Monday, February 19, 2007
Out from Under the Knife♠
I'm writing this sitting up in a big leather chair, in my bookshop, looking out the plate glass window at old gums and cattle pastures, logged onto blogger, typing directly into the create page on a wireless laptop; ah the wonder of modern technology.
The cut is long: from just left of my belly button across, back and up to just under my left armpit. It is now 19 days old, healing nicely but bloody painful whenever I walk for too long, sit up for too long, cough, sneeze, or laugh. Turning in my sleep wakes me every time.
* * *
Friday 13th March 2009
(that this is posted on Friday 13th is entirely ...)
The above though written at the time indicated, was for reasons unknown, never posted. Only now when I again feel the need to blog do I see that a couple years have slipped by unremarked. Again my kidney problem is the return prompt; function is down from 23% just after the op to 17% - a trigger point to start thinking about some sort of replacement therapy. There seems to be some sort of unconscious direction here. why do I only make the effort to blog when my kidney problem threatens to disrupt my lifestyle? I have no idea but have decide to go with the flow and, contrary to intention or expectation, chronicle of my journey through approaching renal failure.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Under the Knife
Death is such a waste of life.
My cutting is to remove a kidney that according to a bevy of specialist has a not-so-benign growth attached to it. They call it a tumour, a Renal Cell Carcinoma, RCC for sort; CANCER. It is oft said that Cancer is just a word, not a sentence; this I thought a fine pun until they applied the word to me.
I been told that RCC is not amenable to chemo or radiation therapies, the only treatment seems to be removal of the kidney before it metastasises (spreads beyond the kidney). Removal is supposed to be a complete and permanent cure. Notice how cleverly I couched the above - 'I've been told ...' , '...seems to be...', '...supposed to be..' Nothing is certain.
The real problem is this: no one can tell me at what point it metastasises. The last test I had, showed it hadn't. Left alone, some time in the future it probably will. So the sooner it comes out the better, however, it's possible it could metastasise in the period between the last test and when I go under the knife. What then?
Well that's just bad luck, or god's will, which ever you prefer. Not that I'm scared of the actual dying only of leaving an unfinished life.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Once more into the blog dear friends ...
Monday, May 22, 2004
well blogger me
The problem I continue to have with blogging is finding time to write anything at all let alone my blog. One might think finding time to write would be a prerequisite for a writer. Writer : 'one who writes'. But as John Lennon once sang 'life is what happens while you're busy making other plans'Why then, one might ask, did two years elapsed since setting up my first blog and posting to it? Good question. Answer: dead silence. I twice forgot not just my password but also my Blogger user name - One might be tempted to ask why bother? Another good question which does have an answer.
It has to do with why I write.
I have always had a lot to say about life, the universe and well you guessed it, everything and being somewhat into computers and the internet I thought: What better way to get it off my chest than to post it to the world. But on second thought: A better way would to put everything I wish to say into my novel - why waste the words? Oh my aching fingers he exclaims as the penny drops! I abandoned the blog to recast my pearls more profitably. But it didn't work did it. Except for doing your own thing on the net it is and has always been difficult to get published and unpublished is unread.
To be read is an essential part of why I write.
For a while, while I still attended the writers group I founded, I did have the satisfaction of being read. Even more so from the virtual group we set up - topics being unrestricted - but as oft happens the flame wars that erupted became bitter and twisted. This might be alright with people you don't know but when you next have to face someone who has gone into print about your ancestry it is sometimes difficult to remain objective in your comments on their latest story.
The virtual group banned all the interesting topics (sex, religion and politics) and in reality died. As it happened, at about the same time, 2004, I relocated and getting to the live group became too hard. The upshot is that once again I became unread and unread words are not worth the medium they're expressed in, hence my return to the blog in 2005.
But Barely two entries in, life happened - some more, and my blog dried up, became legend, legend became myth and the myth a joke.
'Blog. You have Blog, Where?'
'Out there'
'Out Where?'
'Out there ... somewhere.'
You know the story; mice and men. Well here I am at it again, only this time it's all in-house; Blogger for all its fine attributes is too hard and too restrictive. This time I get to scratch two of my favourite itches at once writing and web design.
"Bob's Blog" a.k.a. "Blob's Bog" n.k.a. "Eye of the Robot"ps Just after I wrote that last paragraph I went looking for these thoughts and found Blogger had changed. I have to say - it is much easier to use now, so I'm gunna give it another go starting with the two posts I had on the old Blogger, the above being the first.
Once more into the blog dear friends ...
Monday, May 22, 2004
well blogger me
The problem I continue to have with blogging is finding time to write anything at all let alone my blog. One might think finding time to write would be a prerequisite for a writer. Writer : 'one who writes'. But as John Lennon once sang 'life is what happens while you're busy making other plans'Why then, one might ask, did two years elapsed since setting up my first blog and posting to it? Good question. Answer: dead silence. I twice forgot not just my password but also my Blogger user name - One might be tempted to ask why bother? Another good question which does have an answer.
It has to do with why I write.
I have always had a lot to say about life, the universe and well you guessed it, everything and being somewhat into computers and the internet I thought: What better way to get it off my chest than to post it to the world. But on second thought: A better way would to put everything I wish to say into my novel - why waste the words? Oh my aching fingers he exclaims as the penny drops! I abandoned the blog to recast my pearls more profitably. But it didn't work did it. Except for doing your own thing on the net it is and has always been difficult to get published and unpublished is unread.
To be read is an essential part of why I write.
For a while, while I still attended the writers group I founded, I did have the satisfaction of being read. Even more so from the virtual group we set up - topics being unrestricted - but as oft happens the flame wars that erupted became bitter and twisted. This might be alright with people you don't know but when you next have to face someone who has gone into print about your ancestry it is sometimes difficult to remain objective in your comments on their latest story.
The virtual group banned all the interesting topics (sex, religion and politics) and in reality died. As it happened, at about the same time, 2004, I relocated and getting to the live group became too hard. The upshot is that once again I became unread and unread words are not worth the medium they're expressed in, hence my return to the blog in 2005.
But Barely two entries in, life happened - some more, and my blog dried up, became legend, legend became myth and the myth a joke.
'Out there'
'Out Where?'
'Out there ... somewhere.'
"Bob's Blog" a.k.a. "Blob's Bog" n.k.a. "Eye of the Robot"
ps Just after I wrote that last paragraph I went looking for these thoughts and found Blogger had changed. I have to say - it is much easier to use now, so I'm gunna give it another go starting with the two posts I had on the old Blogger, the above being the first.