Blood on the tracks

Someone’s got it in for me, they’re planting stories in the press Whoever it is I wish they’d cut it out but when they will I can only guess. They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy, She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me. I can’t help it if I’m lucky.

The medicos found a marrow donor for Greg.

According to Harriet, the donor is an 80% match and the test results look promising. They’ll keep his brother (50%) as a back-up donor. I have no idea what’s involved with that. But Greg goes back in the hospital for intensive chemo and a round of radiation before the transplant. He’ll stay in for a month or so afterwards to make sure everything “takes.”

Cool. But don’t let that dissuade you from signing up as a marrow donor if you haven’t already.

The trivia night went alright. I have no idea how much was raised and our table only came in fifth, but we had fun. Hadn’t been to one before so it was something new, and being the “official” St. Patrick’s Day weekend it gave me a reason to kilt up. There were grab bags (mine contained shampoo, which is par for my luck) and also baskets that people could bid on. Dia walked with a basket of kitchen stuff, and I got a pair of candle sticks and gift certificates for a decent Irish pub, along with another ball cap I really don’t need.

Didn’t have much of a chance to talk to either Greg or Harriet since they were getting swarmed, but talked with them long enough to find out that Greg had been back “in” for pneumonia and that Barrister, their Maine coon, was doing alright. Didn’t have a chance to ask about Phoebe, their other cat.

On the front here, I finally got my penis pump. Manual model because the worthless shit suckers at Blue Cross are too fucking cheap to pop for the automatic job. According to the instructions, it’s supposed to be two weeks before any improvement is seen. I’m giving it much longer than that considering how abused the nerves were during the operation. It’s a twice a day therapy, 15 minutes each.

I started on the Cialis yesterday, which is part of the therapy. I got the script in November, mainly for my final waa-hoo! weekend, and have been stockpiling since then, anticipating starting the pump therapy. Getting potency pills is truly fucked up. They run between 5 mg and 20 mg, and they cost the same per pill. They’re also doled out in the same amounts. According to the fucktards at the insurance company I can either get six 5 mgs a month, or six 20 mgs a month. Well, gee… if I get the 20s I can cut those down to four 5 mgs. Even with an SIU degree I can figure out which is the best deal is on that.

So I’m doing 5 mg doses every other day, which I think should maximize everything. Push comes to shove on those, I can always hit my primary medic up for samples, or maybe get a script from him and get it filled in Canada. It doesn’t matter to me if I get a hard-on or an erection.

Oh, figure out the damned joke on your own… although for the life of me I have no idea why “hard-on” would be feminine in French…

Tags: "Blood On The Tracks", "Idiot Wind", acute myelogenous leukemia, Bob Dylan, bootleg Canadian prescriptions, fuck Blue Cross, I didn't forget to mention fuck Blue Cross did I?, post-operative impotency