Those of you who turn to my website to find out what is the latest must be wondering what is happening with my otherwise regular (more or less reports.) It is not because these past days contain nothing of interest. I don’t know. Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. To me they have blended into one indistinguishable primal soup. I sleep. My stomach cries out in pain. I hurl up narcotics. My head spins. I sleep. I try to eat but everything tastes funny. It’s day. It’s night. It makes no difference.

What does make a difference is that I have lost my dignity. My most intimate human functions are discussed as if they were headline news. I have become a “he” that everyone talks over and through as if I were some ghoulish semi-being. Worse, I don’t give a damn. If I blow lunch on the sidewalk like a down and out junkie, I don’t care. That’s what narcotics do to you, even when they are prescribed. They drag you down right into that puddle of regurgitation and you go without a protest – although not without a whimper. I’m glad they wont let me have visitors. I wouldn’t want you to see this me.

I’m still on them, the narcotics. Without them, I would feel the pains of Zoster as if I were in the midst of an infection. Nerves have a long memory – like elephants. Today the drugs are working and I feel good enough to write something. Still, my stomach is wozzy. My hands tremble from another set of drugs. Tomorrow, day 49, is half way and I am getting a bone marrow biopsy so that the Docs can find out how well the graft has taken. They say things are looking good. I have to trust them. They are not loaded.

Next week they take me off the pump of Acyclovir that prevents a recurrence of Shingles. I am scared that the virus will return. When I attempted to go off the pain meds, the pain returned. Why not the virus? I rely on Bonnie’s optimism as well as little things to pick me up. This morning in the shower, I noticed that my shampoo smelled like raspberries. They brought back memories of hikes with many of you. I spent a long time in the shower hiking with you, dreaming that we could pluck fresh raspberries again.