Beltane and Corona Lunacy II
Saturday gratefuls: Dave and Deb at On the Move Fitness. Cancer. That bastard cancer, remaking so many of us. The coronavirus, remaking us all. Zaidy’s deli. My reuben, Seoah’s cod and bacon sandwich. Yes. That’s right. The drive in to Cherry Creek (posh neighborhood in Denver where Zaidy’s is). The ice and snow that greeted me yesterday morning. 25 degrees. Rigel back on the bed. Her meds working. Jon, Ruth, Gabe coming up tomorrow for Mother’s Day. First visit in two months.
Sad, sad news from Deb and Dave. A while back they had to choose between more radiation and decreased cognition. They chose to stop the radiation and go with chemo. Increasing fatigue took them to an MRI last Sunday. His tumor is back. There are no more treatments. They will get hospice care as needed starting next week.
Both of them have been my personal trainer and I’ve gotten to know them pretty well in that way. They encourage, train, correct, provide new workouts. I went to them after physical therapy for my knee replacement. That was early 2017. Every six weeks or so since they’ve created new workouts for me, trained me in them. Then, I go home and follow the new routine.
Dave and I have talked about our cancer. His was glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer. He’s outlived the longest survival projections by a year or so, probably due to his extreme fitness and will to live. Mine, the old man’s cancer, the slow one. We both got news of a recurrence at about the same time a year ago.
Recurrences are scary. Yes, the first diagnosis is, too, but recurrence has a different flavor, a sour, bitter taste. Whatever we’ve done hasn’t worked and it’s back. Run a marathon, do well, then discover you have another 26 miles to go. With an assassin running behind you. While you’re already exhausted.
Tom’s friend, also a Dave, died a couple of weeks ago. Cancer. My friend Judy started her second round of chemo. Ovarian cancer. Leslie, another friend, has had three recurrences of breast cancer.
There are brave words to be said, sure. Sturdy thoughts and hopes. Yes. This morning though, after reading Deb’s e-mail about Dave, I’m teary, sad. A bit distraught. Not all of that’s about Dave.
