#stairfall2016

I’ve now made it through two Chinese classes, and I’m looking forward to more. I’ve got a lot of homework due Monday. At least I think so; it’s hard to tell until I am actually doing it.

I like my Chinese teacher a lot. She goes off onto tangents that are interesting and useful in their own way, and I’m not having too much trouble following along. At least, not yet.

There are a lot of European dudes in my language class. A Russian, a German, and a Bulgarian. I have been too shy to open up myself, but I am becoming more familiar with everyone else. Hm…that makes me feel a little bit creepy.

On Thursday I had a PET/CT scan, part of a radiology study and also hopefully giving me another cancer-related datapoint. They had canceled once, I had canceled once, but third time was the charm. I fell asleep in the machine, which is good because they had me strapped to the table and I think I’d have started freaking out about two-thirds of the way through the hourlong scan.

There was a big time gap between the injection of radioactive PET dye and the scan itself, so my dad and I turned in some UCSF paperwork that I needed to deal with, and then we walked around the Mission Bay campus. We found a fancy lunch place in a very fancy biomedical office building. It was an adventure and I had a tasty

I’ve been seeing so many friends this week! Asher! Bailee! Rachel! Amanda! Nathan (twice)! and a few of us are going to get Indian food tonight! It makes me feel so much more like a normal person. I’m definitely not all the way there and doubt I ever will be, but a little bit of getting out makes all the difference.

A week ago I went to a free comedy show, and there were a few real standouts. Especially Jane Harrison, she is bound to get discovered and make the big time soon.

My dad and I ate at Tofu Village around the block and my friend the waiter greeted me with “It’s been a long time!” His English has gotten better faster than my Chinese, but I’m determined to have a conversation with him in the latter language someday.

I have noticed a lot of these “Chariot” commuter vans in the last week, I guess since I’ve been out and around town more than in a while. What are they? Did a Google bus have babies or something?

I moved back home! That’s the biggest deal of the week. Stairfall 2016 is over (and I hope I never have to use that hashtag again). My dad was in from out of town and did most of the heavy lifting over the course of a couple days to get me settled back in the old place.

Last night I got to hang out with both of my roommates at once and it feels really good to live with these two again.

And Tuesday was an excellent day. A productive one, too. My dad and I stopped off at the Jewish Home to leave a gift of chocolates for the staff and to show them how much progress I’ve made since discharge. Some but not all of my favorite physical therapists were there, which is probably for the best because if they were all there it would have been harder to hide the fact that I had forgotten basically everyone’s names. How does that happen so quickly?

Then we went to my old neighborhood for a couple errands. We stopped at King of Noodles for lunch, and it filled me with…nostalgia? A feeling of being home again. Whatever the word is for it, it was a meaningful meal. Plus, I had some of my favorite dishes and fresh hand-pulled noodles. I noticed that I could recognize more of the Chinese characters on signs and menus, and that made me excited for my upcoming Chinese class.

Then, after a stop at the library to drop off and pick up some books, we went to my apartment. It was my first time there since the fall over two months ago. Of course, I am very good about never leaving the house without my keys, but right now that means the keys to the temporary apartment, so it wasn’t until we were in the Sunset that I realized I couldn’t get into my apartment. Fortunately, Rachel was in the neighborhood and on her way home, so she was able to let us in.

Dad and I were at the apartment for two reasons: first, to drop off some of the bulky items (eg a bedside commode) that I am not using, and that will need to be transferred back to my apartment eventually. That was his job; I’m not carrying heavy things right now. Second, to give me practice climbing and descending the stairs, both to see how easy/hard it is at this point and to prove to myself that it’s not too scary.

And that was a huge success! I was very nervous going into it, but once I was actually there it was so much easier than my mind had made it out to be. My dad was a good post-traumatic stress coach. I walked all around my apartment, which looked a lot like how I’d remembered it.

As I descended the front steps on the way out, I paused briefly right where I had tripped and fallen, and I felt a little something pass over me. But it was not overwhelming, just a ghost of a memory that had less power than I had feared.

I went to see Captain America 3: Tokyo Drift Civil War! I enjoyed it a fair amount, coming in with as little spoiled as possible given that I wasn’t about to sign off from the internet for two weeks. Amanda, my movie-going companion, was more disappointed I think, but she has more invested in the franchise than I do. A few thoughts:

The last time I saw a Spiderman movie, Aunt May was an old lady and Tobey Maguire was fighting the guy from Wings and Sideways. Two reboots later, and they’ve cast Marisa Tomei as an AILF? At least I guess they won’t have to rehash the origin story yet again.

It’s fitting that there was a funeral for Peggy Carter, given the recent news.

It felt a little weird when Steve kisses his ex-girlfriend’s niece (grand-niece?), especially while his two boyfriends watch.

Chadwick Boseman has already made up for the last black cat superhero movie, and he hasn’t even had his own standalone film yet. And it’s not coming out until 2018? I keep surpassing the actuarial tables, but I don’t think this liver can hold up that long.

Paul Rudd’s Ant-Man is great. He brought a fun energy to a fight scene that could have gotten too heavy.

I did not expect a cameo by Jim Rash as Dean Pelton, but I’m glad we got one. It does make me wish #DonaldGloverForSpiderman had been more successful.

To me, Zemo resembled an evil Tobey Maguire, jealous that they made a British kid the new Spiderman.

The stakes of the movie just didn’t seem all that high, especially compared to every other Marvel movie. The plot was unique, and juggled more interesting ideas than the average dumb action blockbuster, but they didn’t kill any major character and didn’t shake up the Marvel Universe in the way the last Captain America did. But I guess the fallout from this story will probably become more clear in the next Avengers movie.

By the time the Infinity War happens, I hope Tony Stark has fully descended into madness. Iron Man 3 was already about his PTSD, and things seem to have mostly gotten shittier for him since then.

It did feel like Robert Downey Jr just muscled his way into this movie and made it something totally different than if it had been left alone as a Captain America movie. I’m not sure if it would have been better or worse, but it’s kind of too bad that less-crowded movie didn’t get to happen.

Only tangentially related: I saw that Jeff Goldblum will be in Thor 3, and I approve wholeheartedly.

After the movie, Amanda and I split up and I intended to sit on an outdoor bench to read for a little while. But almost immediately, a homeless guy flagged me as friendly and unlikely to walk away and started a conversation. Eventually he asked for money for a hamburger. I acquiesced, and then he talked to me for a long time about football, and gambling on football, and other topics I didn’t really want to talk about. I kept trying to politely separate, but it was only after I helped him out by calling his sister (long story) that I managed to slip away for good.

The whole interaction left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, and I felt a bit like hiding in my room forever afterwards. My first big outing back in the real world, and I ended up in an awkward extended interaction with a stranger. I kept calculating whether he was trying to take advantage of me, and I felt drained when I just wanted to enjoy being downtown on a weekend afternoon.

I think the hat was stolen from my mom’s rental car, along with her USB DVD drive and her prescription sunglasses, when she or someone else in my family left the door unlocked. I know I’m blameless; I hadn’t been in or near the car for days. I imagine I’ll replace the hat soon, but I still haven’t gotten around to it. I hope someone is enjoying my hat right now, as they walk around blurrily in my mom’s sunglasses.

The hat thing bothers me on an additional level. On the day that I fell, I was wearing my favorite outfit: a blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt, my favorite pair of blue jeans, and a soft gray jacket with great pockets. The paramedics cut off all my clothes except for my pressure socks. And they probably should have cut those too, because when they pulled them down they helped peel off some large chunks of skin on my right shin, one of which is still granulating in two months later. (I have a few truly disgusting photos from my mom’s phone that look like Warren from Buffy the Vampire Slayer after Willow skinned him alive).

In the hospital I joked that at least they didn’t feel the need to cut my hat in half too. That the one piece of clothing that survived the fall is now gone too really bothers me now, much more than it really ought to. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find another hat that’s quite as good. I haven’t been able to find a proper replacement for the shirt yet.

It’s hard to see friends in the present situation. I am not mobile enough to go to them, and I’m finding it hard to get them to come here. A lot of that is social anxiety, but even most of my good-faith attempts have failed. I tried organizing a game night this weekend, but almost everyone I asked had plans already for this week. There’s always a vague “some time soon” added, but nobody (myself included) ever really follows up. So I feel like a social failure, in addition to the loneliness that spurred my attempts in the first place, and then I don’t want to try anymore.

Fortunately, I do have Rachel checking in and spending time here regularly. I’ve really appreciated the time we’ve been spending together this week. I think I’d be in a much sadder state without her right now.

I’d really like to do karaoke sometime soon in one of the places with rooms. I’d like to do it with more than myself and Rachel, but I’m not sure I can get anyone else to do anything with me. And then I’m also always afraid that I won’t be up for it myself, and I feel bad asking others to come to me when I can’t guarantee I’ll be a good host. It’s easier to have small online interactions that don’t require any commitment on the part of anyone involved. But those aren’t really satisfying in the same way.

My AFP has been on the rise now for two months. Maybe not the fastest rise I’ve seen in the last three years, but the most linear and consistent. No ambiguous jumping around this time, just a steady rise every two weeks. What does that mean? Nobody can say. I like to imagine that means there is one tumor left, and easily excised mass with a predictable behavior. It probably means something worse and not easily treatable. How could life turn around so completely in less than two months? I had so much hope, and now I just cross my fingers that I will have a fleeting moment of independence before the cancer strikes me down.

Oh crap, two months. There’s only one month until June, and I want to be normal by then. Or “normal.” As normal as I’ll ever be. There’s so much happening that I want to be able to do. The final event of my Firefly pen pal correspondence. The Bay Area Book Festival. The primary election. The start of summer classes at CCSF.

Speaking of normal, I stared at a bunch of normal people’s calves this morning. My dad and I walked down to a nearby restaurant for brunch this morning, and as we waited, I watched all the healthy young fit people, with normal-sized muscles in all the places they should be. I wish I had muscles. Not even big ones. Just as much as most 20-somethings take for granted. I work my ass off every day and my biggest accomplishment is that I can finally push myself to stand from a toilet, if I use all my strength. I’m allowed to use my left arm, a little, but it’s so weak I can’t even use a two-pound weight for my shoulder exercises.

And I’m getting discharged tomorrow. Not to go home home, but to a short-term rental my parents and I were able to find in Hayes Valley. I hope to stay there as short as possible, working as hard as I can to gain strength and get back to the Sunset apartment. I miss the neighborhood. I miss my room. I miss the 19th Avenue traffic, even. I miss Amanda, and Felix, and Avi the avocado tree.

I miss Rachel, and the life we had going the last few months. That last morning right before I fell, we ate breakfast and did a little of the New York Times crossword and we were smiling and appreciating the sun coming in through the windows, and everything felt right. Even hopeful. I had so much hope. Minutes later, I was sprawled in front of the apartment, interspersing my screams of pain with apologies for falling and for all the consequences that entailed.

And I’ve spent the last month spending that hope and losing that hope. I actually have had a net gain of red blood cells and I think even muscle mass (though my left arm’s probably going to feel pretty weak once I’m allowed to start using it again). But as far as outlook goes, I’m sad and scared and tired and empty.