I was just walking home, watching the moon rise over the hump of McClaren Park's summit as I waited to cross a busy street. In the distance, the eastern most shoulder of San Bruno Mountain glowed the tawny beige of mourning doves, deep blue gray shadows, creamy yellow highlights, purple and pink irridescence. The gray fingers of fog spreading east but neither advancing or withdrawing over what remained of the bird egg blue sky. The nearer buildings of the city glowing white in what sun still shown across the fog, lighting the rising moon white as well.
Ive been asked if I know what caused the cancer: was it toxic fumes from painting, genetics, a badly timed broken heart? I don't really know, and don't really care. It's there and that is what I have to deal with.
So tomorrow is my third chemotherapy treatment, this would be three of eight. After the last treatment in November I begin radiation therapy... and then? Hopefully it's over.
I've been lucky so far. The side effects have been pretty mild: nausea, more easily tired, perhaps a bit light headed at times. I still have hair... and it's pretty hard to put a dent in my appetite! Thats pretty good when you get a quart of DNA destroying, mitosis disrupting poison pumped in your veins every two weeks.
Well, I'm not even half way yet...