My memory of coming home is very dreamlike. I didn't feel a lot of pain. My new little stomach worked and I could eat for real. Steak, Chinese, pasta -- I couldn't eat very much at a time, but I could have several smaller meals which was just fine with me. I was on some very strong pain killers including fentanyl and methadone. It turns out, I found out later, that they had some big side effects. They made life livable, but they also made me a bit crazy. I remember none of this, but according to my wife (who had just given birth a few weeks earlier) I did and said some bizarre things. I became a bit of a conspiracy nut, pointing what's really going on here (?). I thought I was Stalin. I also started acting like John Wayne and begged for a cowboy hat. I did write a nice song with my son:
Friends help friends
Put their pacifiers in their mouths
Friends help friends
And that's what it's all about
I was happy I remembered the song. The rest of it -- oh, well. Things seemed to be progressing pretty well for a while. Then I started radiation.
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