A Couple more Pounds, and Another Resolution

Greetings from the Clot.

Could you use just a little good news? Well, here it is anyway. Dennis’ weight is up about 7 pounds. Now I know this does not constitute a “hunka,” but the buttless can’t be choosers. He is now at (drumroll, please) 125 pounds…and that is without the Frankenstein shoes, the Sunday newspaper, and completely naked! We love the feeding tube. He still has bouts of nausea that must be managed, but that can be accomplished by Zofran and turning off the commentaries by all the political pundits.

Also, as a magnanimous gesture on my part, I have agreed to stop cooking. I was going to include that on my “Resolutions” List, but Erin and Brodi insisted that it is not an official resolution when it simply perpetuates an already-established policy, and that 22 resolutions was more than enough. Picky, picky! Ah, but I digress. We are able to actually see those extra ounces too. For instance, I noticed his eyelids appear rather pumped. Now, they had taken a particular hit when his weight was going down, and they seemed to be begging for water. They weren’t sinking exactly, but they were doing some serious doggy-paddling. And his nose got thin. Is it possible to lose cartilage mass in the nostrils? Anyway, his nasal contours are beefing up. Isn’t that the best news? As you can see, the smallest improvements cause us to celebrate. Hey, we’ll take it.

The girls have been mocking my New Year’s Resolutions List, claiming that not one of the 22 commitments will improve my character. But that was my whole intention. I don’t to improve my character. I don’t want to force myself to be a better person…that would be a mammoth task, and too much pressure, not to mention guilt. I just want to make the day better. That requires only a lot of bubble gum and a good book. Is that so wrong? I have challenged the rest of the Clot to post their resolutions into cyber space, and we will see what they come up with.

In the meantime, Dennis and I had something very interesting occur this morning. We actually had a conversation that was non-carcinogenic! We discussed where we should hang a picture. Now I know this doesn’t sound like that big a deal. But when our lives have been focused on blood panels, tumor markers, chemo, radiation, infusion, weight-loss, nausea, constipation, fufu bags, PICC lines and our trusty porta-barfy, there has been no time to calculate the location of a picture on a wall…to position it to its best advantage. It was rather refreshing.

I began remembering what it was like when hanging anything on the wall seemed menial, not necessarily delightful. That was a lifetime ago. When we were raising our daughters, we absolutely forbade them to use the word “hate.” This word was not to be spoken under any circumstances. They could use a euphemistic alternative such as “I don’t love” something. But its “verbness” was too negative to bring into our home. It’s ironic that we can talk about so many other things without any restrictions, as you have probably noticed from reading this blog. But today, I am suspending my self-imposed writ of “hateous corpus,”(that’s lawyer jargon for strong negative feelings). I hate cancer. It is an odious plague of Biblical proportions, and the grief and damage it does is incalculable. I will not describe my feelings in length. That would exceed my expletive quota for the entire year.

Most of you have justifiably as much contempt for the ravages and randomness of this insidious disease as I have. I am sure I am not alone. But I do look forward to the day when this curse is cured, and the only thing that metastasizes is love and joy; that tumor markers simply gauge the heart’s contentment; that the only disfigurement one ever must endure is from laughing so hard that it is impossible to replace the lips back around the teeth; and that the word “tumor” is text message shorthand for the number of additional cookies you want.

That day will come. However, today Dennis weighs 125 pounds, and I know exactly where that picture will hang.

Love,
The Clot

P.S. From Erin and Brodi:
Mom has been nagging us to come up with our own resolutions for the year. It’s hard to compete with 22 resolutions, and we insist on sticking with resolutions we know we can achieve. So here we go:

1. Quit Smoking.