Beltane and the Greenhouse Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: Jamie. Radical roots of religion. Shadow. Rain. Chilly night again. Wind. Natalie. MVP. Hip and back pain. Shirley Waste. Buddy Ode on Youtube. Halle, the traveling physical therapist. A sweet gal. Tara. Ruth in Alaska. The Commander. Seoah. Murdoch. Mary and Mark. Diane.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: PET Scan
Week Kavannah: Wholeness and Peacefulness. Shleimut. Integrating pain into my daily life. Accepting it all and being grateful for it.
One brief shining: Once more into the metal and plastic breach, my son, to see what can’t be seen with the eyes of nature, this time positronic emission tomography enhanced with a radio isotope that binds to prostate cancer cells flowing through my circulatory system as I lay on the moving bed, pushed slowly through the donut, too warm, yet handling it.
Cancer and back pain: I know. A steady drumbeat. This pain. That scan. This doc. That one. This last two weeks has been…oh, how do you say it? A bit much.
I’m not alone. Friends seeing docs a lot, too. Cardiologists. Nephrologists. Oncologists. Pain docs. Life in the retired lane replaces work with hospitals, medical clinics. Imaging with and without contrast. Expensive drugs.
Friday morning should reveal the latest. Do I have more metastases? If so where are they? In my hip? Am I qualified now for the SPRINT device? Telehealth.
Current observation. Chronic pain, which most of us will never know, clouds each day, marks a path filled with things, formerly done with ease, rendered literally out of reach.
It reaches into even the quiet places, tires us out, makes us want to live very simply. No unnecessary, triggering movements. No unnecessary upsets. Things like water in a dog’s bowl. Taking the trash out to the street. Standing and cooking. Each one a calculation of desire versus pain. This is not the monk’s simplicity. Or, is it? Maybe the lesson here is paring down life to its necessities. Doing less, with less. Maybe pain has a spiritual lesson about shleimut, wholeness and peacefulness. Or, maybe it’s just pain.
Wore my Los Alamos t-shirt purchased for my 35 sessions of radiation. Danger Radioactive Material with the familiar three yellow hash marks and the circle in the middle. Waited for 50 minutes with the lights turned down low as the 68Ga-PSMA-11 tracer wound its way through my blood system hunting for the PSMA protein.
Laid down. Covered up. Over the next twenty minutes moved slowly through the machine. Palm trees in the ceiling tiles at both openings. Sending me to Hawai’i and my days with my son and Seoah there.
The hour long drive to the PET Scan clinic another exercise in pain management. Singing out loud helps. I don’t look forward to drives of almost any length. Sciatica makes each time in the car a bit of the inquisition with not even its twisted purpose as a rationale.
This has been a difficult couple of weeks. Too much pain. Too much medical scrutiny. Too many unresolved questions.
There have been highlights. Shadow and our hugs, her happiness. Tara driving me to the open-sided MRI. Natalie’s careful, expert work. Nathan’s getting things ready. Rereading the Dresden Files novels. Morning prayers. Rain to dampen the Forests and swell the Creeks.