Temodar, Here We Come

Dr. Abbasi was able to slot me in this morning due to a cancelation and visit about treatment options discussed on Friday with Dr. Keleti: Both seem to agree that further radiation is a last resort option and may not even be the most effective one. More tried and true—well, I tried it, seven years ago—is, of course, my old friend Temodar. The gears are in motion for me to begin a low-dose regimen. and a clinical trial in which I would—if I joined now—but the sole participant.

Having this plan in place has relieved much anxiety. Yesterday’s flurry of desperate phone calls. The steroids I started taking Friday evening after meeting with Dr. Keleti (1 2MG TABLET BY MOUTH EVERY 12 HOURS WITH FOOD) have given me a terrific boost in energy, which is good for things like dishes and laundry, but also more irritability, which is bad for people like Theo and Omi and maybe even my students at Stone Table. I also started waking up a few hours after bed just surging with electrical energy and excitement (high on life, or just high) and ideas for poems that don’t hold up in the clear light of morning. I almost mailed my books to Donald Revell with a hand-written note after reading in There Are Three by the agonizing sleepless light of my iPhone, trying not to stir and disturb Lili who was awakened and disturbed anyway by the light of my iPhone! I wrote this in Notes on my phone:

The words are lovely, velvet, really, 
and had cancer not come calling I,
too, might have followed a similar rabbit
trail, entrail. However,
cancer rang at midnight and now I
can't sleep because of the steroids.
Death rang, night rain, and now I can't,
I just can't. I have to face my death, Donald,
but know that my face is shimmering
by the light of my iPhone.

OK. So, whatever. I went batshit crazy on the DEX in 2014. If I learned anything, it’s not to submit poems scrawled in the miserable middle of the night or show them to people I admire. Knowing this convinced me that I would have to continue to toil by day and not surrender to darker impulses and succumb to full-blown insomnia, so I swung by HyVee on my way home from Stone Table, mailed off a copy of Bad Astrocyte to my old China friend Kevin Hill at the cigarettes counter, the lotto counter, and grabbed a bottle of melatonin in the pharmacy, which bought me a good night’s sleep, thank God, and a better outlook on life and I did write a poem today but I’m not going to paste it in here because I think it just might hold up in the clear light of morning.

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