a radiation oncologist, to discuss radiating the tumor on my T4 vertebrae. Before we actually do it, I have to have yet another MRI to check for nerve involvement with the tumor. That’s not scheduled yet.
Just a moment: I’ve taken notice of that odd moment in conversations with friends when the thing happens. You know what I mean. The realization you’ve entered Red Tie Guy zone. One of you might try to shake it off like a Dog after a bath, but you know now something will have to be said.
What might it be? Could be a mention of demolishing, oh what was it? Part of the Whitehouse? Really. I mean. Or, it might be using our military to play whack a boat in the Caribbean and the Pacific. Drug smugglers, he says. Maybe it’s moving an aircraft carrier into waters somewhere off Latin America, a whole strike group now near Croatia.
Where’s our version of William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer? Remember the Maine! Let’s go kick some Latin American, drug smuggling, narco-trafficking butt. DJT might blow up his chance for a Nobel prize.