I have not lost a pound this week, so the scales remain at 18 pounds lost for the year. Exercise really makes a difference, and the only thing getting a workout lately is my brain, and apparently working your brain, no matter how strenuously, does not burn a lot of calories. That's some sorry news there. At the rate I've been working this old brain, I'd be skinny if this sort of exercise burned calories.
I'm pretty sedentary at this point, having little time for anything else. After my big push in the spring, it's a little embarrassing to admit that. I was working quite a bit, but the last couple of weeks, my hours range between 20 and 25. I'm actually grateful for the lighter workload. Balancing nearly full time hours and this class made me feel a bit insane.
I have an appointment at the cancer center this afternoon before I go to work. I'm interested to see how the tumor markers are. We're studying bones in class. The teacher spoke on arthritis. I listened carefully. My PET scans show areas of activity at the iliac crest. Their words, not mine. I was told that it was probably due to some degenerative condition like arthritis. But studying the bones intently, it occured to me. The iliac crest would not be affected by arthritis. She gave us a break at the half way point, and so I had a chance to ask my question. The teacher looked me square in the eye. 'Arthritis is a joint condition.' I knew that. I'd already figured it out, but I guess that I had to hear it. "I'm not an expert," she said. "But you've got questions. I'd have questions too." So today, it will be interesting to see what the blood work shows. I'll ask my questions. The answers will tell me what I need to know. The thing that makes me impatient with myself is that I feel badly about hurting anyone's feelings. As if the most important thing, even still, is what people think of me.
Speaking of cancer, there's a guy who comes into the store. Tall. Bearded. Do-rag. He comes in to gas up his motorcycle and to buy his cigarettes. Because I'm a bit of a blabby mouth, I tend to make conversation with virtually everybody. I asked him how his day was going. "Not good," he answered. And he went on to tell me that they suspected that he had cancer again. And he pulled his beard aside. He's had some pretty extensive surgery on his neck. He explained that the scars actually showed two surgeries. He'd done chemo, and radiation too, and he was not looking forward to the thought of doing it all again. I looked at him. It's hard to know what to say when you're making polite conversation, and it opens a door that you didn't mean to open. But I've dealt with the cancer stuff, and I know how important it is to hear an encouraging word. So I fumbled around a bit, but I said, "Yes. I know. I dealt with the whole cancer thing two winters ago. It's darn scary and chemo and radiation is not fun. But you know, it is what it is." And he looked a little surprised that I knew where he was coming from. We spoke briefly, and wished each other good luck. Mr. Motorcycle Dude and the 'mama of the world' found a common bond, and it probably looked strange to see the two of us talking so intently, if you were on the outside of it all, looking in. Anyways, I saw him at the store yesterday. It was busier then heck, and he was not in my line, but I heard him talking to the man behind him. "I just found out that I have cancer for the third time..." and he held up three fingers. He looked frustrated and angry and (I'm going to say it)scared too. And then it was his turn, and he bought his pack of cigarettes and out the door he strode. I don't get that. I just don't get it.
Dylan comes in tonight, with his new Jeep Wranger. Cara leaves Sunday in her old Cavalier. She decided not to take the car Tim bought for her because she was nervous about learning to drive standard. All these comings and goings. I feel as if I will not have time to visit with Dylan. As if I did not have the time to properly visit with Cara. Brianna and Buddy will be home the last weekend in June, when I will be studying for finals and I will have no time to visit then, either.
I will be so glad when this class is done. 20 more days and I can read my brand new book. Every night, when I climb in to bed, I take a moment to look at it, laying there like a promise. Last night, it occured to me that it would be majorly disappointing if this long awaited book turns out to be a stinker.