The Post-Cruise (post-corpse, post-Canada, post-chemo, post-company) Blues

For the past few days, it's been easy for me to put my dark thoughts into a tiny far-away spot, out of constant view of my consciousness. The thoughts are still there, but not like they were -- cussed little cartoon cancer mind monsters that wouldn't leave me alone!

All dark, and thorny, and red, and blistery, and loud -- the imaginary cancer critters were firmly planted in my mind's full view, with triumphant cancer hands on small cell hips, standing defiantly
and unignorably, perhaps even laughing and metasticising, in the ever-moving swamp that was my brain.

For a few good days, the Ex seemed well and the monsters shrank away. My swamp was calm.

But, here we are, about two weeks after our respective trips, after a few days of not-too-much-pain and minor accomplishments, in the early afternoon of a weekday, and the Ex is resting -- not dressed in his usual work attire. He hurts too much to return to work today.

His relief from radiation seems to have been short lived, but thank goodness it was enough to get him through the cruise without too much pain. Now, he says he has new pain.

"Toomohr Boyh," a name he's given himself (along with Arnold Schwarzenegger's pronunciation), swears he has a new tumor. There are new scans tomorrow and next week, so we'll find out soon enough if Tumor Boy is right.

For those of you who may have missed my last journal post, the news for us has been one of those good news/bad news, you-can't-make-this-stuff-up stories:

Good news: Weather looks great for a Bahamian cruise!
Bad news: Cruise friend is delayed one day due to weather.
Good news: Cruise friend still makes it to Florida for the cruise.
Bad news: Son misplaces wallet (IDs, credit card, etc.) in a party stupor the night before the cruise.
Good news: They'll let you board with a birth certificate, a police report, and maybe your Dad, who also happens to be listed on your birth certificate.
Bad news: Cruise ship calls to say they have no spare wheel chairs. No spare wheel chairs! Can you imagine that? They say, if there's any chance that the Ex's condition deteriorates mid-cruise, he better bring along his own wheelchair, because they don't have any to spare.

I swear to you: I actually HAD this conversation with the cruise line. And I could just IMAGINE the conversation I would've had with the EX: "Here, Dear. Please lug along this wheelchair, just in case your tumor-damaged vertebra crumbles while you're on the trip."

Good news: They had a great time on the cruise. The Ex didn't need a wheel chair, and no one had to drag him around by his arms.
Bad news: The Ex's cruise-buddy friend died at our house in his sleep just hours after they returned from the cruise.
Good news: Well, the friend would have said, "I got to go first! Nanner, nanner, nanner!"
Bad news: I was in Canada and unable get back in time to deal with a corpse in my room.
Good news: Coroner takes care of the body (exact cause of death still unknown, but will likely be ruled "natural causes") and son comes home for moral support and occasionally, comic relief.

We were just stunned -- as completely stunned as our friend is dead. And he didn't even HAVE cancer!

After I returned from my trip with two new house guests (Ex's relatives who rode with me from VA to FL), The Ex did his best to stay on a normal work schedule, despite dealing with a death on Monday and three days of chemo from Tuesday to Thursday.

He didn't seem to get as sick this time, and -- more good news! He STILL has his hair. Most of it, anyway.

For now, though, I think we're suffering the post-cruise (post-corpse, post-Canada, post-chemo, post-company) blues.

The Ex has lost his "umph" for today, and when he hurts, those little mind monsters begin to grow a little.

Tomorrow, he'll suffer the dreaded scanxiety (armed with Valium), but it might all be worth it if the results turn out to be good news, and ONLY good news, for a change.