Day 22 - A Long Journey
My site name almost got changed to "70 days of chemotherapy" today. That would of been horrible, and not only because the number 63 is slightly more interesting than the stoic combination of seven and zero.
"Your white counts are down... I didn't expect that. We'll have to postpone treatment. A week."
I sat cringing in the doctors examination room trying to put a finger to what I had done wrong.
Could staying up all night diminish the ability of your white counts to rebound? Could stressing over women do the same? Damn't, I knew I should have handled that differently.
"Just a moment, I'm going to talk to someone to get advice on this. I'm half thinking of going along with treatment. One second."
I sat there, slight subdued from the small hint of hope I'd just been given. I began imagining what his voice will sound like if he came back and told me I really do have to wait a week.
Straightforward and confident, peaking at the beginning and stretching out matter-of-factly. "Yup, I figured. We're going to have to wait a week."
Okay okay. Don't get any ideas yet. You don't know what he's going to say. And he knows what he's doing. If I truely shouldn't be getting treatment, then I shouldn't WANT to get treatment. He knows whats best for me. I don't want to jeopardize my health here.
I looked around the office to keep distracted. A couple of stock art paintings were set up on the wall, a poor attempt to create the illusion of a personal environment, rather than a generic work space. Of course it was a facade. No one would select these bland and talentless artists to liven up their home. They probably bought a bunch of discount paintings in bulk and randomly tacked it up around the hospital.
The sink had two strange pedals under it that somehow allowed hand-less use of the sink. There were dozens of rolls of paper underneith the examination bed, in two different brands. I wondered if patients could tell the difference. I wondered if they complained when they got the poorer brand.
"Okay, so we can go ahead. We want to keep within that 99% cure rate."
I sigh, relieved. "Yeah sounds good to me."
I guess I'm going to have to pay a bit more attention to my physical health, and my psychological health.
Got my self stranded 45 minutes away from the city last night. It began innocently enough. My friend Mack gave me a call and told me about this party he knew about, with a lotta cool people and a lotta girls. I told him I'd have to call him back.
In terms of being active, I had not been on a good streak. Last week I had just got a new laptop, which I allegedly got so I could make more music, but also got the game adventure game "The Longest Journey" from a relative, and that required a lot of free time. Actually I can't think of any better excuse for my inactivity other than chemo, as I pointed out in an earlier post.
Anyways, as I was mulling over this, Mack had called me, and now I was faced with an immediate choice to make. Do I, stay in and do nothing? Or do I go out on an unplanned, unrehearsed, adventure to a place I've never been with no sure way of getting back? Yeah, it was a pretty easy decision.
Turns out, after all my weekends of bar and club hopping I'm still not completely comfortable at random house parties. I prefer the darkness of the bar, the anonymity. The constant rotating of key characters. I had a really hard time psyching myself up. There were about 70 people in the house, with a very good ratio of guys to girls. I started up a few conversations that might have led somewhere, but I let them trail off. I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't on my game. I felt a bit trapped, honestly. Like I was surrounded by people who were either ignoring me or telling me "no." We had arrived at 11 oclock, and I knew I could catch the train at 12:30 if I left with a friend I had run into at the party. However, he had mysteriously disappeared. It was not going to be easy to get home tonight.
[Thud] "Oh my god, are you okay?"
A very drunk girl takes a dive into the hard wood floor, somehow landing head first. She doesn't feel a thing, and immediately rises to her feet. She stumbles into a girl with a drink, and grabs her arm for balance. The drink plops to the floor, releasing its contents across the floor with much bravado. Everyone has noticed the spectacle, especially the blond girl who lives here.
"Get the FUCK out of my house!!" Whoa. That was a little unnecessary.
A dozen more people leave. Their absence has left an air of hostility. Suddenly, a big white guy comes from the kitchen and tells me to turn down the music. I comply, fully.
He begins a speech which at first seems to be intended to getting the party rolling again, but ends of turning into a rant about how people made a mess in the kitchen too, and FUCK I HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO CLEAN THAT UP. EVERYONE JUST BE FUCKING COOL.
Jesus. Between the blond snob and this prick we could set up a reality television show that would be canceled in its first season.
More nervous people edge to the door.
The cops come.
Again the blond girl takes command.
"TURN THE MUSIC OFF EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!"
People begin talking to each other. All of them are bored of this quickly down-spiraling mess of a party.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!" Blond girl is easily the loudest person in the room.
A guy nicknamed Harry Potter fucks with the volume.
"TURN THE MUSIC OFFF!!!!"
We sit in silence for 10 minutes, looking at each other with faces that say, "when the fuck are we going to get out of here?"
House parties are hit or miss. We pile into a car and drive to the next one. No, literally, we pile into a car. It's a two door sports car, and we managed to fit at least 7 people in the back. I'm sitting across the knees of two guys I don't even know. Its a good way to make friends.
Everyone is talking in Spanish and Portuguese and I'm the only white boy there, which is cool with me. I rather like the role of the minority.
The Latino guy in the seat in front of me, turns to me, joking around, and says "White people, can not party like we do."
I hesitate for a moment.
"Well we gotta get up in the morning. We have jobs."
He laughs. "Good one."
We get to the party which instantly becomes a Latin dance floor, which gives me a considerable disadvantage. Even if I had felt like dancing, I'd have a lot of serious competition on my hands. So I chill on acouch, nurse a beer and look for an exit.
It's 3 am, with no exit in sight.
Now it's 3:30, and me and Mack are standing out in front of the house trying to flag down a taxi. Problem is, there are no taxi's.
I've called up a few cab services, one guy laughed at me and gave me an outrageous estimate.
Suddenly a couple realizations hit me. We have no car. The trains are closed. A cab ride is 75 dollars. We are trapped in the middle of no where. We don't even know where we are. And I can't crash here; I'm not the least bit tired.
3:45: we manage to convince a friend of a friend to give us a ride back to where he lives in the city. Mack and I take a cab back to our apartments.
It is 5:03 am. I have made it home finally.
I think thats worth a slight reduction in white blood cells.
"Your white counts are down... I didn't expect that. We'll have to postpone treatment. A week."
I sat cringing in the doctors examination room trying to put a finger to what I had done wrong.
Could staying up all night diminish the ability of your white counts to rebound? Could stressing over women do the same? Damn't, I knew I should have handled that differently.
"Just a moment, I'm going to talk to someone to get advice on this. I'm half thinking of going along with treatment. One second."
I sat there, slight subdued from the small hint of hope I'd just been given. I began imagining what his voice will sound like if he came back and told me I really do have to wait a week.
Straightforward and confident, peaking at the beginning and stretching out matter-of-factly. "Yup, I figured. We're going to have to wait a week."
Okay okay. Don't get any ideas yet. You don't know what he's going to say. And he knows what he's doing. If I truely shouldn't be getting treatment, then I shouldn't WANT to get treatment. He knows whats best for me. I don't want to jeopardize my health here.
I looked around the office to keep distracted. A couple of stock art paintings were set up on the wall, a poor attempt to create the illusion of a personal environment, rather than a generic work space. Of course it was a facade. No one would select these bland and talentless artists to liven up their home. They probably bought a bunch of discount paintings in bulk and randomly tacked it up around the hospital.
The sink had two strange pedals under it that somehow allowed hand-less use of the sink. There were dozens of rolls of paper underneith the examination bed, in two different brands. I wondered if patients could tell the difference. I wondered if they complained when they got the poorer brand.
"Okay, so we can go ahead. We want to keep within that 99% cure rate."
I sigh, relieved. "Yeah sounds good to me."
I guess I'm going to have to pay a bit more attention to my physical health, and my psychological health.
Got my self stranded 45 minutes away from the city last night. It began innocently enough. My friend Mack gave me a call and told me about this party he knew about, with a lotta cool people and a lotta girls. I told him I'd have to call him back.
In terms of being active, I had not been on a good streak. Last week I had just got a new laptop, which I allegedly got so I could make more music, but also got the game adventure game "The Longest Journey" from a relative, and that required a lot of free time. Actually I can't think of any better excuse for my inactivity other than chemo, as I pointed out in an earlier post.
Anyways, as I was mulling over this, Mack had called me, and now I was faced with an immediate choice to make. Do I, stay in and do nothing? Or do I go out on an unplanned, unrehearsed, adventure to a place I've never been with no sure way of getting back? Yeah, it was a pretty easy decision.
Turns out, after all my weekends of bar and club hopping I'm still not completely comfortable at random house parties. I prefer the darkness of the bar, the anonymity. The constant rotating of key characters. I had a really hard time psyching myself up. There were about 70 people in the house, with a very good ratio of guys to girls. I started up a few conversations that might have led somewhere, but I let them trail off. I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't on my game. I felt a bit trapped, honestly. Like I was surrounded by people who were either ignoring me or telling me "no." We had arrived at 11 oclock, and I knew I could catch the train at 12:30 if I left with a friend I had run into at the party. However, he had mysteriously disappeared. It was not going to be easy to get home tonight.
[Thud] "Oh my god, are you okay?"
A very drunk girl takes a dive into the hard wood floor, somehow landing head first. She doesn't feel a thing, and immediately rises to her feet. She stumbles into a girl with a drink, and grabs her arm for balance. The drink plops to the floor, releasing its contents across the floor with much bravado. Everyone has noticed the spectacle, especially the blond girl who lives here.
"Get the FUCK out of my house!!" Whoa. That was a little unnecessary.
A dozen more people leave. Their absence has left an air of hostility. Suddenly, a big white guy comes from the kitchen and tells me to turn down the music. I comply, fully.
He begins a speech which at first seems to be intended to getting the party rolling again, but ends of turning into a rant about how people made a mess in the kitchen too, and FUCK I HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO CLEAN THAT UP. EVERYONE JUST BE FUCKING COOL.
Jesus. Between the blond snob and this prick we could set up a reality television show that would be canceled in its first season.
More nervous people edge to the door.
The cops come.
Again the blond girl takes command.
"TURN THE MUSIC OFF EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!"
People begin talking to each other. All of them are bored of this quickly down-spiraling mess of a party.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!" Blond girl is easily the loudest person in the room.
A guy nicknamed Harry Potter fucks with the volume.
"TURN THE MUSIC OFFF!!!!"
We sit in silence for 10 minutes, looking at each other with faces that say, "when the fuck are we going to get out of here?"
House parties are hit or miss. We pile into a car and drive to the next one. No, literally, we pile into a car. It's a two door sports car, and we managed to fit at least 7 people in the back. I'm sitting across the knees of two guys I don't even know. Its a good way to make friends.
Everyone is talking in Spanish and Portuguese and I'm the only white boy there, which is cool with me. I rather like the role of the minority.
The Latino guy in the seat in front of me, turns to me, joking around, and says "White people, can not party like we do."
I hesitate for a moment.
"Well we gotta get up in the morning. We have jobs."
He laughs. "Good one."
We get to the party which instantly becomes a Latin dance floor, which gives me a considerable disadvantage. Even if I had felt like dancing, I'd have a lot of serious competition on my hands. So I chill on acouch, nurse a beer and look for an exit.
It's 3 am, with no exit in sight.
Now it's 3:30, and me and Mack are standing out in front of the house trying to flag down a taxi. Problem is, there are no taxi's.
I've called up a few cab services, one guy laughed at me and gave me an outrageous estimate.
Suddenly a couple realizations hit me. We have no car. The trains are closed. A cab ride is 75 dollars. We are trapped in the middle of no where. We don't even know where we are. And I can't crash here; I'm not the least bit tired.
3:45: we manage to convince a friend of a friend to give us a ride back to where he lives in the city. Mack and I take a cab back to our apartments.
It is 5:03 am. I have made it home finally.
I think thats worth a slight reduction in white blood cells.
posted by sleepwithoutdreams at 10:12 PM
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