So, our friend goes along being hit with
one misfortune after another and we express the correct amount of
sympathy. And it's genuine. We feel bad. During these times, it does
feel like our person has suffered more than would seem necessary.
But after a while, doesn't something
change in your approach? Come on, you think, no is ever THAT unlucky.
Then, unbidden, the word “jinxed” enters the arena. Once that
happens, it's only human to want to switch from concerned,
sympathetic friend to jinx avoider. I mean, people weren't exactly
lined up on the dock waiting for the Ancient Mariner to arrive, were
they now?
There's also a subtle shift from our
hapless example being a victim of a cruel world to questions about
what he did to bring this latest thing on himself. People will
support a victim; they want to avoid a jinx.
All this came to mind when I was trying
to frame the latest incident that has been added to my list of whoas.
One of the things about myeloma that has been made abundantly clear
from day one: falling down is bad. Because the disease can cause
lesions in my bones, thereby weakening them, it is much better to not
fall down and put added strain on them.
Well, after having made it through
almost the entire flippin' winter without incident, I fell down not
once, not twice but three times last week, within a 12-hour period.
Our cellar was flooding with snow runoff, for the second time in a
couple of weeks, and Sheri was doing her best to stop it. I just
couldn't sit by and watch any more and so I tried to move a 60-pound
bag of sand into place to help her. Besides, what could possibly go
wrong? Well, as it turned out...
... An incomplete fracture of my right
clavicle, terribly painful bruising to my ribs and sternum, and a
bump on the back of my head, along with various and sundry other
bruises and scratches. The clavicle fracture limits my ability to use
my right hand and arm, while the pain in my ribs makes it very hard
to take a deep breath, or even a shallow breath at times.
There are longer term consequences as
well. I'm supposed to walk with a cane to help me with my balance. I
can't use my right hand to pick up anything heavier than a soup
can. I'm not supposed to walk and... do anything at the same time.
Really. My physician's assistant was almost as serious giving that
piece of news as she was in her admonition, repeated at least six
times, that I could not fall down again... EVER. I thought about
protesting that one since I hadn't planned to fall down even once in
the first place. She was giving me very serious eyes, however, and I
thought it might be better just to say okay, which I did.
The walking thing, by the way, means no
talking on the phone, no texting, no reading the newspaper, no
conversations with other people etc., etc. It seems that if I'm going
to walk, darn it, I better give it my full attention. Chewing gum and
walking at the same time was not specifically excluded, but why take
the chance? And I have to practice going up and down stairs. It seems
the two chemos I'm taking can interfere with my ability to use stairs.
On top of that, I now have to see a
radiology oncologist. In addition to attacking my blood cells,
myeloma also causes the aforementioned lesions/holes in my bones.
That's how the initial diagnosis was made, through x-rays after I had
hurt one of my ribs. The radiology oncologist needs to see if my
clavicle had already been weakened by the effects of the myeloma
prior to snapping when I fell.
And... in the midst of all this, I had
to notify human resources at Maine Today Media, that I would not be
returning to work. I guess we all knew that was going to be the case,
but now it's official, and it sucks. I really liked working for the
Kennebec Journal and Morning Sentinel and I liked the people I worked
with. Realistically, though, returning to work hasn't been in the
cards for a few months, especially since the stem cell transplant
entered the picture.
I've already been away for six months.
The lead-up to the transplant would keep me out for weeks, and
recovery from the transplant would mean even more months when I
couldn't work. The decision itself was easy enough, I guess, but I
hated to make it; hated to leave.
But here's something that has occurred
to me since I let the company know. Before going to work at MTM, I
had been out of work for almost two years. In that time, I
interviewed for numerous jobs that I was supremely qualified for but
did not get, for a variety of reasons, mostly my age, I believe.
When I interviewed at MTM, I had not
worked for a newspaper in 13 years. I had never used the design
software they employed and I had always worked on PCs, while they
used Macs. I got the job anyway, and I came to believe that there was
a reason for that. I have no idea what it was, but I'm just as sure
now that there is a reason for leaving the company and moving on to
whatever's next; sort of like Mary Poppins or Clint Eastwood's Man With No Name.
I don't know what that next thing might
be, but I remain willing and open to whatever it is. Since I'll
still be writing my blog, we can take this latest part of the journey
together and see how it unfolds.
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere.”
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