No Workout 26 June 2012

No workout today since I was scheduled for a PET scan, the most advanced scan available, costing 12K HKD and not covered by public option. The instructions said “no exercise”. However, I missed where they said to take a steroid I’d been given therefore today’s PET scan has been rescheduled to Friday.

But by the time I was rescheduled I was faint with hunger and glad to be released. I have learned that for Friday’s PET scan I shall need to arise before 6 AM and eat a breakfast since the instructions say no food six hours before the scan. This will avoid today’s faintness: I’d not eaten since Monday night.

In response to my request that the kids at least acknowledge eMail, my son Peter sent me a reply consisting only of a funny little green guy icon. I thanked him and then realized that according to my request he’d want to reply the the thank you note. I therefore sent ANOTHER note, carefully worded, saying that he only needed to reply to notes with at least one new issue. In short, I got wrapped around the axle.

Email is such a void.

Dispelled my faintness with a vegetarian pizza, two croissants and coffee at DeliFrance at Queen Mary. Reconnecting with the simple pleasures of existence. Sure glad they have DeliFrance and not Starbuck’s.

The lumps on my shoulder are a tumor according to the doctor with whom I discussed my case at length yesterday at QMH. I am photographing it every day to track its progress.

This is like working on a figure drawing which shows up as imperfect in the mirror, with a lump upon Apollo’s shoulder. Ironically people remark on how good looking I am for I am tan, still fit and lean.

But perhaps there was always a problem with the hatchet-faced “Tough Baby”, the James Bond character who smokes Player’s Navy Cut.

I never wanted to be round, and fat, perhaps subconsciously due to the fact that my father always forced my mom to be angular like a fashion model, and she smoked to conform to this ideal.

The joke is on me, since I learned yesterday that the first therapy for my prostate cancer isn’t chemo (which is a relief) but hormonal, the injection every two months of testosterone antagonists. I was told to expect hot flashes, the appearance of extra body fat, and … perhaps a pair of man tits.

Bring.it.on. Sounds like a more amusing way to defeat cancer than chemo and as to being a stallion, I have fulfilled that role with two kids and grandchildren.  Guan Yin was a man who was so filled with compassion for suffering he turned into a woman, and on my first night in China in 2004 I dreamed of a cat that was transformed into a beautiful woman.

I am researching hospices and palliative care just in case, and I just realized something. When a Catholic priest talks about “respect for a life”, he’s often enough talking about withholding palliative care: forcing women to undergo childbirth without enough anesthesia and not allowing the dying control over morphine levels.

Because this love of causing pain to others has been generalized in America’s unique dialectic of enlightenment to Protestant fundamentalists and corrupt politicians, I am indeed fortunate to live in a society without religious restrictions on common decency.

My father did oppose Kervorkian’s assisted suicide nonsense but in fact there’s a whole range of religious based opposition to palliative care that’s part of traditional religion’s hatred of sex and love of pain.

The assisted suicide and organ donation people are in my opinion a little twisted in their own way, and I believe that assisted suicide can be readily misused to persuade Grandpa to kick the bucket…and release a flood of cash.

But the real creeps are clerics who cheerfully preached infant damnation of the unbaptized in the 17th century and are destroying women’s health today.

In fact, the German and Croatian nuns in my Catholic school DID wheel out infant damnation of the unbaptized. They wanted to “put the fear of God in us”. They’d learned diddly squat from the crimes of their Nazi and Ustashe brothers and fathers during the war which was an acting-out by repaganized, de-enlightened Christians of the Christian’s fears.

They actually talked as if “love of God” was only for the perfect students who’d go on to the priesthood or become nuns, whereas for us bums all we needed was fear. The coolest God-lovers would get to live in the classiest part of Heaven whereas we’d get at best a tract house in the slums of heaven.

I am not making this up. Pope Pius XII was still in charge, and as is well known, he sat on his skinny ass in the Vatican and did nothing while 8 million Jews died. He fostered the Catholicism of fear and Benedict is bringing it back, the ground having been prepared, perhaps unwittingly, by Wojtyla.

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