Once more, with feeling

It’s just (unlike me) going to be a short post tonight, to let all of you who don’t know me in Facebook land or real life, know what happened today.

To cut a long story short, it’s was the liver growing procedure that failed, not my liver.  It does show some signs of inflammation, most like to be caused by chemotherapy, but nothing major at all, and definitely no reason why liver regeneration can’t occur.

The liver resection, it’s so coveted, and so hard to get, not many get a second throw of the dice – but I am coming up to my third.  The only thing now is to try and grow the liver a little bit, and I will hit that table early January.

The fat lady?  Well, she’s not sung to me yet, in fact, she appears to have lost her voice, even if her lips are still moving.  She might have a message for me, in her own mute style, but I’m not listening.  She’d have to get a hell of a lot louder than this.

And my house?  It’s not just coloured in, but my imaginings find it in sharp relief.  And sometimes the picture moves.  I hear the click of my fingers on the keys of my laptop, as my book begins to take shape. I feel the warmth as I stretch out like a cat in front of the open fire on what will not be my last winter.  The bath bubbles pop in that big ole clawfoot bath.  There is a faint whiff of fresh smelling babies, as they drift past on the way to their rooms, and ask to stay up for one more story, one more kiss.  And I’ll never say no, as I will always know how easily it can be taken, how tenuous life is, and how  I’ll never live that day again.

A decision about how round 3 will proceed will happen over the weekend, and there will be another procedure taking place next week, to further the plan.

And so, I stay on and fight.  I see the sun set over my big ole country homestead.  But always with the dream of another day.


Dare greatly, I will.  But failure is not an option.

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