Observations April 20, 2013

Saturday has dawned clear and cool here in Nashville.  I am tired, having been in trial all week and
having lost,  the jury was as dumb as a post.   The last 3 weeks have been a blur, preparing for trial.  I now have to look forward to my upcoming Zometa Infusion and Oncologist’s appointment!  Oh, the unmitigated joy!  My last PCP appointment went well with my BP 122/80 low for me, this was the friday before my recent trial.
     I am not optimistic about my next Blood test and BB Box for Little Rock.    I have been feeling more tired lately, and it is not just overwork.  My wife thinks I am depressed and that may be true, but during my trial I was too busy to think about anything except winning, which we decidedly did not!
I have been taking all my meds, vitamins, folk remedies, etc. etc. trying to keep the creeping plasma
 cells lurking in my bone marrow at bay.   I suppose if I worked like I did over the last 3 weeks, I would have no time to think about myself and would probably wake up some morning with Stage III
Myeloma and be attached to a permanent port in Little Rock UAMS with the fine staff and Dr. B at my bedside.  How depressing is that prospect?  Oh, I failed to mention yesterday, the day I lost my trial with the dense jury, was the 19 year anniversary of my father’s death.  You guessed it,  he died from Multiple Myeloma.   My father, who was healthy all his 75 + years died April 19, 1994.   On a bright note my daughter was born May 11 that year and as I have said,  “Was a fine replacement for my late father.”
     I believe you can see how my thoughts range back to my constant stalker, the dark man who lingers in the corner, my eternal footman who stands in the shadows and sniggers, awaiting my inevitable demise.   He who waits is the eternal footman, valet, butler whatever he is called.  The name does not matter, just his waiting , his eternal abiding near on the edge of the scene of all our lives.   Mine holds my coat, and all my trial exhibits from all my 47 Circuit trials over the past 24 years.  He carries these exhibits in a large black brief case 10 feet by 8 feet.  The exhibits hang out the sides of the brief case worn corners and move slightly when the Footmen shifts his feet waiting but growing ever
impatient with the course of his employer’s life.   The Footman so diligent in his work labors on knowing the outcome is inevitable and that his final work, the Footman’s final task of conveying the
small lawyer’s soul onward will arrive.  When he comes down after me, will I smile and say that I had been true, for I will have to go all the way by myself,  to wherever it is a the realm of death.

     Not exactly an optimistic or inspiring sentiment but accurate of my realist view of  life.   You see,
 kind reader, I have arrived at that point where age and optimism diverge.   More is behind me than is in front and that prospect while real is frightening.   So you ask, “What can be done?”  Nothing is the answer, no existing treatment or occurence can alter the eventual inevitable announcement of the “defense rests”.