Day Drinking? Don't buy more than one bottle of wine.

Look at that!?   Descending tumor markers continue!    I'm now at a measure that is below anything we've measured since the day I was diagnosed, in June 2014.

And you know what I did?  I spent the Wednesday before chemo DAY DRINKING.  My Wednesday appointments had to cancel -- and I have a clear memory of deciding, upon hearing that news, that I would get a bottle of wine and do some light afternoon day drinking.

I had these magical thoughts... thoughts mixed with guilt and a sense of control.  If I drink, I will change the outcome of my tumor marker test.  If I drink, I will change the outcome of my liver enzyme test.  In testing my ability to change fate, there is hope and fear at both outcomes.  Control ....would that be wonderful?  And no control...isn't that freeing as well?  And I'm so fucked up about it all.

I thought my drinking the day before chemo would cause my liver enzyme markers to rise (they went DOWN!) or that I would make my cancer suddently flare (LOOK!  LOOK!  Taxol is working!)

But I didn't day drink because of these tests or appointments.  I was day drinking because with the consistent falling markers and the growing strength I feel in my body....I started trying to take action on the things that have frozen me.  I had a contractor come in and give me an estimate on the work I want done on the house before I die.  I met with a close friend who is producing some heartfelt work I want ready to present to my dearest and closest when my day comes.  I talked to her  about her own journey dealing with her father's death when she was still a very young and vulnerable adult.

Ramona Brandes just lost both of her parents.  She was talking to me about how she can get distracted by nostalgia while she tries to make progress on getting her parents' estate in order.  She described it as a distraction from the real emotions of loss and grief that lie underneath but are so much more disagreeable than nostalgia.

My journey, until now, has often been very cerebral -- nostalgic, even.  And almost a YEAR after diagnosis, I'm finally getting around to doing the REAL stuff to prepare for my death (be it next year or in ten).  I'm scheduling contractors.  I'm creating artifacts for my dearest and nearest.  I'm scheduling meetings with an estate planner.

To actually DO this stuff, rather than fantasize about it, is a completely different task.  There is avisceral response, a bodily vomit and angst that overpowers my cerebal desire to dabble in nostalgia.

Being human is complicated.