Old Pants, New Medicine

I can’t find my belt. Which sucks because these shorts I’m wearing no longer fit me. I lost another pound these past three weeks. I’m annoyed because that was my pound, from food I ate, and I want it back, dammit! I’m also missing like, all my jeans. I go jean shopping once every three years, and they last me that whole time and I know it’s not time yet because the election hasn’t happened. This means I’m ether going to have to tear apart the house looking for what I’ve misplaced, or go to the store before I’m scheduled to get more pants and another belt belt. Both of which sound like terrible options.

Because I don’t want a new belt. And I don’t want new pants. I like the ones I have and I know they are around here somewhere. Isn’t that the worst feeling when you know, you just KNOW, that they’re around here. Buried in a drawer or in clothes that are long past due for a folding.

I haven’t taken them off any where. I don’t think. Especially Jaimie's reading this. That would be awkward. The problem is, Jaimie and I have washed and put away a bunch of clothes and I bet these were mixed in with something they weren’t supposed to be mixed in with. A sweater, or a pair of ski pants I haven’t worn in a decade.

The problem is these things are somewhere. That’s the thing. Everything that is lost is only lost to us. They are occupying space. We just give up looking too soon because buying a new thing is easier. Look and find or splurge and spend on something new.

Sometimes we don’t lose things. Sometimes they just wear out. Stop working. That’s what happened at the doctor yesterday. My oncologist has determined that the medicine I’m on has stopped working. It’s annoying, but not the end of the world. This was about how long we expected this particular one to work. We looked at a list of other drugs, about ten or names, and then we then did a blood biopsy, the same one I did nine months ago, to see where things are at now. Then he will look at the list of drugs and figure out which ones to deploy.

There is no doubt that this round of treatment improved me. In October, when I started, I literally could barely breathe. I’m not exaggerating. I did a blog reading the night before I started the trial, and I coughed so bad afterwards that all I could do was hunch over in the seat of Jaimie’s car. Then by round 3 and 4—I was performing Every Brilliant Thing. Round 8 or 9, I was doing Stages in Iowa and breathing like I hadn’t in almost two years. Even now, writing this, the day after having my lung drained of fluid, I’m taking deep, almost full breathes, without coughing or wheezing.

The problem is, I knew this treatment. Like I knew my pants, and my belt. It was easy. Super. Easy. Like my belt, actually, it fit just right and there were no problems at all. The only hard thing about this medicine was driving to Atlanta. Which, based on how my hips feel, is a pretty big deal. But there was no nausea or fatigue. It was short too. It only took 30 minutes. Yeah, I’ll definitely miss that.

So my oncologist has just got to go back to the store. He’s got to see what the new normal is and figure out which drugs are the best. It wasn’t the news we wanted, but he reminded us that what we want is the right combination. In a way this is good. We can’t waste more time with this that doesn’t work. Because this isn’t a belt. These aren’t Levi’s.We can’t keep retracing our steps. I’m thankful for the time this medicine got me. And I’m looking forward to the next combination that will give me even more.