"Whatever takes us to our edge, to our outer limits, leads us to the heart of life's mystery, and there we find faith."--Sharon Salzberg





Wednesday, May 19, 2010

CheMo' Better Blues

Of course, there are a lot of ways you can treat
the blues, but it will still be the blues.

Count Basie

Monday was supposed to be the first day of my last round of chemo. It was with great anticipation that I sat in the reclining chair awaiting the stick of the needle that would begin this final series. The fact that my chemo nurse, Susan, was not able to find a working vein was an omen of things to come. After the third attempt she whispered, "I already broke my two tries rule so I'm going to have someone else try." As another nurse came over, I dug my fingers into the armrest and awaited the fourth puncture. She hit it on the first attempt. "I love that vein," she said with a hint of pride. However, she had forgotten that she needed to get a blood sample and had to remove the tape that held the IV needle in place, taking with it a good patch of arm hair. "That hurt more than the needle sticks," I only half-joked. Finally, my blood was drawn and I awaited the news of the CBC results.

Before long, Susan returned with an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, that was all for nothing," she said. She handed me the results of the blood test and pointed out that my white blood cell and neutrophils (the most common type of white blood cell comprising about 50-70% of all white blood cells, according to wiseGeek.com) counts were low. This meant there would be no treatment this week and that I would have to come back on Friday for a recheck. (If my counts are up I start on Monday, the 24th, and my last treatment will be on Tuesday, June 1st).

Needless to say, I left the office with a bit of a drag to my step. What would I do with another week of waiting for the end of chemotherapy? It was as if I was a little child running downstairs on Christmas morning to find that Santa was stuck in the chimney and the only thing to do was wait until he shed a few pounds and could slide down to deliver his bag of goodies.

As I sat in the parking lot on that rainy Monday, I anticipated that I was going to be ruminating about this all week. Meditation, qigong, reiki, and even a few cold margaritas would help, but there was no way I was going to, in the words of my personal yoga instructor and friend, Sherry, “dump the grump.” So I did what any self-respecting, soon to be fifty-year-old, does when he has the blues. I wrote a song about it. Like ta hear it? Here it go:


My arms are achin’
My nerves are shakin’
Ain't front page news
Just the chemo' better blues

My counts been droppin’
So the treatment is stoppin’
Ain't nothin’ I'd choose
Just them chemo' better blues

Like a bird that can't fly
Like drugs with no high
Feeling drunk with no booze
Got the chemo' better blues

Fillin’ the verses
With doctors and nurses
It’s no joke, nor no ruse
Just the high flyin’...
catfish fryin’...
I ain't lyin’...
Chemo' better blues

2 comments:

  1. That was brilliant!

    I'd love to type something profound and clever, but it wouldn't offer much to someone who earlier stated, "our waiting becomes our practice; an invitation to meet ourselves in the present moment."

    --that, and I'm not adept at citing profound or clever. If the situation calls for Caddyshack quotes though, I'm there.

    Final stretch's here-- just with a short photo opp. for last notations on that present moment.

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  2. To lose patience is to lose the battle.
    - Mahatma Gandhi

    Keep writing, and that goes for the songs too. It came as no surprise that you penciled out a lyric or two. Keep it up.

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