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| Just started a painting - any ideas for a title? |
It's Friday morning and the odd thing that I find about Friday, actually not just Fridays, everyday seems like Saturday, since my energy level was suddenly dropped kicked right out of the stadium. Since some days can be quite painful and I've never been the sort of guy that takes pills because I haven't been feeling well for one reason or another, I discovered a wee toke or two of marijuana usually does the trick. I can't be certain if the weed actually zeros in on the pain center or if I just can't keep my mind on it but either away, the pain for the most part sometimes completely dissipates or is at least bearable. Now just because my hair is getting quite long doesn't mean that I'm a revived hippie pot-head - no - I actually received a doctor's prescription for marijuana a short while ago. Not that I wouldn't have used marijuana without the prescription but since it's legal for me, packing a joint in the vehicle shouldn't be a problem if for some reason we were pulled over, because the thing about pot is that it has it's own distinctive pungent aroma - hence the occasional comment, "Smells like skunk."
Since I've heard some rumours about my condition like, "He has a cancer tumor the size of an orange," I thought I'd put it all in the proper perspective for my friends and why it's so painful. During the past year, I'm not sure if the unusual episodes I experienced and wound up in the hospital via ambulance are cancer connected, but it's more than a little unnerving to find myself standing next to my wife and then saying just before I dropped to the ground with my eyes bugged out and flicking around like a fish out of water, "I have to say good-bye now because I'm going to that place you don't come back from." Or when I passed out with my head in the sink while brushing my teeth; luckily my head turned off the tap or I may have drowned or the time I came to and was blind for 15-20 minutes, which is pretty scary for an artist...well...for anyone really.
The size of my tumor is measured in small centimeters, not very large at all. It's where the tumor is located, which is the problem. The little bastard is situated in my rectum or as the doctors politely describe as the "back passage". Sounds rather secretive doesn't it, as if someone could sneak in through a concealed back door and steal the family jewels, which I highly don't recommend - ewwwwww - very smelly passage I would think! Fortunately, the cancer is non-life-threatening at the moment but because of its location, there isn't much room to cut it away and leave me with a functioning asshole. This means, the doctor is going to rearrange my guts, mainly my colon and then manufacture a second arsehole and attach a colostomy bag to it. (Perhaps I'll decorate it with hearts and peace symbols for our road trip across Canada in 2019,) The doctor and of course my wife Sarah and I are hoping the operation will be successful so that it can be reversible. If not, then the doctor will sew my rectum shut and I guess the only good thing about that is that no one will be able to call me an asshole anymore. As for the pain, the best way to describe it is that each time I have to take a crap, which is usually once a day, it's like I take a knife with me up to the toilet and then cut myself a new asshole in order to take a dump. So hey, if marijuana can get me through the day, I'll toke up or eat a brownie like I did yesterday, which incidentally gave a whole new meaning to the word "high". Trip be trippin' is what I was, but in a good way.
Just because I may be a little stoned and my energy level is at an all time low doesn't prevent me from doing things. I've gone back to renovating the upstairs landing, almost finished cutting and nailing up all the trim, which will then just leave me the floor to work on. Although I've bought all the flooring laminate material, I may have to hire someone to do that part of the job for me. I don't have a problem getting down on my hands and knees, it's the getting up that's the killer. And if I'm not cutting boards and nailing them in place, I'm downstairs working on a painting or writing, like writing this blog, which keeps my mind off my problems. My wife won't let me go out in my studio anymore and I can't say as I blame her because the last time I was working out there, I began shaking. Since it was dark and even though the distance from the studio to the house isn't that far, because I was shaking all over so bad, I almost didn't make it to the house. I'm sure she would have come looking for me but being in the dead of winter, she most likely would have found a frozen two-stick Popsicle lying face down in the snow.
I've been painting pretty pictures lately, perhaps to get my mind off the ugliness of my condition. Although some of these paintings depict skyscapes as I call them, I find them easier to paint than some of my realistically whimsical stuff. I mean, is someone going to say, "That cloud shouldn't be that high or it's not puffed out enough." No, that's why it's pretty hard to mess up on clouds, rocks, trees and such. However, that being said, I may have spoken out a little prematurely. because I've posted the beginning of my new work of art, which means painting some waves rolling in, crashing against the rocks and kissing the shore, which could prove challenging, at least I hope it does. Even at this old age and all my physical problems, I still look forward to a challenge and learning new things - keeps my mind active, which I think is important...peace and love...Trip
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