"$30,182.89"

i received the latest bill from the University Medical Center.

The total bill for chemotherapy is $30,182.89. My share came out to $80.

The bill includes a line charge for every day I was at the clinic.

the daily cost ranges from $75 (appointment with my oncologist) to $4,036 (CT Scan). Charges for the actual administration of the chemicals seem to range from $488.78 (as far as I can tell, that's for the bleo. injections) to $1,773.70.

Again, health care is expensive. I can't imagine what I'd do without it and I can't imagine what others do without it.

peach fuzz

On Sunday, after mass, Julie (who was in town for the weekend) and I went over to the old pueblo artisans square to listen to Francisco play his arpa. In between songs, he sat down with us. While we were talking he leaned in close to me, squinted his eyes a bit and ran his right hand just over my head. he smiled at the touch of the short, sharp bristles protruding from my baldness. he said he was glad to know my hair was coming back.

this morning I was surprised to notice the same. my facial hair is slowly coming in. above my lip, on my chin and around my cheeks. I noticed it after showering. I had to squint in the mirror. slight, light slivers of blackness. it's thin and a bit patchy, but it's there.

reminds me of being twelve or thirteen, when my moustache first came in. or the slight facial hair grandmas have. sorry, but it's an apt comparison.

dope.

I put on deodorant today (why this is important)

So I still smell a little bit like chemo. -- I'm not sure how to explain it yet, and of course, like this entire experience, it could all be in my head, but usually in the afternoon, I can catch the slight wiff of chemicals and saline on my body. i don't know why, so I won't try to explain, but I can still smell it.
anyway, I decided maybe it's just normal perspiration. so I will conduct an experiment today and wear deodorant.
this is significant because I haven't worn deodorant in about two months.
During chemo., there were two ways that I realized i was losing my hair. The first was all the hair in the bathtub after I'd shower. The other was one morning when I went to put on deodorant and a bunch of hair came back with the sure bar. i thought this was a fluke the first time. but it happened for the next couple days. the sight of all that hair on the bar bothered me. so I stopped using deodorant. Damn the smell, but the sight of losing all that hair at once bothered me.
back to my experiment -- I swiped my underarm with the bar a few moments ago. no hair came back with it. cool.

Forty Going on Sixty-three

Background: When I started to work with my therapist, I think it was in 1997, I was fifty-two years old. However, I kept feeling that I had all the time in the world because I was only forty. This age discrepancy was never discussed because I thought that I WAS FORTY OR AT LEAST I FELT LIKE I WAS. So if I believed and knew I was forty, so did my therapist. I saw my therapist as being about twenty years older than I was. The belief that time was an endless commodity kept me locked in this time warp until...

The years have past, but I stood still.
I thought my therapist was over the hill.
She taught me things that parents do
She challenged my beliefs and my emotional chaos.

I felt so great being twenty years younger than she
I knew that I had so much to do and she was wiser, older than me.
To be at peace at forty years old - so that I could mature
And be wise and peaceful at her older age.

The miracle of age and youth are easy to find and confuse
It's time in the present, time left behind, there is no time to lose.
A combination of memories now and then
Have made into me who I am right now

I have been with her for over eleven years
We have shared laughter and lots of tears
She has shared my pain and helped me to move on
I know myself better and can now trust my emotions.

Then one day it happened to me - unplanned and unprepared.
I walk into her office and this time I felt scared
I sat in a chair and looked at her deeply
She looked at me and waited for me to speak.

I had discovered a fact that would surprise her and me
I was not forty years old but rather sixty-three
How did this happen I do not know- where did all those years go?
But somewhere in therapy, I had matured and grown .

With her love and guidance and supporting ways
My endless nights had turned into days
I let go of my childhood traumas
And evolved into a mature woman with a better emotional self.

I spent those years thinking I was younger
Because my life had been filled with life's thunder
But now I feel safe to be my age.
And look who is my companion - but this mature sage!

Thank you, dear therapist and life coach of mine
The time we work together has been challenging and sublime
My time-line is adjusted and I am moving on
And I am blessed with you at my side. God Bless you! AMF

the Spots II

And the answer is: The Sex Pistols on Tour Secretly.
In August of 1977, the pistols went under the pseudonym the SPOTS for a secret tour of the UK because their fans, shows and reputation lead to repeated cancellation of tour dates.
but the doc gets good marks for his attempt with the Ink Spots.

the Spots

I noticed the other day my knuckles looked different. it took me a minute to realize that the spots that had formed over each joint, I presume because of lowered blood platelets, had disappeared. As have some of the bruises on the inside of my wrist and the dark spots that used to cover my elbows.
like I said, a little better everyday.
and for tonight's trivia, in rock n' roll lore, who were the Spots? (answer to follow at some point).

one day at a time

I've been invited to a wedding reception with a free, full-bar that's only five minutes, by bike, from my apartment. Instead, at just a few minutes past 9 p.m. on Saturday night, I'm fresh out of the shower, exhausted and waiting for the kettle to whistle and tell me it's time for my herbal tea.

how's that for a change of pace from the pre-cancer jorge.

As much as I hoped to go to the reception, I just don't have the energy. Such is post-chemo. recovery. A couple nights this week I've come home dead exhausted, able to do little more than heat up the batch of black bean soup i cooked last weekend (precisely for this purpose), plop down on the couch, flip the channels and crawl into bed within an hour.

I've been absent from this blog pretty much for this reason. And don't confuse my absence for a lack of activity. This week was a long one: I spoke to a masters level education class about the relationship between educators and the press, attended a meeting on the latest company changes to my health care (left my head spinning), filed two and a half-stories, had my first acupuncture session and today I attended a catholic wedding that mixed Mexican and Yaqui tradition.

I practice jarana when I've the energy, but that doesn't amount to more than a few times this week. but I'm getting there.

everyday it's a little better, a little less tired, but damn if, nonetheless, I'm still exhausted.

On Friday, my friend Will Seberger called me. He asked me to put the word out about a collection of blankets and warm clothes for the Tucson homeless. He also asked about how I was doing and reminded me, based on his mother's experience with cancer, that everyday is a little easier and one day you wake up and you don't even realize but you're able to do the things you used to.

one day at a time, as the old saying goes.