Pirates’ Luck

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

Last Sunday Art could feel I was suffering from cabin fever and suggested we go for a drive. But what the San Diego Bureau of Tourism doesn’t want me to tell you is, “If you live in this town for forty years you will run out of interesting places to drive to.” If we go south we’ll be in Mexico where I don’t feel comfortable because I’m not fluent in Spanish. If we go east we see mountains, then miles of boring desert. If we go north we have to get beyond Los Angeles, which means traffic, traffic, traffic. And if we go west, it’s wet. In a way, living in San Diego is like living on an island: It takes some effort to get away from it.

 


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Cancer & Food

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

I like to think that Art and I have had an as-close-as-it-comes to a Perfect Marriage. But that’s not quite true. There are three things I can think of that made it less-than-perfect.

 
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Taking Addictive Drugs as a Recovering Alcoholic

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
I was a junior in college the first time I knowingly took a mind-altering drug. Living in a great little apartment on San Salvador Street in San Jose, California, I was carrying a heavy academic load: dual majors in English and Drama. One weekend I escaped to my parents’ home, dragging with me books on costume design, stage lighting, 18th century poetry, and other useful subjects. My intention was to study round-the-clock.
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Cancer and I Have a Short but Serious Conversation

(Dictated by Dru to Art on 10 Aug 2014)

 

Last night I enjoyed a rare, nearly full-night’s sleep. It was bliss. I threw away two of my four sitting-up-to-sleep pillows and slept on my side, which is an under-appreciated experience.


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Inside the Novel

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
For most of my life, I’ve known about this distant presence called Death. I’ve also believed we only really “live” in the present moment and I’ve based some of my novels on this view. On the other hand, I’d been operating as if I had an unlimited number of moments in my life. Now suddenly I’m facing both death and the fact I have only a limited number of moments. With these truths now literally “realized,” I’m shocked to see that before I’d only treated them as theories. Now I’m actually inside the novel. For me and the many loved ones who’ve been reaching out to me, these facts are here, now, and real. So, finding myself inside the novel, my guess-what for today is “How do I deal with them?”

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When Cancer Speaks

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
This morning Art prepared a scrumptious breakfast (coffee, fresh orange juice, oatmeal, bulging green grapes) and served it on our sun-shiny patio while jazz floated from our den window. But no sooner had I strolled out on the patio than I felt so weak and nauseated I had to stagger back upstairs. After barfing virtually nothing but stomach acid, I fell back into bed and slept for four hours!  When I awoke Art was beside me with his laptop and coffee, determined to master the e-banking procedures I’d shown him last week. When I asked if he was just a little angry with me for spoiling our morning tete-a-tete he smiled and replied, “Not even a tad.  When cancer speaks, I have to listen.”

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Barf

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
Directions on the anti-nausea meds aren’t clear—especially for a person whose mind is already fogged by pain-killing drugs.  Second, for some reason my gag reflex has become very strong.  Yesterday Art just suggested I might want the rest of a chocolate milkshake he’d made me— and I had to lurch to the bathroom.

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Writing

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
I miss writing. The pain-killing drugs I’m on leave me in a fog that blurs my focus and robs me of the will to concentrate. But how fondly I recall and miss the writing process!

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Breaking My Anonymity

I am a member of a worldwide organization, which has anonymity as one of its central principles. After almost thirty-one years, I’ve decided to break my anonymity.

 

A few days ago, I was scheduled for back-to-back scans, PET and CT; and I’d been anxious because I knew these tests would give me the first big picture of the extent of cancer in my body. There was no way the news would be good. The question was, “How bad would it be?”

 
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Smoking

I suppose my fate was written in the stars from that summer night at the Los Gatos Youth Center when the two big high school car clubs threw a dance to which, for some reason, eighth graders were invited. It was 1953 and I was thirteen. I remember sitting on an iron bench outside the youth center with Eric Magalby on one side and Jimmy Nissen on the other, passing a Pall Mall back and forth. My first cigarette, as I recall. I think it was a year or two before filter tips. After that I was a Marlboro smoker, always.


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