Leaves and Autumn Aphorisms

It's Monday February 15th, 9:42 am

Good morning to all! I hope everyone enjoyed their weekend (and Valentine's Day). In lieu of starting my second round of chemo injections yesterday, I took the day off to watch some flicks and do a bit of reading. It was a weekend of mental weaving, racing, and erasing in some instances. More of that later, I'm sure.

I'm scheduled for another bone marrow biopsy this morning/afternoon. We're going to be able to see how the first round of chemo has done. Our fingers are crossed, but even at such an early stage we can't expect to see much. Also, I doubt I'll be home until my platelets stabilize for good. Results are results. Knowing is better than groping in the dark for the ceiling's drifting light string.

The platelets have been coming back at/around 16,000 in the morning, which usually bounces to around 30,000 after a transfusion. As long as we're above 10,000, I'm happy. My mom asked me what I'll do when they return to normal. I hadn't thought about it. Jumping jacks with razors wrapped in my hands? Testing fate and all. More likely than not, I'll take a shower and a walk. Then jumping jacks.

-Oh, and since it was Valentine's Day yesterday, and all is red and reminding me: Donate Blood. I hate to sound didactic, or altogether preachy, but I've used so much blood (platelets, really) that I'll never be able to replace it on my own. I need your help! I'm simply a concerned citizen that has had his hand in the Blood Bank's coffer for a while now. I'm not here to preach, just to throw it out there. Enough with the causes, it's not my thing to push an agenda.

A lot of reading this weekend. Nothing sustained like a novel, yet. I've been rooting through poems, stretching their words apart like maple syrup between fingers. Even to the microscopic level, I have the torsion maxed on the knobs. I am looking for the sparks behind the lens. They're there. Some days it looks like a purple lightning storm settling over the breathing Atlantic sea; others are fields of white wheat that sparkle like whiskey after cold Midwestern rain; others look like the crooked veins of streets, scabbed by crumbling curbs and soiled in spots of leaking oil. I am keeping my faith in these words, the people in my world, and the strength that all of this (and you!) has instilled in me.

Franz Kafka (who's book of aphorisms was majestically bestowed on me. Thank you, Mr. Brock and Dr. Bakken) wrote, "Like a path in autumn: no sooner is it cleared than it is once again littered with fallen leaves."

So here it is. The path, clear for a moment. The wind will still breathe, detaching stems and leaves against drifting air; but for today, it's clear. Time to proceed with strength, love and endurance.

All my love,
Chris