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Thursday, November 17, 2016
Well, dang. I've been sensing that something was a little off below stairs. I've been attributing it to The Changes of Age, but then my track record for assessing and predicting my own health issues is not exactly stellar.

I'll be clear: I'm not talking about a possible return of CRC. As far as I can tell, the old colon (what's left of it) is quite happy, and my last blood test didn't show any spike in tumour markers.
No, this time it's the (ahem) internal reproductive bits. While I am quite sure this is all related to being in my 50s, still, I have more than just a couple of symptoms that could signify trouble, including anaemia, and unusually long bleeds. Therefore I was secretly relieved that my no-nonsense GP, Dr. K., ordered an ultrasound. Which I had this past Monday. And which Dr. K's clerk phoned me about an hour or so ago, to get me in again next Monday.
During my one year and change of work in a family medical practice, I made lots of similar phone calls. If test results are really serious, the doctors try to get the patient in as soon as possible. So I'm being seen approx. 2 days after being called, which is close, but which doesn't spell carcinogenic disaster just yet.
Monday is also when I get to see my dear old dad and step mom. Dad's down in Victoria to see his oncologist for a semiannual "What's up." I hope I won't have bad news for the old devil when I meet him for dinner. To tell the truth, I'm more worried about that than having a relapse.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
This past week. I tried to be philosophical about the U.S. election because it's not like I was going to change the outcome. I also don't want to sound like an especially stupid alarmist, like those who shrieked loud and long after Obama was elected in 2008--only in this case I'd be howling about the Republican incumbent.
The same week: Leonard Cohen died. I like a couple of his songs and poems, but for various reasons I absolutely detest his most beloved ballads.
You know how it is with music. Everyone's a snob because everyone's taste is the best. If I look at the two or three songs that make me lunge for the off button, or instantly change the station, I realize that a large part of why I don't like them is what I associate with them. Example: for years I couldn't listen to Billie Holliday, because I had a particularly bad rooming experience with a friend who played her songs constantly. The first few bars of any Holliday song, and I'd be fighting resentments and bitterness.Luckily, despite being disastrous roommates, over the years this friend and I have resumed communication and our friendship has survived. I play Billie songs, too.
So perhaps there'll come a day when I'll be able to listen to "Hallelujah" without my ears chewing tinfoil. I may be forced to wait until someone sings it without emoting his/her goddamned head off. That hasn't happened yet. I'm telling you, though: if this cancer returns and gets me, and there's a funeral of sorts, and someone dares to play "Hallelujah," there will be a haunting.
That's all I can say about November 8-15, 2016. The week of That Fucking Face and That Fucking Song.