This week will be a major test for me as to how bad my decline shifts. I have had a few rounds of awful chemotherapy the likes I’d never thought I would have to endure. I was able to make it to my own arty party, but had to cancel on panels and other events.
I wouldn’t wish what I am going through on anyone.
And right now, nothing is working.
It’s as though I’m being slowly killed on-purpose with this junk they are pumping me with. And now, the tumors are worse to where I maneuver like a heavily pregnant lady who is out of breath and hoping she doesn’t suffocate after a nap. So how has it helped?
I spent 3 months trying to be admitted to a clinical trial that one day — after jerking my oncologist around each month — just…stopped the trial. Three months I lost waiting around to die. Maybe the guinea pigs all died in the trial, who knows. But now, to top it off, everyone has COVID.
I’ve added some new artworks for sale These paintings are also good bits from various series I’ve done over the last 20 years.
I anticipate much more interest when Rock, Paper, Scissors a documentary about the Russian literature publishing house my parents founded, is released. I know the main point is the writers and the middle finger to the Soviets, but another good thing that came out of that publisher, its how my husband and I met.
Discussions about exhibits in Cleveland and elsewhere with my own collection, and anyone who lends their pieces, are becoming real. I’d love for all of these collectors to meet!
That my pallative care might be admitting me this week, or moving machinery into my bedroom is now very real.
Arty Farty 