4th of July, 1983 (or '82?)
Larry Frogge, Phoenix, Arizona
July 3rd afternoon/evening
why I oughta...
Larry, still in Arizona
He had an uncomfortable lump in his left armpit, pressing against a nerve, now I don't remember when...last summer? Fall? Later? And eventually had it removed. Malignant. Stage 4? Time passes, courses of action discussed, and another grows in its place. No surgery, as he would in all likelihood lose the use of his left arm. Our monthly/bimonthly phone conversations increase to almost daily as he prepares for, and begins, radiation treatments. Aggressively. Too much. Knocks him on his ass. His housemate says she can't get him to eat or leave the bed, refuses to continue the treatments, can I help? He gets them to back off on intensity, and he continues, with better results, though still weak. Last week they start a drip of a newer and successful drug, not chemo, and continue radiation.
Roomie answers the phone for him last night, passes it to him. He's exhausted, weak, taking two oxys for pain instead of the usual one. He never takes stuff. I say please don't give up, keep striving for eventually feeling better. He just wants to get back to his old self, but figures he's most likely done. He'll keep going for treatments, keep trying to eat, just keep living for as long as he can.
Me? Just fucking distraught as all hell. What are ya gonna do.