CHAPTER EIGHT
DILATIONS AND CONSTRICTIONS



Part 91 On the cusp of 2011


New Year’s Eve. If I celebrate anything, it will be making it out alive through the toughest year I ever had. Becah and the kids and our previous across-the-street neighbors the Vicks are hanging out all afternoon before everyone (except me) goes over to their new apartment for drinks, dinner, and fireworks. I opt to stay and slowly drink one beer and have little spoonfuls of cheddar soup while watching “King Arthur”. I top dinner off with ice cream and a few pieces of chocolate. With the exception of the beer, these are three of the four foods (the fourth being yoghurt) that I have the easiest time with. I pick Becah and the kids up later and we spend the last bit of the year together.

We spend New Year’s Day at CC’s house, with everyone eating and drinking mimosas and watching football games. I am trying to join the group, so I sip a mimosa too. I pause. Swallow. It almost goes down. I swallow again. There, I think that did it. I’ll even try a black-eyed pea or two, for much needed good luck. I should have left well enough alone. I spend twenty to thirty minutes running back and forth to the bathroom sink spitting out bits of food but mostly mucous that is viciously flowing from my mouth.
Finally it is over, and I lie on the bed watching a game while the others get plate after plate of fruits, nuts, chips, shrimp, salads, breads, and cookies, washing it down with glasses of wine.

So I’ve crossed the annual threshold only to arrive at this state: lying on my back and dreaming of what could be.



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I return to Wednesday night choir practice for the first time in a while, only to have to return the following Saturday to sing in the funeral for a fellow tenor. He had been ill for some time off and on, but his passing was still unexpected. I was particularly sad, because I joined the choir on a whim, and on the first night it was he who took me in, sat me down, put sheet music in my hands and encouraged me to participate when I just wanted to sit in and watch.

I watch NFL wild card playoff games, disappointed at New Orleans’ loss to Seattle. The following day there is another upset, reminding me why I don’t bet on football games. Bree and I go to see “Tron Legacy” in 3D, and my streak of picking enjoyable movies for us continues.

The following week at work I present a talk before a fairly large group. My concerns about struggling due to excessive mucous are relieved when I unexpectedly have a very dry mouth instead. Not typically what speakers want, but I’ll take this any day.

I am reduced these days to ingesting most of my food by tube. The chocolate milk is even not working anymore. It is clearly time to return, however much I regret it, to the medical center for some more work. I am soon putting on the hospital gown and once again (I’ve now lost count of how many times) I am lying in bed and talking to nurses as they stick my arms with needles. This time in addition to a dilation they biopsy the esophageal tissue. The real plus, though, is the replacement of the clunky, leak-prone peg tube with a tiny “button” tube. It is a very small round piece of plastic with a cap that has been placed in my stomach. The brilliance of this is that you simply flip the cap, pour liquid in via a funnel, and pop the cap back. It is too little to snag on anything, so it won’t accidentally get ripped loose. Aesthetically it’s more pleasing too – from a distance you almost can’t even see it, a plus when swimsuit season comes.

At home, I chow down on two bowls of soup and Cokes, with the ever present soft chocolates for dessert. Limited to easier going digestible foods, but still…

At night the kids ask to sleep on the downstairs couches (Bree in the den, closer to the TV, and Brooke in the study, closer to mom and dad). I lay beside Brooke for a few minutes. She asks me where she was before she was born. I respond, “with God”. Brooke asks if she was in God’s baby tummy before her birth. This is followed, out of the blue, with wondering if “God has a hangy-down thing like you do” and then capped off with, “does He pee like you do?”

You would miss so much if you just sit in front of the TV at night.