I am writing this piece having finally managed to tear myself away from the television after watching almost 90 minutes of the Adam Sandler vehicle “You Don’t Mess With The Zohan.” If that is not evidence enough that 46 weeks of treatment have eroded my mental capacities, let me add this nugget: I had to get up, go downstairs, turn the television on and check the listings to remember the name of the movie. Having walked away from the TV not 3 minutes earlier, I could only remember that the movie had the word Zohan in the title but could not recall the complete title.
In the past 6 months of treatment, my critical capacities have deteriorated to the point that I have descended from watching “Celebrity Rehab” through “Jersey Shore” and “Basketball Wives” and now am watching, and more embarrassingly being entertained by, Adam Sandler movies. I have 26 weeks to go in my Hep C chemo regimen, what will I be watching by next June, “Jackass 7, Stupid Geezers in 3D”?
The sad part is that I cannot help myself and neither it seems, can other Hep C chemo veterans. Almost everyone I have talked to about their treatment has admitted that the same thing happened to them. The lucky ones were finally so tired and concentrationally challenged they could not even muster the energy to pay attention to television and just sat staring into space. I suspect that would be preferable to Rob Schneider, Johnny Knoxville, Dane Cook or whatever else might be passing in front of my eyeballs by the end of this.
It is disconcerting to think that this result has a tiny chance of remaining permanent. While I might end up being perfectly happy as a drooling idiot for the rest of my life, I suspect my wife would find that less charming.
But, looking on the bright side, when I finally stop the interferon I can document in painful detail the increase in brain function, the gradual increase in my boredom threshold and the return of my memory. Given that I’ll be approaching 60 by the time I fully recover from all this, I wonder how I will be able to tell if my memory is back or not…
I admit that all of this is anecdotal evidence from a small set of treatment-experienced individuals and does not attain the level of statistical validity, but it is nonetheless disturbing. I’m not sure what would happen if I started to bug my wife to come with me to the latest Adam Sandler classic on opening night.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Trophy Geezer
I was deep in the throes of TV inertia. Anyone who has gone through Hep C treatment or chemotherapy knows the drill. You are home from work, or have done some work around the house or have just managed to drag yourself through the day and you are tired and you couldn’t concentrate on anything to save your life. You flop (or gracefully settle) down onto the sofa, grab the remote and turn on television, the great savior of the addled, befuddled and fatigued.
Luckily, the brave new world of cable (or satellite or internet) television gives one an almost infinite set of choices of worthless time wasters to choose from. Celebrity Rehab: B, C, D and E list “celebrities” try to get off drugs and use the show to rebuild their careers at the same time; Holmes on Homes: Canadian contractor makes you feel that any work that was ever done on your home was probably both substandard and outright dangerous; Whale Wars: Sea Shepherd staff and volunteers demonstrate a belief that their self-righteous conviction to the cause of saving whales means they do not have to practice or prepare in anyway for their maneuvers until they are in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean (oh, and never bring any spare parts either); Comedy Central Presents: an endlessly supply of comedians you have never hear of doing the same 30 minute set on travel, life in the city, health and grooming habits, how their girlfriend-husband-wife-boyfriend are impossible and then the windup about the perils of sex; all these hits are available for your delectation.
The other day none sufficed until I flipped by John Stewart’s The Daily Show just as he was introducing his guest, Emma Thompson. The lovely Ms. Thompson is my favorite actress and the only woman intelligent, loony and sexy enough that I would leave my wife for her. She was delightful and indeed completely loony during the interview. She went on about the narcissism of Mary Poppins (she was promoting her new Nanny McPhee movie), the practice of raising British children in boxes and never letting them outside when the sun was shining and how she did her scriptwriting longhand and indeed only wrote one letter per page so that her finished scripts were huge stacks of paper. Okay, you had to watching – but I was and it was fabulous.
Later that evening I was describing this to my wife and, for the umpteenth time mentioning that Emma was the only women I would leave her for while adding that there was no danger the attraction would be mutual (did I mention certain saint-like characteristics of my wife), To which my wife replied why not? Why wouldn’t Emma Thompson find me attractive? Flattering I said, but I’m older than Emma, have bad teeth and thinning gray hair and am not a wealthy guy and movie stars generally go for the good looking fit younger sorts, especially if those sorts don’t have money (the trophy wife, boy toy thing). So she suggested that I play the anti-boy toy card. That I be the intelligent, amusing, somewhat eccentric older guy; that indeed, I be the trophy older guy.
That’s when it hit me. I could start a career as Emma Thompson’s trophy geezer, her partner in inspired, insane lunacy. She would have to pick up all the bills of course as whatever talents I posses have never led to money, but she can afford it. And to think, I have my wife to thank for this brilliant idea. My trophy geezer facebook page and twitter accounts should be going up soon as well as the trophygeezer.com website where you can sign up for courses on becoming a trophy geezer and share you experiences on the various trophy geezer forums. And I owe it all to Hepatitis C…
Disclaimer: The events, ideas and descriptions described in the above post may have occurred due to the interactions among the panoply of drugs I am currently taking in my treatment…
Luckily, the brave new world of cable (or satellite or internet) television gives one an almost infinite set of choices of worthless time wasters to choose from. Celebrity Rehab: B, C, D and E list “celebrities” try to get off drugs and use the show to rebuild their careers at the same time; Holmes on Homes: Canadian contractor makes you feel that any work that was ever done on your home was probably both substandard and outright dangerous; Whale Wars: Sea Shepherd staff and volunteers demonstrate a belief that their self-righteous conviction to the cause of saving whales means they do not have to practice or prepare in anyway for their maneuvers until they are in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean (oh, and never bring any spare parts either); Comedy Central Presents: an endlessly supply of comedians you have never hear of doing the same 30 minute set on travel, life in the city, health and grooming habits, how their girlfriend-husband-wife-boyfriend are impossible and then the windup about the perils of sex; all these hits are available for your delectation.
The other day none sufficed until I flipped by John Stewart’s The Daily Show just as he was introducing his guest, Emma Thompson. The lovely Ms. Thompson is my favorite actress and the only woman intelligent, loony and sexy enough that I would leave my wife for her. She was delightful and indeed completely loony during the interview. She went on about the narcissism of Mary Poppins (she was promoting her new Nanny McPhee movie), the practice of raising British children in boxes and never letting them outside when the sun was shining and how she did her scriptwriting longhand and indeed only wrote one letter per page so that her finished scripts were huge stacks of paper. Okay, you had to watching – but I was and it was fabulous.
Later that evening I was describing this to my wife and, for the umpteenth time mentioning that Emma was the only women I would leave her for while adding that there was no danger the attraction would be mutual (did I mention certain saint-like characteristics of my wife), To which my wife replied why not? Why wouldn’t Emma Thompson find me attractive? Flattering I said, but I’m older than Emma, have bad teeth and thinning gray hair and am not a wealthy guy and movie stars generally go for the good looking fit younger sorts, especially if those sorts don’t have money (the trophy wife, boy toy thing). So she suggested that I play the anti-boy toy card. That I be the intelligent, amusing, somewhat eccentric older guy; that indeed, I be the trophy older guy.
That’s when it hit me. I could start a career as Emma Thompson’s trophy geezer, her partner in inspired, insane lunacy. She would have to pick up all the bills of course as whatever talents I posses have never led to money, but she can afford it. And to think, I have my wife to thank for this brilliant idea. My trophy geezer facebook page and twitter accounts should be going up soon as well as the trophygeezer.com website where you can sign up for courses on becoming a trophy geezer and share you experiences on the various trophy geezer forums. And I owe it all to Hepatitis C…
Disclaimer: The events, ideas and descriptions described in the above post may have occurred due to the interactions among the panoply of drugs I am currently taking in my treatment…
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Little Things…
Slogging ones way through the cycle of treatment, you really do start to appreciate little things. You have to let go of the level of activity and accomplishment you had before the relentless round of powerful drugs began. It’s either that or drive yourself crazy with frustration and depression. On the other hand, you can begin to appreciate as accomplishments things you either took for granted or viewed as things to get out of the way in the past; for instance: housecleaning.
My wife is the beneficiary of this newfound appreciation of accomplishing small tasks. The house has been a bit cleaner, in some rooms anyway, than it was before I started treatment. Weekends usually find me in the headache, backache, nausea, fatigue, and muscle weakness phase of my injection cycle. This generally means that I don’t get out and do much outside the house on at least one of the weekend days. But I can clean the bathrooms, or degrease the stove, clean the grout, you know, all the delightful tasks that you generally find any excuse to avoid. When you spend the day really getting some part of your environment clean, it makes you feel better. You’ve done something good for yourself and your family. It may not be much, but it does have the feel of accomplishment. And there is always the benefit of having your wife say, “Honey, did you clean the cooktop? It looks like new.” As any married guy knows, a happy wife makes for a happy husband.
Reorganizing is another manageable task that can give you a sense of progress. Over the past several weeks, I have opened cupboards, ventured into closets and examined boxes that have not been opened, ventured into or examined in months (okay years, but that might be revealing too much…). It is amazing how much room you can create just buy arranging things in a logical way instead of the “throw it in and close the door before it can escape” method. The archaeological finds you can make in the back of your closets are quite amazing as well. When did you wear those shoes, where did that shirt come from and I don’t remember that photo at all are the sorts of reactions you can expect. There is nothing like the joy your wife expresses when she discovers that there is now additional room in the closet for more stuff!
After a day of cleaning, reorganizing, weeding, or some other task, there is also the joy of flopping down in front of the TV and discovering that the movie “Juno” just started and you can recover while enjoying a great flick. Small movie, but huge enjoyment.
Another thing I have had to learn to accept and let slide is the effect brain fog has on my ability to write. It’s not hard to sit at the computer and write; I have the energy to do that. It is the frustration of sitting in front of the screen while trying to remember where I was going with a particular story or experience. Combine that with not be able to remember the words for certain thoughts, actions, feelings and even places and things and it really drove me crazy. Now I just sit here and let it slide. It’s still annoying, but the flip side is that I can genuinely say to people, “I have no idea,” or “I don’t remember that at all” in all sorts of situations. Gets you off the hook when your blank look of incomprehension is clearly real.
I would the mindset resembles the one touted in the AA serenity prayer. Unfortunately there is no chance that I will have the wisdom to know the difference…
My wife is the beneficiary of this newfound appreciation of accomplishing small tasks. The house has been a bit cleaner, in some rooms anyway, than it was before I started treatment. Weekends usually find me in the headache, backache, nausea, fatigue, and muscle weakness phase of my injection cycle. This generally means that I don’t get out and do much outside the house on at least one of the weekend days. But I can clean the bathrooms, or degrease the stove, clean the grout, you know, all the delightful tasks that you generally find any excuse to avoid. When you spend the day really getting some part of your environment clean, it makes you feel better. You’ve done something good for yourself and your family. It may not be much, but it does have the feel of accomplishment. And there is always the benefit of having your wife say, “Honey, did you clean the cooktop? It looks like new.” As any married guy knows, a happy wife makes for a happy husband.
Reorganizing is another manageable task that can give you a sense of progress. Over the past several weeks, I have opened cupboards, ventured into closets and examined boxes that have not been opened, ventured into or examined in months (okay years, but that might be revealing too much…). It is amazing how much room you can create just buy arranging things in a logical way instead of the “throw it in and close the door before it can escape” method. The archaeological finds you can make in the back of your closets are quite amazing as well. When did you wear those shoes, where did that shirt come from and I don’t remember that photo at all are the sorts of reactions you can expect. There is nothing like the joy your wife expresses when she discovers that there is now additional room in the closet for more stuff!
After a day of cleaning, reorganizing, weeding, or some other task, there is also the joy of flopping down in front of the TV and discovering that the movie “Juno” just started and you can recover while enjoying a great flick. Small movie, but huge enjoyment.
Another thing I have had to learn to accept and let slide is the effect brain fog has on my ability to write. It’s not hard to sit at the computer and write; I have the energy to do that. It is the frustration of sitting in front of the screen while trying to remember where I was going with a particular story or experience. Combine that with not be able to remember the words for certain thoughts, actions, feelings and even places and things and it really drove me crazy. Now I just sit here and let it slide. It’s still annoying, but the flip side is that I can genuinely say to people, “I have no idea,” or “I don’t remember that at all” in all sorts of situations. Gets you off the hook when your blank look of incomprehension is clearly real.
I would the mindset resembles the one touted in the AA serenity prayer. Unfortunately there is no chance that I will have the wisdom to know the difference…
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