But that's not going to happen, for reasons that are mainly financial (you need to get that stuff from a pain specialist now, and there's no way we can afford that), but also practical. Opioids slow down your digestion, and doing the constipation/laxative dance with wildly painful pancreas and lungs/lymph nodes is a bit too much to contemplate.
So it's down to...well, nothing, between me and a level of pain that can become unearthly (having broken most of the bones in my body, and having been shot, stabbed, and blown up, I can say that with confidence).
But I think there is a purpose to this, if there is a purpose to anything in my life now. I have to go to the limits of the pain attendant to these cancers without aid, so that my words about being able to still enjoy life actually mean something.
Otherwise, it would be like telling someone who's about to run a marathon what to expect, about the pain and the satisfaction intermingled, if I'd never run more than a 3K.
So I've got to embrace the experience, without resentment, to be the honest witness I hope to be.
This isn't the job I would have chosen, but it's what I do, and I will try to do it well.
Music from Andrew Peterson, with Be Kind To Yourself.
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.
Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.