Country Poetry by Cora Gail Gunn Trent

Diary of An Adventure On Unfriendly Turf

02-01-01 Way out in the state of Limbo, where we presently reside, our feelings are in neutral, like being numb inside. A cancer diagnosis in otherwise healthy lungs is waiting for biopsy before treatment is begun. Will it be some radiation or chemotherapy to shrink the growing tumor for eventual surgery? 02-06-01 A bronchoscope to probe the lungs, with a camera inside and pinchers cutting samples, is a hard thing to abide. Strong medicine, like codeine, to numb and smooth the way, can’t faze that tough old Texan.  He’s wide awake all day. The lidocaine just makes him cough and aggravate the doc, but he gets some goodly samples, their secrets to unlock. 02-09-01 A small-cell cancer, growing fast; more tests to check for spreading; a brain and bone scan, one more doc to see where we are heading. Two weeks to wait and wonder, two months, in all, of dread; he thinks that, by the way he feels, it lives inside his head. Five years since prostate cancer was surgically removed; with God’s help, this prognosis is likely to improve. 02-15-01 Through prayers of friends and strangers, no metastasis was found, so the battle is continued, at least another round. A comedy of errors and mis-communication keeps Molly on her practiced toes in loving dedication. When her Daddy tries to thank her for all the help we’ve got,  her answer says it perfectly: “Well, now,  how could I NOT?” 02-19-01 With the first long round of chemo, there came a sweet surprise; he felt the meds beginning the cancer’s sure demise. Like Pac Man gobbling up bad cells, the platinum is awesome,  and they check on blood-cell damage every time they draw some. We’re still not out of Limbo, as schedules are unsure; at the mercy of technicians, but hoping for a cure. 03-04-01 When zapped with radiation, the only thing he felt was a standing-at-attention of the hair above his belt. A blood-red map with black and green upon his ample chest and a bald peeled-onion for a head are all signs for the best. He knows the chemotherapy is working as it should, eradicating lots of cells, the bad as well as good. 03-16-01 Looms in this chemo desert an oasis of surprise where miracles can happen right before your eyes. No meds or rads can staunch the flow of hot testosterone which manufactures stamina, the source as yet unknown. Youth and its vain perspectives has nothing to compare with the passion of a tattooed man with disappearing hair. . 03-18-01 Radiation on chest lymph nodes does other damage, too; his goozle, burned and tender, lets only liquids through. Sore joints, sore skin, no energy, but still it could be worse. No nausea has tortured him, that awful chemo curse. He still can count his blessings, his attitude is great, no feelings of impending doom or worry for his fate. 03-20-01 Bad as it seems, it could be worse.  He’s braved these tides before. Just eighteen years ago today, death knocked upon the door. His soul and body, tortured by demons from the past, seemed on their final voyage, the ship now sinking fast. God’s grace bailed out the sailor then and towed the boat to land, an island paradise provided by the Master’s hand. 03-27-01 The treatments changed directions to miss his spinal cord and it feels like one more zap will be all he can afford. Exhaustion like he’s never known has thrown him for a loop; perhaps he needs an extra day so that he can recoup. A lab test Wednesday morning to check re-building blood should estimate the damage that makes him feel like crud. 04-07-01 Three shots of magic medicine  help boost the white cell count for another round of chemo, an extra large amount. Radiation graduation is one great day to cheer and one last chemo should ensure he’ll see another year. Rejuvenating roasted nerves is a hopeful, painful chore but he’s positively ready for whatever is in store.  04-14-01 At first his prayer was, “Help me, God, to avoid a panic attack so that I won’t make an ass of myself, for which I have a knack”. With the Holy Spirit’s guidance, a change has come about. He prays to help his family; contentment oozes out. A day or two down in the dumps and he bounces up again, undoubtedly a miracle like none I’ve ever seen. Bi-polar problems seem to sleep while crisis has its turn, a time for gratitude and thanks, another lesson learned. 04-25-01 The fourth and last session of chemo is history, over and done; at home waits a big celebration, surprises and family fun. Collaboration by Nita and Molly, a second-hand cap and gown make for a complete graduation; neat gifts and excitement abound. A hamburger supper, a virtual feast, sure beats that old bland chicken soup, as our second granddaughter, two-year-old Rachel, entertains and enthralls the whole group. More blood tests to monitor progress, two weeks til another lung scan, a talk with the doctor to learn the results and, hopefully, normal again. 05-01-01 The blood test makes a passing grade, though the patient still is weak, with achey bones that, for awhile, will rob him of his sleep. Another week or so should see improvement toward the norm, with much appreciation for tasks he can perform. Perhaps he’ll help me haul some rocks,  transplant a little tree. More likely buy a 4x4, go on a spending spree. 05-15-01 Doc says the scan won’t show us much until some time has passed to see if changes have occurred between the first and last. Whatever the concoction they had for him to drink made this weird patient mighty sick; sick in the head, I think. There’s nothing so uncommon as common sense, they say, and he proved it when he mowed the lawn while sickly yesterday. 05-25-01 No difference seen in the latest scan, the spot is likely scar like the one left from pneumonia, prognosis up to par. 06-22-01 A new x-ray still looks the same; he’s slowly gaining ground, though his body still is changing, quite a way from feeling sound. Black hair is being added to the fuzz of snowy white and his John L. Lewis eyebrows are such an awesome sight! The pain in joints and muscles sap stamina and strength; his worn-out spine discourages a walk of any length. 07-04-01 He made the trip to Childress without a lot of fuss, worked much too hard in spite of complaints from all of us, climbed up and down the tractor to load our antique stuff and when the trek was over, he knew he’d had enough. But it was worth the effort to have the project done, leave the farm to new young owners in the barn/house they’ve begun. Then last weekend he added one more notch to his gun, walked plumb through Carlsbad Caverns, and did he have some fun! With benches there to rest his back every now and then, grit and determination assured another win. He’s proud of his endurance in this latest escapade but his still-healing body will make him pay in spades. 07-18-01 Once more, pneumonia comes to call, a guest who’s uninvited, another battle as of yore, like old foes reunited. With oxygen and varied meds and a live-in home health nurse, he bravely fights the fight to win, sometimes feels even worse. Six pills of strong, tough Zithromax give more hope than before if no more uninvited guests walk boldly through the door. 08-24-01 Pneumonia coughing still persists, but slowly fading out; another round of Prednisone will finish it, no doubt. Doc says it’s likely caused by the burn from radiation that seared right through the healthy lung, a normal complication. He looks so young and healthy, I know he’ll beat this thing and soon this whole adventure will be just one more ding. 11-09-01 The first sign of metastasis (for a doctor) would be hard to miss; Harold lightly questioned, “What’s the deal?” when his left hand jerked the steering wheel. Now showing symptoms more diverse, soon headaches started, growing worse. With a cerebellum tumor found, today he starts another round of radiation on his brain to stop the still-increasing pain. 11-27-01 The rad doc, not long out of school, sits there upon the little stool and foolishly dares not to treat edema in the patient’s feet. Instead we make a useless trip, as if we needed more hardship, to take a Dopler test to look for blood clots hidden in some nook. The real doc gives him water pills to help with one of many ills. 12-10-01 Today he reminds me of Samson, no hair, no strength at all, but without the delights of Delilah, the cause of that famous downfall. Assaults on his brain have been harder than chemo and rads on his lung, with thinking so cloudy, uncaring, he looks like his bell has been rung. Steroids that took care of the swelling around the tumor site have also caused puffy edema and many a restless night. Reducing the dosage has also reduced his huge appetite. Sometimes he forgets to drink coffee, so you know that he’s not quite alright! A week without treatments or visits to doctors and blood-sucking labs should help his strength to replenish and boost his spirits a dab. 1-23-02 Tests show that the tumor inside of his head has shrunk very little, alas, and the one in his lung is growing again; the worst has now come to pass. He takes a new chemo, but no hope of cure, just “quality of life” to erase from the dying procedure some of the dreaded strife. 2-15-02 He has small concern for dying, for him a big surprise, but he worries about the rest of us as we deal with his demise. He makes light of his misery, tries not to be depressing. He feels pretty rotten, but never too bad to count his many blessings. 3-15-02 Vinita and Rachel were here a week, a radiance too bright to speak, to light Weird Harold’s last few days with heaven-sent heart-bursting rays. Spring break brought Joe and Rhonda, so now’s the perfect time for Harold to trade in this life for a greater world sublime. He took one dose of morphine to ease the monstrous pain, slept peacefully around the clock, rest for the trip to gain. Then off he went with the angels to heaven’s glorious land, and we can hardly grieve at all that he’s now in better hands. “Go Rest High on that Mountain” was his musical request, and “Over the Rainbow” by Peggy said goodbye to “Charlie Brown” best. Dr. Mike gave the perfect eulogy, sweet humor was added by Bill, and the spiritless Weird Harold was laid to rest on the hill.   The climax came as the grandkids released their “smiley faces”, and “Charlie Brown” hopped the graveyard fence headed off to exciting places. But waiting for him down the hill, in Charlie Brown-kite-fashion, was a pasture full of wild mesquite just waiting there to snatch him. Home cgtrent@att.net