the 48th week

Damien Jurado in Nashville

Monday. I opened this morning with Emily, and it was an awfully slow day. Tiffany's in Florida for a week with her family, and I'm pretty jealous. I got home around 3:00 and took Ams to Brogan Oil to get her stallin' car worked on. We hung out for a while in her room, and then I ran to Kroger to get some laxatives: the Keflex tore up my bowels something awful. It's a common side effect, and I'm just glad I'm not shitting blood: that's what what Keflex does to the most unfortunate. John, Brandy, and C. Isaac came over for a hot minute, and the hookah was lit and smoke bubbles were blown, but I had an anxiety attack and ditched the party early, driving all around Cincinnati trying to calm down about all these health issues.

Tuesday. I went to The Anchor to do some nerve-wracked writing before work, pouring out my heart regarding these health mysteries. It's scary, it really is, and my mind keeps spinning webs of paranoia. I feel trapped in my own head, raped by my own mind, and I hope and pray this doesn't turn me into some anxiety-ridden wretch incapable of enjoying the simplest joys in life. I closed shop with Amos, and as soon as we got home the paranoia struck again. I went on several drives, not just one, up Route 50 and through Eden Park and back again, fighting off the panic as best as possible. The drive didn't help much, and I chugged NyQuil to pass out when I got home.

Wednesday. I woke early to go into work, helped Brandon and Emily deliver a few catering orders. I went home, drank an Italian cappuccino, and took a short nap before going back to work to close with Brandon. After work I booked it to Dayton, got to see Katie and Mariah at the house for Mom's High School Girls Bible Study. I hadn't seen them in so long, in about a year or two, it was good to see them. I went to see Joe and he attributed my bowel problems to Keflex, said to avoid the stimulant laxatives as much as possible, to be patient: "Your bowels could be messed up for weeks or months, unfortunately, but it doesn't present any serious problems." Most of my other symptoms were, again, and not surprisingly, attributed to stress, not least losing a solid six pounds in a week. I weighed in at 125#, my lowest since sixth grade. The culprit, Joe said, was probably the stress. "You need to gain about fifteen pounds. Eat a steak or two." Challenge accepted. Back at the house I took my shirt off and Mom gasped: "You look like a Holocaust victim!" And as for the nodes? They haven't gone down any, but they haven't grown, either. Joe thinks it's either an infection or nothing, and definitely not lymphoma. "Usually the nodes are cushioned in fat and you can't feel them," he said. "You're so skinny now, there's hardly any fat down there so they may just be able to be felt now." He attributes the strange and occasional burning sensations around the area to tenderness: "That area can get really tender, and since you're so skinny, there's not a whole lot of cushioning for them." It may very well be the case that there's absolutely nothing wrong with my lymph nodes, and if that's the case I'll feel both relieved and like a fool. The next step is blood and urine testing, and we'll take it from there. "Stop stressing out," he ordered. "And eat. Both you and your dad are waaay too skinny." I returned home in better spirits, hung out with Ams and Amos for a while, and went to bed.

Thursday. Work. Was. HELL. We were busier than we've ever been, and both Bob and C. Isaac from Carew jumped in for a solid two hours to help our skeleton crew make it through alive. I missed most of the rush because I was delivering catering orders all around Cincinnati in the Tazz Mobile. After work I chilled out at home, and then got anxious. I spent the evening fighting anxiety in northern Kentucky, and I felt a bit better seeing the new Tim Burton movie "Dark Shadows", though I wasn't a fan. I chugged NyQuil again and passed out.

Friday. I worked 6-11 AM, a princess shift, and then Blake, Andy and I hit the road: off to Nashville! When we rolled into the city we perused Grimey's Record Shop. I've been thinking about getting my own scratch-disk. Blake and Andy both have one, and I love listening to records on 'em. Blake's sister Leah Shannon met up with us and took us to her favorite bar for dinner and drinks. She drove us around downtown, pointing out all the highlights, and Andy had to fight the urge to do velociraptor shrieks out the window. I love that guy. Blake's friend Melissa joined us for a while, and at 9:00 Leah Shannon dropped us off at The Basement, a venue beneath Grimey's. We saw Kate Tucker and J.B.M. followed by the main gig, Damien Jurado. He played through Maraqopa, and he rocked it out. Most of Jurado's stuff is less rocky, and it was good to see him going crazy on stage. It was a phenomenal show, and I even ran into Dylan and Tyler's sister Sarah at the show. I slept curled up in Blake's backseat the whole way home.

Saturday. I woke at 7:30 and booked it up to Dayton to get blood-work and a urinalysis. I nursed my wound with McDonald's for breakfast while watching "King of the Hill" at Mom and Dad's. I played with Sky for a bit, did some writing, ran by the bank and went by Spring Valley Starbucks before heading back home. Carly was working, and she shrieked and ran to the door when she saw me pull up. We shared a big hug and she made me an iced caramel macchiato, and we talked about reuniting with Jessica for drinks and games at Cars' apartment in Northside. I hope it happens. "You're soooo skinny!" she exclaimed, and I told her how I have to gain fifteen pounds. I spent my Saturday afternoon drinking around the house. Tim Jeter from the old C.C.U. days came by to see Andy and Amos. Blake and Amos ordered Papa John's and I got Taco Bell, and they messed up my order as usual. Anxiety struck and I chugged NyQuil to fall asleep but it didn't help; so I decided to head up to Mom and Dad's, knowing being around them would make me feel better. Being around them just sucks the anxiety away, and when Sky crawled into my lap with her tail wagging and whimpering in joy, I physically felt better. Love is potent.

Sunday. I slept like a baby in my old bed, woke for a few hours, was gonna go to Southwest Church with Mom and Dad but ended up falling back asleep for a couple hours, the NyQuil making me groggy. I anxiously awaited my test results and drove down to Cincinnati. I got lunch at Dusmesh with Andy & Amos, and then I went back to Dayton to see Tyler. We watched a B.B.C. nature documentary that was absolutely amazing, and we got McFlurries and watched the new Sherlock Holmes movie. It was good seeing him again. My blood-work and urinalysis came back, and I couldn't make sense of any of it. Joe called me to fill me in on what it said: "Your test results weren't good. They were phenomenal." My blood's as healthy as it could be. He said, "Your cholesterol is amazing. It's a third of your dad's, and he's an Iron Man." I've got a bill of clean health in that regard, and regarding the lymph nodes: "Let's wait and see if they grow, and let's see what happens when you gain fifteen pounds." He theorizes that since I've dropped so much weight, the fat cushioning the nodes has become virtually nil, resulting in a general tenderness in the area and the ability to feel them. He thinks much of my "pains" in the region may be solved by simply gaining weight and cushioning the nodes again. I've fought for the last three years to lose weight; now I've got to fight to gain some of it back. Oh, the twists & turns of life. "Don't keep checking yourself, just relax and eat and have fun," he said. "Eat a couple good steaks and put on weight. And try to get your dad to do the same." Joe's one of the best doctors I know, and he's never steered me wrong in the past. I'm placing my confidence in him and his assessment, and we'll readdress the issue in a few weeks if it needs to be readdressed. Till then, I'm hoping there's no mentioning of nodes on this blog whatsoever.