Castle/Cemetery/Fiddle Tunes tour of Scotland


I have been playing “Calum’s Road” with my young friend, Kipling, since she was seven years old. She’s twelve now. Her older sister is in medical school in St. Andrews. Her father suggested I go with him to Scotland. So Ruth and I went with Rod and Kipling to join Akela, Kipling’s older sister, and travel to Calum’s Road to play “Calum’s Road”.

So here we are. Playing Calum’s Road on “Calum’s Road

Then I realized that we were staying in Stafford, with Stafford Island just off the coast. So of course we had to play “Hut on Stafford Island”

And of course if you’re going to the Isle of Skye you need to play “Over the Sea to Sky”

And for good measure, here’s “Neil Gow’s Lament for the Death of His Second Wife”

And of course, once we got back to Edinburgh, it had to be “Flowers of Edinburgh” I didn’t realize how cold Kipling was until just now when I looked at the video.

All in all an amazing trip.

Good News I Guess

I had another blood test this weekend, on Saturday morning. I’m getting very used to being stabbed in a vein. I’m a familiar face at Lifelab now, just a few blocks from where we live.

Today I got the results on line through My Ehealth. My PSA level at the start of this hormone therapy was 23. Very high. The next was at nine, after the Lupron injection but before I started the Apalutamide. This one was at 4, and for the first time did not display the danger triangle to bring it to the attention of the doctors, since anything under 6 is not considered cause for alarm.

So I guess this means the drugs are working. One of the side effects they warn about is fatigue, and this has been hitting me hard. I could sleep all day and never feel fully awake. Another is headaches, and I have been experiencing them too, though acetaminophen and coffee seems to knock them back. My budding breasts are still quite painful, and hugs can hurt. Worth it though. Very worth it.

In other news, Ruth bought me a good pair of walking shoes as an early Christmas present in preparation for our trip to Scotland. The trip to Scotland might be postponed, because Rod’s mother is very ill and in the hospital. He’ll want to postpone the trip if it looks like she might die. So he gave us a heads up: For now we are still leaving on Thursday, but he could cancel at the last minute.

DAR, our house sitter, dog sitter, chicken wrangler will arrive tomorrow. If the trip gets postponed, we’ll have a nice visit.

I will see Dr. Marback on Wednesday. Expect a report on that.

What’s Happening on Planet Zale

My last couple of posts have been about having cancer, and the side effects of the hormone therapy. Since this is my homepage on my browser, every time I fire up this computer I’ve been greeted with the headline: I’m Growing Tits Now. That’s getting to be a drag. Not that I’m likely to forget the fact.

While having cancer is always on my mind, like the background hum from the big bang that we hear as radio static, it’s far from the most important fact of my life. I shall make a list:

  1. Today I bought a new router bit. I’m putting a chair back together for Sadie, my former sister in law. It fell apart because somebody left it out in the weather. I’ve glued the seat back together, but don’t trust it to not crack at the glue joints. That seat was originally built in the factory from nice blocks of oak, with four parallel surfaces, which made gluing it easy. Now that it’s contoured, it’s difficult to clamp without having gaps at the joints. I bought the router bit to let me inlay a piece of hardwood on the underside. That should guarantee that it won’t split. I’ll spare you the details, but this turned out to be more complicated than I hoped, and it still isn’t completed.
  2. We had had another Stagefright Cafe open mic night at Wellington Hall this week. Ruth and I put that together once a month, recreating a 1965 coffee house. Every event has been different and great fun. We sell coffee at ten cents a cup. I bake banana bread and Ruth bakes chocolate chip cookies.
  3. We replaced the roof on my workshop shed this week. It was leaking slightly, and that kind of thing has to be stopped. So we bought corrugated steel sheets and covered it. Ruth did the work on the roof. I did the cutting and handing stuff up to her.
  4. I had a rehearsal with the new Vacant Lot Band. The name is reclaimed from my jug band in the sixties. Great rehearsal. I’m excited about getting a group going again.
  5. The rehearsal was followed by a drive to Qualicum Beach to play with the Oceanside Jammers, my fiddle group.
  6. I’m getting excited about the trip to Scotland. That happens this coming Thursday and will keep us away until December 26.

All in all, there’s a lot going on in my life. Each item on the list above deserves more details and pictures. Maybe later. For now, this gets rid of the headline that I didn’t like.

Now I’m Growing Tits?

The injection I had during my appointment with Dr. Atwell in Victoria is a drug intended to block my production of testosterone. The new drug, the apalutamide, is an AR antagonist, which means it blocks the action of testosterone. Between the two of them I’m getting to learn what a thirteen year old girl experiences. My breasts are swollen and quite painful.

At least I don’t have some horny teenaged guy trying to fondle them. On the other hand… no, let’s not go there.

The thought crossed my mind that since I can’t have an erection any more, not since the brachytherapy blasted the nerve that runs through my prostate, and now that I’m developing breasts, maybe I should go all the way and transition. Now that would be an adventure.

Unfortunately, I would be a six foot two monster of a woman. Far too ugly for any man to find sexually attractive. So I guess that’s just not an option. I have no interest in becoming a “two bagger”.
Shit. I can’t believe I thought that, much less wrote it. The culture I grew up in was so very misogynistic and that’s reflected in the jokes we told each other. So in case you lead a sheltered life, I’ll explain what a two bagger is. That’s a woman who is so ugly you need to bags to fuck her. One to put over her head, and one for you in case hers falls off.

I have mixed feelings about using profanity in these posts. But generally I’m giving myself permission. The five stages of dying, according to Kubler-Ross, are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I’ve always felt that the first four of these are a complete waste of emotional energy. If this is my new reality, I might as well skip the drama and go straight to acceptance. But the first four stages come to the surface sometimes, and in unexpected ways.

Denial: I do find myself thinking, hey, I’m not sick. I don’t have any pain. Why did I listen to the doctors and allow them to lock up my mojo. This isn’t really happening.

Anger: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck and shit and cunt and asshole too. I will fucking swear if I feel like it. Why the fuck not. This sucks and I have a perfect right to be pissed off about it.

Bargaining: Okay. I will accept treatment. I can put up with losing my masculinity, losing the ability to have an erection, developing secondary female sex characteristics. It’s a deal. I just want to live.

Depression: I’m going back to bed. Yeah, I know that these times of consciousness a not going to last. I know I should be enjoying every minute while I still can. But I just don’t care. Why should I. It’s game over anyway and I like sleeping.

Acceptance: I’m not alone in this. I have a wonderful community of supportive friends and a loving wife I can talk to and cuddle with. Every day this side of the grass is a good day. Look at how beautiful the world is, how intricate are the forms and variety of life. I’m just a part of a very natural cycle that we all share.

I said in my last post that there is no escape from this. I’m constantly reminded. Last time it was a message saying I have a bone scan scheduled on February 13. Yesterday it was a letter from the Medical Imaging Department of the hospital letting me know I have a “CT Chest, Abdomen, Pelvis w/contrast” scheduled for February 21. Looking at my calendar when I entered this latter date, I notice that I have another Lupron injection due on February 28. Nope. Can’t forget for a minute that I have cancer.

But I’m not dying. Not yet. Not for years and years, they tell me.

Fuck.