May 27, 2009
On this 13th day of post-treatment, I have felt nearly as well as I did “in the olden days” before the cancer came. I determined to limit my contacts, and I have been staying away from all places where groups of people gather. I have not gone to church, shopping, movies, or restaurants. I’d like to add large lovely parties, but there were no invitations to such events, so I can’t say that I had to deny myself the experience. We have had a good number of friends come over to share suppers here, and this has been a happy two weeks.
The oncologist decided to forego checking the status of the blood cells each week, saying that one tended to “obsess” over the readings, and feel more anxious about the lack of white and/or red. Instead, I will have the CBC once monthly. If I begin to feel exhausted walking up the stairs, or sick in other ways, I will meet with my GP at the Clinic here in Seward. At first, this seemed startling after all the months of weekly readings and medical reactions, but returning to just plain living has been splendid. It has led me to consider the nature of miracles. I believe I am living one, and even if it doesn’t go on into the future indefinitely, it remains a miracle.
On an evening last week, we invited our neighbors over for a supper together before they left for their summer residence in Montana. The menu featured filet mignon, and the entrée was built around this delicacy. I had marinated the four filets for a bit, and Charles had gotten the grill ready. The table was set and the house looked nice with many bouquets of orchids, lilacs, and spirea – all was in readiness, with the meat on a plate far back on the kitchen counter. When our friends arrived, we all went into the living room for a moment to look out over Sanctuary, and it was then that our previously dear Alphie suffered a lapse into moral turpitude, because in about thirty seconds of time, he hefted his great self up and neatly removed all four of the filets without disturbing any other thing. I came back into the kitchen, looked at the empty plate and said to Charles, “Did you take the meat out to the grill?” and he said, “No, did you put it into the refrigerator?” Since neither of those actions had taken place, we both turned our eyes upon Alphie, who was lying on the kitchen floor, one eye shut, and one eye just a bit open and watching us. He was soundly scolded, but the deed was done. Fortunately, our friends love Alphie also, and have had labs of their own, so we heard stories of other outrageous thefts and behavioral lapses while I reconstructed the supper. I have noticed that since that evening, when we have guests, Alphie slips into the kitchen, nose up and sniffing for more lovely things to eat. For now, we have learned caution and he finds nothing of interest, but sadly, he is a changed creature. Charles says he thinks that until that feasting moment, Alphie didn’t realize just how much better human food tastes than dog food, and from now on, we will have to be on our guard against “Alphie the Snitch” where before we had “Alphie the Good”. Alas.