NIGHTMARE IN SLO MO

 That's exactly how to describe it. My existence. A nightmare in slow motion. 

A never-ending surrealistic dream - - unfolding like the haunting backdrops of the 1920 German film, "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari".

Expressionism supreme.

More about that later.

I had my appointment last Tuesday. My oncologist Dr. Johnson in Cookeville Medical Center.

It went exactly as I thought - - nothing new to tell, a vast waste of time. I don't like my new oncologist. Dr. Sydris (now retired) always strived to get things done.

Dr. Johnson gives the attitude that he doesn't give a crap. He listens to my major concerns. Then says I'll need further tests ( he already has my recent horrifying PETscan). He has no appointment schedule. A nurse said it will be "weeks, not sure when."

So......I'll waste precious time, waiting forever. I know I need treatments right now. I'm holding back on this blog post, not telling everything. I don't want to be an alarmist.

Things are worse than can be imagined.

Rainy day on my appointment. I loved seeing the dramatic sky, with occasional sunlight. My only connection to the outside world.

Here, in Signature, it is my prison. I'm existing on nothing but faded memories. Lifeless. Seriously dejected.

A nightmare in slow motion.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

A masterpiece of German horror/expressionism, 1920. Directed by Robert Wiene. 

Starring Conrad Veidt (remember him in "Casablanca" ?)

I won't go into the twisted plot. The sinister Caligari, and the somnambulist Cesare who predicts and commits murders.

When I was ten years old, I had a horror magazine that had photos from the 1920 Caligari film. I was mesmerized by the photos, but knew very little about the film.

When I was 20 years old, I finally saw the film in a silent movie theater in L.A.

The informative years when I explored everything.

This post didn't interest you, and I certainly don't blame you. It's crap.

I have absolutely NO desire to write, but I currently have an Internet connection. So I forced myself.

Jon, 💚

wondering if I'm still.... alive

P.S.

The Silent Movie Theater still exists on Fairfax in Los Angeles. It opened in 1942 and through the years had different names (The Old Time Movie Theater, The Movie Theater) and different owners.

In 1997, owner Lawrence Austin was murdered in the theater when there was a robbery.

I'VE READ ALL YOUR COMMENTS BUT DIDN'T REPLY BECAUSE I KEEP LOSING MY CONNECTION.

HEART OF THE LOST

 

By some technological miracle, I have an Internet connection so I'm writing a new post. Nothing interesting nor important. Just confirming the fact of my existence. Probably typos, because my right arm hurts so much that I can hardly type.

Before I go into updates, I want to turn back the clock - to the 1st of June, 2023. Now, over three years ago. That was the horrible day when my long medical journey began. I knew at least a year previously that I was seriously ill. A tumor on my pelvis, directly on the main artery, which caused massive hemorrhages. At the time I didn't have medical insurance and was too frightened to get help.

The things I went through were so terrifying that I wouldn't want to describe it on this (public) blog.

Incredibly, during that time I still managed to blog - but my posts were strange, disjointed, depressing. Nobody knew how I was suffering. I hinted....but hints mean nothing.

During this time, I made the video "Heart of the Lost" (the title is from the music, written by Ean Grimm). I posted the video...and no one knew what it meant.

I never revealed my desperate plan. I went into the forest by my house. A final walk. I found a perfect spot nestled in the busom of the trees. I sat there for hours, clutching the ample bottle of pills. 

I yearned for the final sleep, which would come gently....... soon the wild, free spirit of a white wolf would roam forever freely in the peaceful place I loved.

It was as simple as that.

I didn't go through my plan. It was night when I got home.

The 1st of June

I had lost so much blood that I started having mild heart attacks. I could no longer walk. I stumbled to the front porch, called 911, and passed out on the porch.

A long journey....the doctors at Centennial in Nashville told me there was no hope. I was sent back to Cookeville, where I had seven weeks of chemo and radiation.

A guardian angel had mercy.

That's the past. What about now?

Medically, I'm having more problems. I don't want to exhaust myself (or you) with tedious details. After six long weeks, I finally have an appointment with my oncologist in Cookeville (July 14th). Good news.....but I'm apprehensive.

I wish it could have been sooner.

I wish this post wasn't so gloomy. I'm exhausted mentally and physically. My sense of humor has vanished.

Jon ❤️ valiently...hanging.....on

I'll try to post more often, if I still have an Internet connection. Thanks for being there. I know you are.

WHY?

Why? Why am I bothering to write a new post? Possibly to convince myself that I still have the ability to convey my thoughts, that I'm still reasonably rational - -

not senile yet, not...quite...dead.

Routine. My present existence is completely routine. Meals, meds, nurses, wound care, bed baths (holy sheeit), meals, meds, meds.

I must be a frickin' addict by now. At least with the pain pills, I'm no longer screaming with pain.

The past few days are muddled. I can't keep things in logical order.

Two days after I was moved to this new room (#609), the two Big Wig social workers ( one male, one female) who run this place, came into my room.

I hate it. They are always messengers of bad news.

Somber and icy, they announced that they're moving me to another room.

ME - always polite and congenial

lost my temper and spewed my disgust.

I flatly refused to be moved.

They looked dour but completely stunned.

Finally, I said "I don't give a crap what you do. Wheel the damn bed outside to the garden."

My exact words.

Several days later.....and I never heard from them again. I regret my outburst, yet I don't care. It's probably not the end.

The biopsy for the "non-cyst" on my arm? So far no results. The head nurses keep calling, and the biopsy place (whatever) keeps stalling.

I'm extremely worried.

Yesterday a nurse changed the bandages on my arm. The "non-cyst" started bleeding hard. My hospital gown, the sheets, and my pillow case were soaked. They had to change everything.

Nurse finished the bandages and left the room.

Ten minutes later, blood was streaming down my arm. The bandage was soaked. I was horrified. Grabbed a towel and put pressure on it, while struggling to press the "Help" buzzer.

Nurse (finally) returned. Had to change the bandages and reinforced the "non-cyst" with stronger bandages. So far no more blood.

Nothing unnerves me anymore. I'm used to be pummeled with crap.

How's Hospice?

They sent several social workers to ask me myriads of questions. I'm very good at answering and feigning the fact that I'm sane.

The problem with Hospice is that their sole goal is to make you comfortable until you croak.

They want you to die.

They are admittedly nice - - one of their nurses sees me twice a week.....and I still have the nurses here at Signature Health Care.

BUT - I'm no longer having physical therapy here. I guess the insurance no longer covers it.

Hell, I admittedly don't know what exactly is going on. My tired mind can't concieve all the red tape.

I think I have the option to lose Hospice and go home, back to the Quality Home Care nurses. But I desperately need physical therapy (which they provide).

I just hope I can keep my sanity for a little while longer....and hang on....

For several recent nights in a row, I've been having dreams that I can walk again. Joyous dreams!

 .....are they only dreams......?

Jon 🧡  dreaming

Top image

One of my AI creations. I know some of you are tired of it and don't like AI, but I plan to do several future posts about it.

If there is a future.

The fortune teller knows.....