No Food For You

Hi. I haven't written in some time, but I'm still here, so I thought I'd continue.

I just looked back at my last post. January 26. It's now May 17.

The last post started in much the same way. And to be honest, not much has changed. I don't think.

My stomach still doesn't work, and hurts all the time. Over two years now, but at least now I've found the right mix of pain killers and such that make getting through the day a lot less arduous. I have more "good days" now. Days where I can get up and do stuff instead of being too weak, sick or hurt to get out of bed. Non-chemo weeks mostly.

I still can't eat really. I miss it so much. I used to be a foodie. I used to cook meals that spent hours in the oven, falls off the bone, twice baked, steak, stew, sushi, great sandwiches-it's all about the bread. Man, I miss food.

We take eating for granted, but it's such a big part of who we are. (If you are what you eat, then what am I?) Food helps manage our lives. It's part of why people go out. Shop for food in a great market. Eat in a great new restaurant. I can't believe we got a table. It's what we do to take a break. It's what we meet with people over. A meeting, any kind of meeting: social, business, friend, hungry, whatever. It's always there in the middle. Not having access to that. Not being able to do that. Add in the pain and fatigue. Not being able to eat has knocked me out of a part of the world. And I really miss it. So much so that despite my condition, I still love to talk about it, watch television shows about it. The ones where you really get to see them cook. From the stove to the oven, and he's cooking that at a low heat, a little olive oil in the pan, let that heat up and throw in your onions, slicing it diagonally and very thin, everything's better with bacon.

There are so many food and restaurant commercials. I love them. Although, watching them as well as the food TV is also slightly tortuous and masochistic. But they make everything look so good. I know I can't partake. But, I still try sometimes. I eat a lot of ice.

To live, I get my sustenance intravenously, 12 hours a day through a tube. It's this big bag of milky liquid filled with calories and vitamins. It has a long tube that feeds into another tube on my arm that flows directly into my blood stream. I carry it around on my back for a few hours, then go to bed with it still connected. It has a pump inside that makes this constant, whooshing sound. I don't notice it so much anymore, but I still hear it. I disconnect the tube in the morning, throw away the empty bag. It's feels good when I take it off. It's like removing a tether or a leash.

I eat a lot of ice. I sometimes add a little juice or iced tea. I sometimes drink Slurpees. Slowly, and only a few slurps. I eat chips that are very much processed, like they once were whole potatoes or parts of parts of potatoes, pulverized, then brought together again. Like a cafeteria chicken patty. If I take a bite of that or most anything, I usually become sick and throw it up in a manner of minutes. There were some bagels, lox and cream cheese in the house. I just had to have some. I had 1/4 of a bagel, toasted, light cream cheese with a thin layer of lox. I took tiny bites. I couldn't finish it, and threw it up soon after, but it was so worth it.

I'm trying miso soup, chicken soup, any thin soup. Just a little, mind you. There was white fish salad left over. I had a bit of it on a cracker. And if I it happens that I can get something down, I can' t eat much of it. They cut away part of my stomach and part of my esophagus, and from what remained made a brand new, much smaller stomach that supposedly was cancer free. It worked for a few weeks, but then gradually, eating or even getting water down started to become more and more difficult. Soon, my new stomach didn't work at all. It still doesn't, meaning it doesn't digest food and push it on through the body the into the intestines like it's supposed to. It just sits there like a stone cup. And it's so small. But, I keep trying stuff, knowing it will probably make me sick. Sometimes, it doesn't.When that happens, I feel very full after only a few miniscule bites. I sometimes try to push it a little and keep eating. Then, of course, I get sick. But, sometimes not.

They say it's the chemo that's killing my stomach, but nobody knows for sure. My chemo routine is pretty intense. From nine to five I sit in a chair in the doctor's office and bag after bag of fluid is pumped into the port I had implanted in my chest. The port is a round rubber stick pad about the size of a quarter. A needle is stuck into it, allowing the chemicals to feed directly into a large artery near my heart. I sit there with a few other people who come and go. I'm there until much of the staff has left. Sometimes, there's one person there who came in later in the day. When I leave, they attach a chemo pump to me that runs for 24 hours. I have to return the next day and have it removed. Three weeks on, two weeks off, scan, see how it's doing.

The answer to that is so so. I have a tumor in each of my lungs. And a brand new tumor has returned where the old one was. The one in my esophagus/stomach that was supposed to be removed by the chemo, the seven-hour long surgery, and the month of radiation. But, the chemo, for now, is keeping the tumors from growing any larger, and keeping me alive.

The chemo also makes it almost impossible to eat even the smallest morsel. The new tumor isn't helping either. Sometimes, mostly during non-chemo weeks, I can get a few bites down, but it's hardly eating. Man, I miss food. I think I'll stop writing now. I'm rambling, and it's not making me any less hungry.