Friday. A light steady rain this morning and most of the night. Up at seven, a trip over to the local hospital for my monthly blood test (checking the status of the blood thinner: too low, too high?), a drive then to breakfast at the usual place, home now after nine.
I had a thought last night, puttering around doing this and that, one that brought me up a little short: didn't this sinus-head thing feel much better than it's had in these last many years? Was I experiencing a quiescent period of some kind? I really did feel much like a human being, a skinnier human being than I've been in the past (the weight is holding or very slowly going down, my goal of another five pounds is now four after a month's time). Maybe so. Be nice if this coming year marked the end of it, but you never know until you know.
I've also had the concern since Tuesday, a week having passed since I had the PSA blood test in Palo Alto, that I haven't heard from them with the results. His comment was to call if I didn't hear from his office in a week, they've been very good at mailing them to me in the past. My thought was “ah!”, the doctor doesn't call if the results are bad, you call the office and he then comes on the phone. Just a little excitement brewing back in the recesses of the mind. I'll see if they come in today's mail, and if they don't, well, I'll call.
That doesn't seem so very upbeat.
I do feel pretty good, otherwise. That realization last night that the after effects of the jaw operation, what I'm calling the sinus-head thing seemed to be receding, was nice. Let me tell you. Who knows what that might portend; who knows, really, how I might feel after, again, all these years? The PSA, prostate cancer thing, is another matter you wade through once a year. The doctor in passing has said, well, if it comes back he can blast it to smithereens, no problem there, but then there's always a problem there. What does “blasting it to smithereens” involve? A bit more negative psychic energy and stress than one wants I'd guess.
You really worried?
I'm aware. And I'll know by the time this entry is completed. Life has its on tender hooks moments. They don't seem to go away or come any less often as you age, not that there's any expectation of that. Older is, after all, older. We have entered unknown territory, my bucko, territory we did our best to not think about when we were young, no benefit in wrestling with such things, and now - whadda ya know? - here we are, old and in the shadow of momentous events.
Later. I wouldn't want to bet there's some mechanism in place doing this, but the rain stopped and the sun came out before noon today, just as it's done now all week long, so I headed out with a camera and hopped a bus downtown. A brief stop at the new Crucible exhibition in the flatiron building at Broadway and Telegraph, a walk through the City Center as the rain started again, a sprinkle, really, not overly bothersome, the camera slung under the left arm protected from all but the occasional drop. They say they're waterproof, these professional cameras, but you trust these statements only so far when it's your camera they're talking about.
Well, a walk farther down the way picking up a February bus pass, still $20 for a month of unlimited rides, one of life's or at least Oakland's better bargains. A walk by this church and a photograph just because I like it, another photograph of The Lunch Box across the street, both for the color and the graffiti. My, my. A walk then by the empty store with the mannequins for sale in the window. If I had a big warehouse-like space here I'd ask what they're selling them for. How many test pictures can you take, will you take, of a mannequin before you've lost interest? Lighting experiments, I would think, but every large photographer's space should have one. In my humble opinion.
Not so humble half the time.
Indeed. Off the bus, a photo of the same old tree, back now in the early afternoon, the mail not yet arrived. Did I mention I had some interest in what might be in the mail this afternoon? I believe I did. So I'm looking.
Later still. The letter arrived with a reading and a note from the doctor: “This is fine, it is stable.” I've had this particular reading for the last three years running and I can safely say this is very good and I'm more than relieved. Now, let's see, there were some things I wanted to do around here before I was distracted, what were they again?