lost and found

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on monday we went to the 12th floor again,
as we do every week, for a blood test.

this time, and all through the day and night before,
leanne was having trouble breathing.

it would’ve been a gimme to chalk up the breathlessness
to the hooters girl who served us the night before, but
we opted for a slightly more medical angle.

at the clinic they didn’t know what it was -
a blood clot, pneumonia, a pulmonary embolism?
the got leanne up out of her chair and made her walk
around the 12th floor with the pulse ox clasp on her finger.

20 feet and she was almost gasping.

somehow, she had lost her breath.

——

i may have said this before, but i think this whole blog thing
is really weird.  i know, i know, eloquence is not my strongpoint,
but there it is.

one of the things i’ve enjoyed doing ever since someone pointed
out to me that i could see the “stats” for this site is to monitor
how people got here, as in, what they put into search engines
that somehow got them onto this site.

of course, there’s the requisite:

ling ling lymphoma
and
luchalee cancer
and
leanne lymphoma

but here are a few you probably didn’t guess would show up,
or maybe you would, and that’s why you’re here.
why are you here, by the way?
this is not a question for those of you who know us, but
rather a question for those of you, and there are many,
who have never met us before.

anyway, onwards to the search terms:

dr.danielito
feel stupid love
fever keeps coming back
aquila chinese magpie
letter to daughter with cancer
tell me why my whole body will itch
she gives the perfect hand job
feel stupid
sad end of love letters
comparing shampoos projects
forever and ever she gives you her love
crucerferous
melody lydia tattooed lady
She Gives Me Head
BOB ROSS
why do so many people die on the toilet
until the end of time she gives

—–

if it were my own list, it’d be:

what do i do when i can’t sleep?
please, someone that will listen, please
my fingers need to do something right now
a wellspring
a small bird
where will the ice go?
a crowbar in my hand
if we stop building will we die
i will put the hair here
love, and what’s become of it
tired, i’ll close my eyes

the things i search for that i find here,
i find them everytime.
in process, in product, both.
—–

they took leanne’s blood and tested it.
they gave her a chest x-ray.
everything came back negative.
then a cat scan on her lungs.
nothing still.

and after yet another 1/2 hour appointment that inevitably
turns into a day in the hospital, we went home.

she’s breathing better,
so we move on.

—–

i’m thinking about turning off the machine,
shutting down the blog,
and going back to writing in my journal.

but then i remember the woman who wrote
us a month ago, after i wrote the post about itching,
who said she just read our post and that she’d been itching since july.

she went to the doctor and she’s got it.

or the other woman who wrote and said that her father in law
has lymphoma and doesn’t say a word, and that she’s learned
more about what he may be going through from reading this.

or dan reines, that strange man in switzerland, who needed
an outpost for his deranged and often misguided humor.

or me, and how i’ve mislead you.

how even the title of this blog is, in a sense, a lie.

how this is not a blog so much about leanne battling lymphoma,
but rather a blog about me watching leanne battle lymphoma,
and that no matter how much i want it to be the former,
it can only be the latter if i am left to write it,
because the only authority i have, if any, is the authority
to write what i’ve written, what i’ve witnessed, what i’ve felt.

you probably all figured this out long ago.
and so did i.
and i imagine that someday soon the draw
of leanne and her cancer will wear off, in a way,
as it should, and what will be left behind will be
my journal anyway, which no one ever really cared about,
nor should they,  nor were they ever meant to.

and then maybe i’ll stop
writing
here.

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