What Would Clint Eastwood Do?

I'm pretty sure that everyone who's ever been touched by cancer can relate to the sleepless nights. Last night was one of them. It's like you can hold everything together until the wee hours of the morning, and then the boogeyman comes out to play. You spend the rest of the night laying almost rigid with fear, finally falling back to sleep as it begins to get light outside.

One observation of a habitual insomniac is that there's some really weird crap on TV at that time of night. The infomercials are best. But it gets a bit sad when you find yourself singing along to that 70's greatest soul collection CD and you know every word and which song is on next.

You seriously consider buying it.



So last night I was laying there just staring at JIm, watching him sleep. It must have freaked him out because he woke up and looked straight at me, I asked him "can you sleep?" and bless him, he said no he couldn't. He stayed awake, cuddling me until I fell back to sleep. Sometimes you just need a cuddle to keep the monsters at bay.

Waited all day for a phone call from the radiation oncologist as to whether or not she thinks I'll be a candidate for having these liver mets zapped with stereotactic radiosurgery. I guess I'll call tomorrow and follow up on that, there's no time to dick around on this.

This game's already gone into overtime. Not to feel sorry for myself, but potentially time is not something I have a lot of, so it makes sense to be proactive and make every minute count.

Gotta be keepin' it real. Yo.