saw the surgeon the other day. fun, likeable guy. Dr. Kim.
i own copies of some X-rays (not as good as the previous ones i had done) and a few of the MRIs. it’s a very vindicating feeling, to have these things. to be able to show them and say, “see? it’s NOT psychosomatic, and it HASN’T been. so fuck off.” curiously, i can’t think of anyone who i honestly feel hasn’t believed me about it. but i bet they’ve been out there.
the date is May 20. i had the chance to pick 5/13 (a friday), but had to turn it down, since i’m supposed to be the best man at my dad’s wedding. there is a small chance that, if the tumor is malignant, amputation may result. a very small chance, as i see it. i’m definitely not counting on it. but if it happens, then goodbye.
every thought i have had in the last few days has been about this upcoming Date with Destiny. it’s completely unreal, and yet scarier than a sonofabitch. i will finally be (more or less) whole again. i will get a very large part of my life back. it’s amazing the loss i’ve had, not just with the guitarness, but the sheer amount of pain… the things that exacerbate or set off a bout of agony have been so seemingly limitless. the things i will be able to do again will be nearly boundless.
boundless. that’s a word i like, just now.
and yet i will, in a very surreal, absurd way, sort of miss it. the constant vigilance against pain will be tough to shake off. if there’s one thing that has been a constant thing in my life, it’s been the dreadful physical suffering i’ve always been able to look forward to.
and debilitating pain can be a hella excuse when you don’t want to do something anyway. i’ve lied about things to get out of doing them, but when my finger goes off, then i sometimes actually have to lie in the opposite direction, just to make it believable.
sometimes, it would be a tremendous release to, say, get sucked through a jet engine in comparison.
if there’s anything in this world that makes me feel almost superior to others, it’s that. i have withstood pain that has on many extremely dire occasions had me contemplating incredibly dreadful and irreversible acts, for the sake of relief. the only reason i haven’t cut the fucker off myself is that i just know that with my dumb luck, i’d have phantom pain. that would suck even worse.
and now that it will be gone from me forever (more or less), who will i be? i will lose a large, if synthetic, part of my identity. the jeremy of the past 15 years will be no more. i could be free to be anybody, but it will have to be somebody else from now on.
the other thing is this: it’s all just too god damned good to be true. something really hilarious and tragic is about to happen. i can just barely feel it brimming over the surface, like a boiling lake of fire. disaster is my companion. (some say he is my sister; others tell that she is my son.)
Lisa and i made up. though i’m not sure where it’s actually going, because she’s moody and i’m thoughtless and incapable of so much as imitating a proper boyfriend. we’re looking for apartments or houses, with the idea that we’ll either move into a far bigger space, or physically separate.
today i will:
- clean out car & take it to get it fixed (finally! i’ve been driving my grandpa’s Alero for several months now).
- see Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. with towel.
- worry about the surgery.
- see aforementioned grandpa, who took some walker-assisted steps the other day, and is even taking a few bites of solid food here and there!
- listen to The Cocker Spaniels’ rockingly wunnerful Withstand the Whatnot at extreme decibel levels all day long.
