The drawing for this week is supposed to be the God of Lawnmower Pull Cords. He’s part of a series of gods and goddesses I’m working on with names like the God of Interminable Meetings, the Goddess of Aging Appliances, the Goddess of Weeds That Spread by Root Runner, the God of Surprising Allergies, and many more.
This god's anvil-encased hands and eternally upended body sums up my relationships with all two-cycle engines over the decades (or at least their pull cords). But looking at him after events of the last two weeks, I’ve given him a temporary new name, the God of How I Feel at the Moment.
I can’t say much has changed since my visit to the Cleveland Clinic. It’s just that I understand it all better now. I knew before that I had end stage liver disease. My liver is working sort of like a sputtering lawn mower, and it could keep on working for many years. But its poor functioning is causing complications for the rest of my body and those complications could strike at any time. In other words, I could live another couple of decades. Or I could die tonight. I knew that already.
Cause was unknown before. Cause is unknown now, but my doctor at the clinic wants to find out why. So do I. None of the usual causes seem to apply in my case. The clinic is not just an end-stage care facility; it’s a research institution, so since I am a mystery, I will be making more trips to Cleveland for tests.
There are four main complications: 1) gastric bleeding; that was the August event and could happen again although the medications I’m taking should help prevent it; 2) cancer, always a risk of developing with liver disease; the first of the planned tests should reveal whether that is present; 3) ascites or fluid in the abdomen, dangerous if it becomes infected; and 4) mental confusion.
This last one scares me the most even though it’s the least deadly. Toxins will build up in my body because of the poor liver functioning and my brain will start to flounder. I told the doctor I was sure I’d had no episodes of confusion yet. He bluntly—but with a smile—said I’d probably be the last to know. So friends and family are alerted; watch for loss of mental functioning. My sister pointed out, again with a smile, I’ve been spacey for years; who’d notice?
I wonder what the first symptoms will be? Botching verb/subject agreements? Mixing up it’s and its? Inability to choose colors for paintings? Will I be able to keep painting? I look at my contorted Pull Cord god and realize, constrained as he is, he can still function. That is me. I can still function. I will paint until the brush falls from my fingers. The paintings may be a little confused, but in this era of fantasy art, who’d notice?
Above: The God of Lawnmower Pull Cords, digital drawing. Copyright 2008 ptw.
Above: The God of Lawnmower Pull Cords, digital drawing. Copyright 2008 ptw.
