Five Dollar Fine for Whining...

That's a Chris LeDoux lyric, and he faced his own medical challenges that ended his life. So I shouldn't whine. But I'm sick of this stuff, and if I said anything else I'd be hiding from the dear friends who take the time to read my thoughts. Physically, session six began really well and feels fine. Mentally, the road seems long and winding from here--August seems farther away than four months.

My taste buds didn't really recover from session five. I got the taste of a little Asian food, some lemon drink during the week, and delightful curry that Judy added to some artichoke dip last night. Otherwise, everything ran together. I guess the answer is that I've lost my sense of smell...and get the basic taste groups of sweet, sour, bitter and salty. Anything else may as well be white rice with a topping of bad gravy.

I love the the nice conversations that take place when people call, so thanks for that. I'll try not to whine when it happens, but please understand that I'm plain sick of all this. Scheduling, planning, thinking about this stinking cord I'm attached to, making sure I don't catch it in the shower door...or the car door, or drop it on the floor and yank it out of my chest. Making people wait for work appointments because I don't want to bore new acquaintances with my infusion schedule. I continue to remember that many others are worse off than I, and that their challenges seem nearly insurmountable compared to mine.

If there is any good news, I'm crushing the golf ball right now. Judy and I played with friends last week, and it was odd to hit 12 fairways at 260-275 yards and NOT use my drive. Youngsters can really exploit new technology, and 35 is still young enough to make that happen. Steve Glover recommended some new irons. They are actually harder to miss than to hit well, apparently things have improved since I got my last irons 19 years ago. Imagine that.

I'll do better at recapturing all my blessings another time. For now...here's my Five Bucks...