Quality of Life

“Quality of life” is a term frequently heard in the oncology setting.  Having cancer already is not the only measure used to compare the quality of life one may enjoy should we  should we choose between accepting or refusing treatment.  We cannot choose between different treatments.  Doctors do that.  This ‘yes or no’ choice on our part refers to such a deterioration in our condition that to continue suffering further insults to the body is beyond our capacity to endure.

Notice as you refuse treatment that death comes with this decision.  It is not an immediate death, whereas the treatment is immediate, and therefore the condition of being afraid of something is unlikely to save you just because it is so damn strong. I’d like to add in the aspect of suicide, and go back to the doctors’ decisions.  That is immediate, and increases the decision matrix to four elements.  Now we do not just die, we kill, and other people outside the suffering area wish to exert influence here, in order to prevent it in all cases.  These individuals are not easily identified.  They aren’t standing around your bed anywhere.  I feel they occupy churches on Sunday, f0r the most part.

“Do you feel coerced?”, Tran asked me yesterday.

“No,” I answered.

“Suicide” is an unfortunate word, as is “fear” (so I changed it to afraid).  The set including ‘quality’ doesn’t have ‘suicide’ in it, so, it is prefabricated for the introduction of a nonlinear component to the straight scale running from zero quality through to a rather high quality.

If you get cancer someday, I won’t have to “hope” that you understand.  You won’t have needed nor asked for it.  It’s a little distorted to throw a word like “suicide” in on that.  Society accepts that cancer develops.  They can’t make it develop; they can’t make it not develop.  It comes up on a timetable of its own.  Oh, “sadly”.  I don’t actually believe in sadness.  Sadness as a side effect of IL-2 is fifty times regular sadness.   To contrast, take how ipilimumab blisters off the top layer of skin.  Death from third degree burns is a one.  It is only a one.  I do believe in third-degree burns.  Look:

Nothing.  I’ve been trying for three hours to upload a picture of this tumor.

I have to use some other equipment.

It just seems strange that the cancer has less of a negative impact on quality of life than running around getting chemo and radiation.  Of course, it does.  Ipi gives you three months of diarrhea, but it only extends life by three-and-a-half months.

There are a lot of things you can imagine.   You could have a baseball for lunch and get it stuck halfway down.  I just think the doctors would laugh.  “Bring me something hard!”, they’d shout.  You shouldn’t turn blue.  Breathe through your nose.

You could try to think of maximum amputations.  In order to help me, after the arm they would have to amputate the ribs, the shoulder, the collarbone, and half of the neck.  They aren’t even optimstic.  They like skin to form over amptations.  They think that is nice.  On me, it would not heal. Cancer tries to heal, but it can’t.  To cut past it is required.

My kind is metastatic, and I have another tumor, so the urge to attack the obvious one is blunted.

No, I did not “ESP” my way into having cancer.  It just happens to be a fortuitous economic plan for a jobless United States.  Not being able to afford to support three people in this economy, fate has decreed we attempt to support two for the time being.

I’m not going to be seeing double or anything.  I’m going to have twelve weeks of diarrhea, diarrhea so bad that they really want to stop it, “aggressively.”  They’ll use steroids.  The doc mentioned it wasn’t bad in the old way.  Diarrhea of a historical bad luck was amoebic dysentery.

So this is quality time.  It only hurts to walk.  I’m not walking now.  Wow.  How can I get this and put it in a bottle?

Stage IV melanoma is fatal to 70% of victims when first palpable, and fatal to 80% if not treated early, if I understand what Dr. Daniels told me.  Palpation or surveillance of the skin  obviously gives an inadequate time to save someone’s life.  We know our society is corrupt from the git-go, hence a careful, slow reading of the bullshit is required so that you don’t just swallow it.  The A-B-C-D-E of moles and the early detection of Stage I to a 95+% cure rate contains a grain of truth like all lies.  After this “cure”, what are you?  Are you not a cancer patient?  Cancer is undetectable only.  You never turn cancer-free.  Shitty little hands and eyes running over your skin is kind of a cheapshit replacement for detection, wouldn’t you say?  I don’t need better detection.  The first time I found it, and thanks to my education courtesy of Dr. Kirschenbaum of Kaiser San Diego, the second time it found me.

Quality rapidly becomes quantified, and the effort of religions and corporations has to be to eliminate all dissent.  The corruption is there.  When it passes into you and you pass it right on out, you can get mentioned, as I have this quack.  There is another, lower quality result of corruption.  We tend to wait until 9/11, and if you find the suppressed video, you can marvel at the quality when the people marshalled at the windows in the ruined WTC jumped.

“We have treated your cancer and you have probably two to five years or longer before it should come back.  If you wish to find it earlier, petition us regularly to receive scans.  We always refuse such requests.”

That’s all you had to say.  You aren’t going to prevent the desired nuclear annhilation or any retaliatory attacks in the interim unless you refuse to be personally corrupt.  In case uncorrubtible actors cannot be located by due diligence, the entire society is pried loose and flung into space with extreme prejudice.  It’s in the Bible.

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2 Responses to “Quality of Life”

  1. hotshot bald cop Says:

    Excellent blog!

    • sbillinghurst Says:

      Ooh, you commented under the one all about cancer. Look, you don’t have to make me feel good. It’s just a blog. I am entering the divorce zone, with child support and SSI, so, I should lose contact with my boy forthwith, and find food out of garbage cans. Many cops enjoy that idea, because, in accordance with what they are, which is a sycophant to the chief, while reducing better men to desolation; if you tell them, they can’t see why the stars and stripes, the cop, and eternal truth contain some flaw between them. Are you a cop, or, do you wash cops’ police cars, because, the two sorts need different kinds of courage. The courage to defend puts on the Furies, with their vengence. The Confessio Amantis (1390) is said to impart courage if you read it. Why’d this…
      “Run Like Hell”

      Run, run, run, run [repeat line four times]
      You better make your face up in
      Your favourite disguise
      With your button down lips and your
      Roller blind eyes
      With your empty smile
      And your hungry heart
      Feel the bile rising from your guilty past
      With your nerves in tatters
      As the cockleshell shatters
      And the hammers batter
      Down your door
      You better run

      Run, run, run, run [repeat line four times]
      You better run all day
      And run all night
      And keep your dirty feelings
      Deep inside. And if your
      Takin’ your girlfriend
      Out tonight
      You better park the car
      Well out of sight
      ‘Cos if they catch you in the back seat
      Trying to pick her locks
      They’re gonna send you back to mother
      In a cardboard box
      You better run .
      **************
      I wasn’t looking for that.
      ************
      watching for pigs on the wing
      Dogs
      You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
      You gotta sleep on your toes, and when your on the street
      You got to be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
      And moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
      You got to strike when the moment is right without thinking

      And after a while, you can work on points for style
      Like a club tie, and a firm handshake
      A certain look in the eye and an easy smile
      You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
      So that when they turn their backs on you
      You’ll get the chance to put the knife in

      You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
      You know it’s going to get harder and harder and harder as you get older
      And in the end you’ll pack up and fly down south
      Hide your head in the sand
      Just another sad old man
      All alone and dying of cancer

      And when you loose control,
      You’ll reap the harvest you have sown
      And as the feaar grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
      And it’s too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around
      So have a good drown, as you go down, alone
      Dragged down by the stone
      I gotta admit that I’m a little bit confused
      Sometimes it seems to me as if I am just being used
      Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off
      This creeping malaise
      If I don’t stand on my own ground,
      How can I find my own way out of this maze?

      Deaf dumb and blind, you just keep on pretending
      That everyone’s expendable and no-one has a real friend
      And it seems to you that the thing to do
      Would be to isolate the winner
      And everything’s done under the sun,
      And you belive at heart everyone’s a killer

      Who was bornin a house full of pain
      Who was trained not to spit in the fan
      Who was told what to do by the man
      Who was broken by trained personnel
      Who was fitted with collar and chain
      Who was given a pat on the back
      Who was breaking away from that pack
      Who was only a stranger at home
      Who was ground down in the end
      Who was found dead on the phone
      Who was dragged down by the stone
      ********************
      Okay, that one: You got to strike when the moment is right without thinking. That’s definitely the attack. I just was sitting in a swing downhearted one day. It wasn’t the Middle Ages, but, even before 1989, my first wife had liquidated multiple pregnancies, so, my mother (*choke*), conspired with her to tell me it was a miscarriage. I’d gone to jail, so i. You arrest the man, ii. Do a safety check and fuck the wife, iii. Serve the man divorce papers in jail, iv. do the abortion, and variations of the above. If I get time, I’ll promote the right of the husband to intervene in purely vindictive abortions…

      Hotshot, I think you just made up my mind. I’ll be the one wearing a shemagh wrapped terrorist style on 7/11, all day.
      Steve, you caught an image. I don’t have to pass on telling the tale. I want to see a V for valor pin on Hotshot. I’d pay to see it stapled on him. This one is a ‘police support’ guy with his own boy, and a dog. I don’t think he is supporting the police by telling, he must be listening, because he laughingly refers to the pet as, “the prisoner”, so, it may be true that kids don’t grow up to be police so much as the females actually breed them.

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