As usual, I have awakened in the middle of the night so that I can think and enjoy some useless worrying. This is mostly an exercise in frustration, but I occassionally have a worthy thought that I no longer remember when I get up in the morning. Today I experienced the indignity of my simulation (Radiation - a Journey).
When I first learned that I had prostate cancer I thought, "What an inelegant way to die." I am by nature and training a fighter. Never give up. If an engine quits, fly the airplane to a successful outcome. Always fly the airplane no matter what is happening. As one wag said, "Fly it till the last piece stops moving." But in that there is purpose and dignity and . . and something. I don't know. Purity of intent and purpose and idealism and satisfaction for a job well done and - ego permitting, a bit of glory. "No guts, no glory."
In prostate cancer there is submitting to people sticking things into orifices of your body that aren't made to have things stuck in them. It's humiliating and uncomfortable and sometimes painful. You lie there and submit. And then there is impotence.
I am certain that the young ladies who are participating in my treatment would find the thought of a guy my age being a sexual creature somewhat disgusting. My wife and I have decided that what will be will be. Life will go on. Nothing lasts forever. And yet . . we do live and feel and desire. And then we submit.
When I first learned of my cancer, I gave serious thought to saying the hell with it. I'd rather be dead than put up with all this indignity and misery and simply being the object of someone helping me by sticking things in my butt and penis. Ain't no glory in any of this. Then there is my grandson who is sweet and wonderful and who I would like to know for many years.
One way I handle all of this humiliation is the realization that to them I'm just another old guy. Well, I'm an old guy to me, too. But not just another. I'm the only one I have. Without this old guy's mind and body I am not. I do not exist. "To be, or not to be. That is the question. Whether 'tis better to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . . " Or something to that effect. Prostate cancer is outrageous fortune. Many have it much worse. Children with cancer - it is heartbreaking. A man my age with cancer is not a tragedy, but it's no fun either.
I guess what upsets me the most is that there is so little that I can do about it. I eat right and exercise and all that, but it doesn't amount to much. I can't get my gun and shoot it. I can't beat it into bloody submission with my fists. I can't have greater will and intensity and kill it by being stronger and harder. Instead, I take my pants off and let others stick things in my butt and penis and mark me with tattoo's. And then there is my grandson, who smiles every day when he sees me. A great big smile with big, bright blue eyes. The same color as mine.
Now comes the big question. Do I delete, or post?