Eagles Over the Kennebec

Up at oghod o'clock and on the road to the Cancer Center for the second year anniversary of my mastectomy.  Cutting to the chase, the surgeon expresses great personal pleasure in the present state of my health.  I have one more hoop to jump through -- a mammogram, in August.  If nothing concerning shows up, I will graduate from every six month appointments to every year.

So, metaphoric fingers crossed for good results in August, which is basically what you want from a mammogram, anyway, so no surprises there.

After my visit with the surgeon, Steve drove us to Ellsworth to drop off a clock for repair and cleaning, and we wandered home via Surry and East Blue Hill Village (yeah, not really on the way home, but you can get here from there), stopping at the Lion's Den in Waterville to have a celebratory lunch.

We're home now, the coon cats have been brought up to date, and I'm thinking maybe to top off the day by watching a movie.

Work does continue on SALVAGE RIGHT, which right now stands at just a smidge over 71,000 words.

So, we've been having some crazy weather, even for Maine.  Sub-zero (Fahrenheit) temps alternating with warmer days; snow, rain, and Unidentified Stuff falling from the sky.  This has made a Certified Mess of our driveway, given the snowbanks piled on either side of the driveway by the plow guy, whose mission is to make certain we can get the cars out of and into the garage.

Yesterday, water was standing ankle deep over rotten ice at the bottom of the front steps, and more flowing looking to flow in as the snow melted from the 50F/10C temperatures.

All that said, today I thought I was going to go out with a shovel and an ice-axe and dig a trough through compacted snow to release the water, so Steve and I could safely exit the house. Then! I thought again and called the plow guy, who will come by today with The Equipment, and Adjust the Situation.  And in fact he's here now in his little Bobcat thingy, apparently enjoying himself hugely.

After a lifetime -- and I mean that literally; I started my habit at age 7 -- of drinking coffee, I had to quit, and have been searching for an alternative source of life-giving caffeine.  After some poking around, I'd hit upon Twinings Irish Breakfast tea as a reasonable substitute for the morning joe.  However, Twinings green tea is -- not pleasant, IMHO -- and a search for a more drinkable cup sent me to Harvey and Sons.  While I was there, and in addition to two green teas, I bought a box of Irish Breakfast tea.  For Science!

I had a cup of Mr. Harney's Irish Breakfast tea for my first cup today, and it was very nice -- flavorful, smooth; not bitter, but definitely black, if that makes sense.

Mr. Harney directs us to brew this tea for five minutes, and that's what I did.

I have here at my right hand a cup of Mr. Twinings' Irish Breakfast tea -- my Usual Sort. Mr. Twinings directs us to brew this tea for four minutes, which produces a cup that is not quite as nice as Mr. Harney's. Therefore, because I am a Slave to Science, I brewed Mr. Twinings' leaf for five minutes.

Five minutes is too long for Mr. Twinings' Sort; it's bitter along the high edge -- and not even I know what that means, but it seems to appropriately describe the experience.

I note that Mr. Harney's tea was black in the cup. Mr. Twinings' is reddish.

So, on the first taste test, I find a preference for Mr. Harney's Sort, though Mr. Twinings' Sort, at the directed four minutes, is perfectly drinkable.

What else?  Ah!  I may have been remiss in reporting here that at my last oncology appointment, I was graduated from every-three-month check-ins, to every six months.  And there was much rejoicing.

Today's to-do includes washing the dishwasher, which is already happening, and I may have to wash towels, after. Mostly, though, I hope to stick pretty close to Salvage Right, which, for those coming in late, is a Liaden Universe® novel set on Tinsori Light, after the events described in Neogenesis.

Yesterday, I finally intersected with a scene I'd written a month ago, so yay!  Said scene needs expansion, naturally, so that's what I've been doing. I'd like to get to the end of that whole section today, but, really, what do I know?

As of last night's writing session, Salvage Right stands at 50,885 words, and continues to Amuse Its Author, while zooming right along.

And that catches us more or less up.  As you can see, it's been Very Quiet hereabouts -- writers writing, cats napping, nothing really to see here.

To make up for all the excitement included in this post, I have appended a snippet from Salvage Right below this paragraph.  If you don't like snippets -- go not further.

SNIPPET

Because, in the dialect of my youth, "ketchup" is pronounced "catch up."  Or possibly the other way around.

Before I get started with the catching up of bidness, I have some, eh, Breaking News. We have been talking to Baen re narrators for the Audible edition of Trader's Leap. We don't have a date -- hell, we don't even actually have a narrator -- but the fact that we're having this discussion would seem to indicate that the audiobook is moving forward.

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled blog.

I have slightly too much on my plate at the moment, which is my excuse for the irregular updates here.

So, what is on your plate, I hear you ask.  Well, I will tell you.

Deep edit of a story that wouldn't leave Steve alone, working title "The Port Chavvy Comet."  I hope to have that done by the end of this weekend, so it can start making its way to chapbookhood.

Also!  I am the Front Office here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, which means, I do the accounting, and interface with the accountant re taxes.  Even if the story isn't done by tomorrow night, it will on Monday take second place to Getting the Tax Stuff Ready for the Accountant.

I'm taking a pain management course, which has quite a bit of homework attached to it.  Turns out that it's true what they say, If ya wanna manage pain and stuff, you gotta sing loud.  And do the homework.

I'm still learning the new way of eating mandated by the Cancer Survivalist Program.  Which means I'm doing a lot more Actual Cooking, which is swell, because the new diet is, on the whole, very tasty, but that's time I used to spend on other things, like, yanno, blogging.

Speaking of post-cancer living, that also comes with homework.  Who knew?  There's walking and other exercise to be done, and while I have a walking and exercise schedule previous to my mastectomy, if I got into a writing crunch, I ignored  it.  Not an option anymore, along with the previous I'll Sleep When I'm Dead lifestyle.

So, I guess what I'm saying is that a brush with mortality provides both a new lens and an...opportunity to re-organize.  Given that, I'm still re-organizing.

Those who are tired of the whole cancer discussion, can skip the next bit.

It turns out that coming back from cancer therapy is kind of like unboxing a matryoshka -- or, more accurately, like putting one together.

Post-op, you feel lousy; then over a period of weeks, you feel less lousy; then you feel like maybe you could actually walk fifteen minutes a day, in five-minute shifts, around the upstairs of the hours. Gradually you get that 15 minutes into one Monster Shift, until one day you feel a lot better, well enough to go downstairs and walk for fifteen -- or twenty! -- minutes altogether. A little after that, you're find that you're bored, so you start swatting a Wiffle ball at the wall with your pickleball bat; and suddenly you're walking 25/30 minutes at a go, and upping the pace, and one day you realize that you're gonna have to increase the time to 35/40, and! that you've out-strengthed the size of your Wall Ball court.

So, my new project, with Steve's help, is to set up a Tai Chi space in the wall ball court downstairs. We have a couple of screens that are good enough for video, we have Frank the old Windows 7 computer, we have a Windows compatible DVD player, and! we have Tai Chi DVDs. There's no need for Frank to access the internet, which I understand is a very dangerous place for a machine of his age and persuasion, but he can interface between the DVD player and the screen, and I? can dance daibri'at.

So, yeah, that's another new project on the plate.

I hope to get back to more regular blogging here, as the rest of my new schedule takes shape around me.  In the meantime, thank you for your care and your patience.  I love you all.

So, there's this Thing that happens when you start to get better after having been, oh, pretty sick from the flu, say.  You start to feel better, and you say, "Hey!  I'm better!"  and then a couple weeks later, you look back at that point and say to yourself, "Oh, boy, who was I kidding?  But, hey!  I'm really better now!"  And a couple weeks further along, you look back at that point, and shake your head, because, man, you didn't know what better even was -- and so on until you stop thinking about it and eventually, you're back to 100 percent, or whatever passes for 100 percent in your country, and life goes on.

That's kind of where I am, now. I'm definitely better than I was four weeks ago, on my radiation graduation day, and really better than three weeks ago, and noticeably better than even two weeks ago, but -- still not 100 percent.  Maybe 80 percent.  Maybe not that much.

One of the most frustrating parts of this continuing journey is the hitting a Wall of exhaustion, when, just five minutes earlier, I was feeling just fine.  Really, it's like 80 to zero in two heartbeats, and suddenly I'm tearing up because I can't remember how to hard boil eggs.  Disconcerting.  My particular Wall seems to manifest in the afternoon, anywhere from ten minutes to three hours after the midday meal, so, naturally I've been trying to cram all the Stuff I feel I need to do in the hours before the midday meal. Which may or may not be exacerbating the situation, but we play with the tiles we've drawn.

In any case, I am not back to a place where I can write fiction yet (argh), but I can do other writing related things, like read page proofs, which is what I've been doing, slowly, with the proofs for the mass market edition of Accepting the Lance, which has been its own small journey into surrealism.

It's not that I don't remember the story -- not exactly that.  I do remember the -- the hanger points, which is to say, the scenes that had to be there in order for the story to continue in a forwarder direction.  What I don't remember are things like Val Con having lunch with his daughter, or the Miri's meeting with the snow removal crew, or any other of a bunch of the small scenes that give the story depth and Truth.

So, I'm about 87 pages short of a complete read of the proofs, and hope to finish them tomorrow.  Then, I'll see what other trouble I can get into -- in a good way, as the journey toward normal continues.

Everybody be safe.

When last we saw Our Humble Narrator, she had finished her last ray gun therapy session, collected her diploma, rang the bell with a will (eliciting applause, catcalls, and shouts of "congratulations" from those foregathered), and was driven home by her partner, by way of Bucksport, Searsport, Belfast, and China, arriving in Good Time at Gifford's, where milkshakes were taken on, and so to home, where said narrator finished drinking her milkshake and had a nap.

Begin TMI
The Official Word is that I will now "rest;" never an easy state for me, this time made a little more difficult by the burns, which are still coming into their fullness, and, yeah, they hurt.  I am, according to Dr. Ray Gun, not to "baby" the burns, to continue with the range-of-motion exercises, and also continue to apply the recommended creams.  I may take analgesics as I feel the need for them.

I am lower on energy than at any point since this particular adventure began, my memory is not reliable, and I have acquired a deplorable tendency to weep, which is, I suppose, better than throwing knives, or breaking dishes, but much less spiritually fulfilling.  I expect that the the reality of what's happened is finally catching up with me, now that I may "rest," and have no need to focus on holding it together for the trip to the Cancer Center, the ray gun treatment, and the drive home.

I have an appointment at the Cancer Center next Friday, with the Survivalism Doctor, which, despite my persistent mental picture, is not about taking off our shirts, strapping on our hunting knives, and descending, sans bug repellent, into the marshland surrounding the hospital to bring down and skin a deer.  I will be speaking with this doctor about my concerns regarding the drugs they propose to put me on for the rest of my life, so that will be fun.
End TMI

So, anyway, Patience and Waiting Are, as I try to find the balance between "resting" and being horrified that I've gotten nothing, not one thing, done -- which is not a problem today, as I've written this blog post.

Everybody stay healthy.  Everybody stay safe.

Stream of Consciousness Warning

1  For those playing along at home, I have had sixteen ray gun therapy sessions, with only nine more to go.  My skin in the treatment area has begun to burn, which I know by looking at it.  Surgery left me mostly numb in that region, which is a blessing.  There are one or two small areas that are not numb, though they don't hurt nearly as much as a visual inspection suggests that they should.  Yes, I am using the prescribed emollient; and Steve has taken over chauffeuring duties to and from the Cancer Center.

2  For fans of the Hummer Bar:  we are open, and have seen custom, which is gratifying, and amuses me, at least.  The cats don't seem so interested in hummingbirds.  Squirrels, now. . .

3  For those who may not have seen the news -- Uncle Hugo's and its sister store, Uncle Edgars, in Minneapolis, have burned to the ground, victims of Friday night's civil unrest.  All hands are safe and accounted for, but the stores and all contents are gone.  This is a horrifying loss to the community.  Don Blyly, the owner, is in the process of -- well, processing the situation, consulting his lawyer, and doing those things that one must in the aftermath of catastrophe.  He has not set up any Go-Fund-Me accounts, he has not put out a call for books to help him restock.  He's still thinking, taking advice, and weighing options.  If you see any calls for contributions of cash or stock, please do not respond; several drives have been started by concerned persons, but they are not in any way official.  When Don needs our help, he will tell us.

4  On Monday June 1 -- that's tomorrow -- morning at 9 am Eastern, the first chapter of The Wrong Lance will -- or at least, should -- appear at Patreon, for Patrons Only, and also at Splinter Universe, for all who care to look for it.

4a  For those who missed the announcement and the ground-rules in re The Wrong Lance, you may find those here.  The Introduction, posted last Monday, is here.

5  Trooper just stole a face mask off my desk. He was very clever about it, sneaking in under the lip of the standing desk, and lifting his snout centimeter by centimeter, until he was in a position to snatch! the ear-loop, fling himself to the floor, and take up position on his favorite sun rug, looking oh-so-very pleased with himself.  I have recovered the mask, and will wash it later.  In the meantime, I am, need I say, in Trooper's Black Book.

Here endeth my stream of consciousness.

Everybody stay safe.

The Big News around here is that I have completed seven -- SEVEN! -- sessions of Ray Gun Therapy.  Only 18 more to go.

I had hoped to get some work done this weekend, and may actually get there yet, but first -- the Command Chair, because, despite having gone to bed early and gotten up late -- I could use a nap.  Trooper is promoting this heavily, having pushed into my lap as I was typing this short correspondence, and banging my chin repeatedly with the top of his head.

In more interesting news, I recorded three chapters from Mouse and Dragon that constitute one of my favorite scenes in the Liaden Universe® and they are being posted on Patreon, first for patrons, then, when the next chapter posts, the previous one is made available for All the World.

This means that Chapter Thirty is free for you -- yes, you! -- to listen to, right now, right here

Chapter Thirty-Two will be posted for patrons on May 18, whereupon Chapter Thirty-One will become public.

As reported earlier, I DARE t-shirts are being mailed, so -- watch the skies!

I've been working, very slowly, on an Archers Beach story.  Steve is working on the next Liaden novel, the deadline for which has been put back to mid-summer.

I do think that's all the news that's fit to print.  I hope y'all are keeping safe and healthy.

Sharon Lee and Steve Miller, working in partnership with Offworld Designs, offers for preorder, starting right now, a new edition of the classic Liaden Universe® tshirt.

For those who want to order NOW, here's your link.

Continuing, for those who want the Rest of the Story...

The short sleeved shirts are offered in unisex (men) and women's styles, in your choice of black shirt with pink message, or pink shirt with black message.  In addition, in reply to popular demand, we are also offering a long-sleeve black tee with pink message.

The first Liaden Universe® tshirts were offered to fans by the authors in 1997.  Since then, there have been several runs of tshirts, each with a different slogan.  The tshirt previous to this one -- DRAGON IN EXILE -- was licensed in 2015, by Offworld Designs.

There is a Story behind this new tshirt, which I posted on Facebook barely three days ago, and which is reproduced below.

So, I was getting dressed this morning, and, since today's adventures encompass me going to the pharmacy to pick up my new drugs and old, I said to myself, said I, "Self, you need something to coordinate with your face mask. How about! an I DARE tshirt?"

I went to the tshirt drawer, but of course I don't have an I DARE tshirt, I have a DRAGON IN EXILE shirt -- which is, don't get me wrong, an EXCELLENT shirt. But I really wanted and I DARE shirt, and I figure to want an I DARE shirt for several weeks in the future.

The last couple days have been sunny and warm, with high temperatures near 60F/16C, here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.  Tomorrow, the weatherbeans predict rain, or possibly snow, with a high around 36F/2C.

Welcome to Maine.

The deck is not quite finished -- still lacking a privacy panel and the stairway down to the yard.  But it's plenty finished enough to put the deck chairs out, so that's what we did.  It's nice to sit in the sunshine.  I took advantage of that same warm sunshine to play the games of post-winter trash collection and pick-up-sticks in the yard.  The Lawn Guys promise to come by next week to do a serious clean up -- for instance, the branch that fell out of the apple tree needs either an application of chain saw to get it into pieces short enough to schlepp down to the Big Pile of Twigs by the Forest Gate, or it needs a tractor to drag it there.

We have hyacinth and snowdrops in the backyard, and several pods of daffodils blooming by the front door.

So, yes, it is spring, Maine-style.

For those who may have missed it -- Splinter Universe Presents! has published.  Here's a link to Apple, BN, Kobo, and Angus & Robertson.  Here's the Kindle link.  Here's the link to the paper edition.

Splinter Universe Presents! is a collection of character sketches, discovery drafts, portions of novels, and of stories, that quit before they became whole.  Each piece comes with an author commentary, which may make the volume of value to those who are interested in the writing process, and possibly to those who wish to become -- or who are becoming -- writers.  All of the material has been previously published to splinteruniverse.com, and all are Liaden in nature.

In other news, I have what I sincerely hope is the definitive telehealth visit with Oncologist the First this afternoon, to discuss the results of the oncotyping.  Today, I should find out what my treatments will be, going forward, and have the beginning of a schedule for same.  Which is to say, Waiting will End, and Events will Move.  That by itself will be a relief.

At the moment, I have two coon cats -- Trooper in the copilot's chair, and Sprite on the desk by my keyboard -- snoring in the sun, my mug is empty, and it's time to make up a list for Instacart, and start the towels to washing.

See y'all on the flipside.  Stay safe.

When last seen in this space, I was waiting for appointments with Specialists.  On Monday, I had an appointment with my surgeon -- healing nicely, says the surgeon, we'll touch base again in two months -- and with Oncologist the First, she who determines when chemo will do the patient any good.

In order to determine this, she has to have the results of a DNAish test, possibly called an oncotype.  She ordered that test on Monday and expects results in two weeks.  No, I don't know why the test wasn't ordered when it was discovered that the lymph nodes were involved; and no, I also don't know why they've kept my tumor hanging around for weeks.  I hope at least its had books to read.

Anyway, we're waiting for the results of that test so that we can figure out what's to do, going forward.

In the meantime, the hospital is trying to limit the number of visitors to it, so my next meeting, this with the Ray Gun Specialist, will be via telehealth, which is a fancy way of saying, "The doctor will meet with you via Zoom conference."  And that's what we'll be doing next Thursday.

Before someone leaps up to Explain how REALLY SCARY AND EVIL Zoom is -- this is the doctor's choice of communication tool; it is far, far better than making a 100+ mile round trip to the hospital, exposing myself to a lot of immunodepressed persons, and exposing them to me, while Steve is excluded from entering at all.  The Zoom conference will allow Steve to attend the meeting fully, and the cats, too; and lowers the risk of infection considerably.  Also, the laptop runs Linux, so considerably less danger than were it running Windows.

So, basically, we're in Hurry Up and Wait Mode.

The news from my surgeon is that, in the Current Climate, the hospital is reassessing its risk management guidelines, meaning that some procedures which would have been on the front burner, in Olden Times, are now being kicked down the road by two to six months.

In the meantime, I'm working -- slowly -- on Splinter Universe Presents! and not writing at all.  I'm not particularly happy about that, but it is what it is.

Steve and I have been pretty much staying in, except for visits to the hospital, which -- except for visits to the hospital -- is pretty much our normal.  The next-door neighbors are looking out for us, and we've been using InstaCart for grocery shopping, which has been working out surprisingly well, despite shortages in the store itself.

A kind friend gave us gallons of frozen blueberries, so we're wealthy in antioxidants.  Today, I made blueberry muffins, and Steve is figuring to make blueberry pancakes over the weekend, which still leaves plenty left over for smoothies, and putting over ice cream, and, and, and...

The cats have been working hard to give equal coverage -- right now, Trooper is in my Command Chair, while Sprite and Belle cover Steve in his office.

And that?  Is all the news.

Everybody stay safe.