Workout Log 22 August 2012 & Queen Mary Hospital: Der Fliegende Hollander

40 minutes freedance (frei-tanz) first thing to Journey to the Line, Sweelinck, L’Enfant, Morricone and Bach.

Queen Mary

Queen Mary followup visit. Between the July PET scan and 10 Aug CT scan the tumor in my left shoulder has shrunk. I thought it had changed yesterday was altogether less full of itself, less full of beans, more discouraged, softer, broader and more mobile. But I do not hate it. It is my Caliban that shall seek for grace hereafter, hopefully in the loo, excreted somehow. It is life and I am pro-life today, albeit not in the stupid way that makes women suffer. No, I like living things. The bugs in my apartment, for example. And of course grand-daughters.

The uptake of unusual, weird, and funny-looking cells continues from my groin to shoulder lymph nodes which doesn’t bother me too much since it is the job of lymph nodes to cart away shit. The problem is in my layperson’s understanding is that the lymphatic system doesn’t know where to put this crap. Perhaps my strong immune system is yelling at the lymph nodes not to deposit it anywhere, with the result being that the cancer cells are a sort of cellular Fliegende Hollander, sailing the seas of the lymph system, yearning for death, unable to find it.

A profoundly unscientific observation to be sure. The next step is to schedule the biopsy that will resolve the question of whether this truly is prostate cancer which is still not resolved, and we need to resolve it before deciding on chemical castration or the real de-balling which is the gold standard for prostate. It would be real dumb for me to get my balls cut off either chemically or for real (with perhaps a little Chinese box for them as was given to eunuchs of the Ming so they could be buried as men) only to discover that this isn’t prostate cancer, it is a rare cancer of the tear ducts of which some historians say Shakespeare may have died.

Anne who had a way with her, made Bill Shakespeare cry
And so after many a summer the sweet swan of Avon did die
Of a cancer not of swans, a cancer of the ducts
For which the doctors could do nothing even if you paid them lots of bucks.
Every secret thing shall be revealed,
And no cancer shall be concealed,
And all shall be well, all manner of thing shall be swell
When we start forgiving each other for our prone and prostrate sperm and tears
And take not the counsel of our fears.

My weight, somewhat unfortunately, has not increased and remains at 74.5 kg or 165 pounds, ten pounds under “normal”. But this means I still get to eat chocolate cookies from Just Greens our health food store and other between-meal treats. Prior to this debacle I never ate between meals and only ate chocolate with others, preferable in bed with an Other. Now I get to engage my solitary passion for chocolate. I should probably try to engage it in moderation although I have never been moderate in anything.

Shopping Note

Having the right luggage is like not dying. Well, not really, However, I am going to Thailand tomorrow, and I need to avoid a shoulder strap, for after many a summer dies the swan, or at least the swan will pound lumbar vertebrae into the sciatic ooze and then as we have seen there is hell to pay.

So I looked at top of the line Samsonite in IFC mall where we never shop: for who the hell spends 5000.00 on a bag? Even though that’s 650 USD, it’s absurd.

“Six thousand dollahs? And its not evun leathah!” – Joan Cusack, Working Girl

But I located an equivalent four wheel bug bag with the roller handle in Mong Kok for 2500 and I thought it was a bargain. I set the money aside.

But I was in luck, for my Tiger Mom client and I had a long session and meeting in Shenzen yesterday and, hearing that I’d budgeted such a foolish amount, she dragged me into the luggage shop in Lo Huo and talked the salesgirls down to … 300 dollahs….38 us dollars for a bag with a gazillion compartments, four wheels, that spins 360, that has almost zero dead weight and is perfect for my height.

Moral, go shopping with a Tiger Mom.

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