Psychonaut: latitude 0°

Preface._

Preface._

         "Why?". Should be the proper, and racional question to ask.
         "Why write whatever, this might turn out to become?".
         Well, in a clumsy attempt to explain myself I'd say, "I do have a decent amount of questionable, mostly dubious in nature, and naive, hope. Hope in whatever cards are dealt to me in the coming future, may they let me enjoy a normal life span, just as well as the next John Doe. Maybe see my baby girl get married. Have the chance to meet a grandchild. Find love one last time.
         In spite of that, there's another side to this experience, one where time is an elusive privilege. We all know well coins have two sides; the other reveals tragedy, it says there is no more time left. Period, that's the gist of all my foreseeable options in life.
         Life begins to tell you a joke. Life takes an entire lifetime. Giving the punchline at last, "...there never was time to waste until tomorrow. Fervent with desire for the better days that never ever came, 'cause you never paid the sacrifice it demanded."
         Long after my prime has come and gone, I find myself standing as a 'Cancer Survivor,' almost fifty years of age. Ten and some years later. Time, what may be left in my bottle. No matter how meager, it still is what was given to me. I am going to own it, carry my load with dignity! It's mine, all I truly possess before biting the big one. I want to live what's been beckoning me all my life, writing! My soul, spirit, my very essence calls me to live this lifelong passion and share my story. The crude truth about my experience with renal, lymph node, and brain cancer. This without any chemo, gamma knife, or what have you.
         Just F.E.C.O., 'Full Spectrum Cannabis Oil. ', Phoenix Tears or you might have heard it as, Rick Simpson Oil, RSO. Relearning to write has been a long and slow endeavor then as well as nowadays but feeling confortable enough with a fraction of what talent I might have had, from the void that my mind has become, I believe it is time. I feel that people should know about my experience with cancer and 'Full Spectrum Cannabis Oil'.

         One day I was the young tipsy fool standing on Argentinian tables at mid-party, or bar in other incidents, improvised poetry off the top of my head. Effortlessly weaving tales of sorrow, passion, and clearly bent on impressing the girls. Flattering the hordes of older ladies at bars or those seated at white-laden tables huddled in wine bottles. I always received warm applause and no shortage of inviting half-grinned girls.
         From a slick tongued kind of dude, to a shy, insecure, at determined to gather my wits together, ".... a dime short, and a dollar late...", its time.
         I know the importance of sharing my personal impression, how I perceived the whole medical approach to my Cancer. I understand just how imperative it is for people to realize once the cancer industry has swallowed you it doesn't mean that they hold the holy truth. The options they might offer are not the only ones out there. Don't buy into all the jargon and sweet talk that you'll definitely encounter. You will encounter expensively dressed and with a movie star like aura, the oncologists. Who are able to allow devote and desperate patients the miracle of a having few years more. The faceless, the ones that are going to die anyway; us the wretched.

         Why all the fiction? Simply put, perhaps because of untreated mental issues I am sure I drag along with me. A representation of the road ridden within my exercise of giving personal conflicts, physical illness, people's reactions a metaphoric representation. It's almost a childhood defence mechanism, turning inward to the person's essence and imagination, viewing the inner world is as vast as outer space. Fiction, like space travel, parallel dimensions, and space phantoms, represents personal mental challenges. Trips I have been through on different substances.
         I did end up isolating myself.

         Almost eleven years ago, I got fucked over by cancer, 'Clear Cell Adenocarcinoma,', in my right kidney. At my thirty-eighth time around the sun, regrettably a Psychology dropout, at the time a Business Administration student, recently married and ready to settle down after six years of Clinical Psychology at 'Palermo University' in Buenos Aires, Argentina, neither of us ever wanted it bad enough to graduate, I suppose.
         Having the possibility to ride on grandpas' dollar, be sent to study abroad, wasn't the way to achieve appreciation of the man was doing for me.
         My kidney was promptly removed, only to come back later for a second round. In May, life presented me with another dirty deed, a stroke! That degenerate turd wasn't able to kill me, but Aphasia rudely overshadowed my life..." Affecting the language center of my brain. The complete motor plus partial kind no less. It made socializing, meeting new people, negotiating, and even communicating with my wife cumbersome, then just unpleasant. Over and over again whole sentiments clearly worked out in my head and then, to barely able to bark out a close enough replica of my lost thoughts made me so sad. Frustrated and sure it was a matter of time for the both of us until someone got tired and leaved the other. Three tumors had caused it.
         I could see the guillotine hanging over my head.

         I was sucker shoved down the deepest, eye-opening, bizarre, rabbit hole! Right out of the damn blue! Me and my wife were frankly lost. Her mother had passed away not too long before. Her cancer, it began in the breast, went to the bones to finish her off.
         It was a big change, my soon wife-to-be and our move to Ecuador, most definitely. While I noticed as the months dragged on that wife was feeling the frustration. Two years and some change of the same conversation. My beloved's turmoil was growing deep in both our bowels just the same. She was twenty-eight at the time, and the prospect of having a proper kind of life became invisible to her eyes. The wonderful promises from a well-meaning old man kept us captive, even though the answer every Saturday was always no.

         I was thirty-eight, healthy according to me.
         One night I stood in front of the white porcelain and pissed a twirly stream of red and urine. I must admit that the damn thing did startle me a bit.
         The ordeal would end up with my Aunt Terry scolding my old ass over the phone, and me finding a place in Santo Domingo, where I could have an echo done.
         After being stuck in a hot smothering room, a "waiting room", post war style, I was led through their garage, to a tiny room in the back. Before I knew it, we were sucking in fresh air, and it was done.
         We went for lunch and came back to the same stuffy waiting room to get our results from an oddly a concerned radiologist. She made her way out of her shabby ultrasound shack, just to quickly grab my arm. I was set back a bit the minute she faced me, and her face had contorted in a gesture of someone about to bawl their eyes out. Then with a matching sort of urgency she demanded I go directly to my physiologist, she insisted on this in a way we were instantly distraught.

         Sure enough sitting face to face across a green fiberglass table, I found out I had kidney cancer, living in a third world country they hardly name what you have, and reality suddenly become bleak. But, in some things the stairs actually do go deeper, chaos isn’t done yet.

         May, came along, I was looking into cannabis oil, my plan was to use it along with the chemotherapy to lessen the bad effects. I sat down with my wife to watch a movie, suddenly I was unable to change the channel, in a snap myself was ripped away, soon I couldn’t speak and writing followed. Distance college good bye and god knows what’s coming next.
         After blaming the oil and my incompetence in the lab, I found out I was blessed with three tumors in my brain. It was called "Parenchymal Tumor Lesion", or a Brain Metastatic Lesion in layman's terms, due to a metastasis of the Carcinoma in my lymph nodes. Leaving me with aphasia, "Complete motor and partial sensory aphasia.", which took me a while to look up, due to disappointment in myself, I guess. The kidney tumor was too large, so it leaned against my spine and passed to my lymphatic system, so pretty much all my body is game. Unpredictable monster, hunting me from a shadowy future.
         It was a change, my wife to be at that moment, decided to move to Ecuador, drop out of Psychology as just another thing unfinished in life, I guess. The wonderful promises from a good willed old man, my grandfather Mister Edward M. Evans, Esquire, about the opportunity to finally settle down had the both of us intoxicated. Far from the reality of sacrifice being the one road to a fulfilling life.
         We were trapped in a strange type of entanglement. See, while this theater act played out, Don Ed, or Sir, as I preferred to call him, never told any of us he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.
         So, even though every Saturday we religiously kept as lunch with him. Brought him good grades. Pointless conversations dragging on and on. A dog trying to catch its own tail. Me watching the woman I loved begin to change.
         We used to have a pleasant while sometimes, small talk despite the endless sassy secondhand comments from his fourth wife. Usually around the grounds of how he was such an unfaithful man. Every Saturday the answer it was always no.
         Ultimately, I look back on the entire issue from afar, Don Ed obligated the both of us, Mercedes and me to go back to school before he would be willing to help us start a palm oil farm. That was the correct thing to do.

         When or if cancer comes pounding on your door, one pouring night, as surprisingly as gelid down the spine, in the deep hours of night... believe in yourselves, despair will yield you no fruit here. Keep the mind and emotions apart. Listen calmly and objectively to all your options, listen to your inner voice, that gut feeling, listen to your instinct.
         I intend to have a whole section on 'Making The Oil', diet changes and does as well as don'ts.
         Cancer is what doctors say it is, but I am one more of thousands of people where the FECO did work. This just might provide you with a less torcher some and more in tune with the human body. From the many items on the menu, you have one more option to choose from.
         Just as important the big "C.", it will claim control over whatever you might wholeheartedly claim to be about.
         I will show you my experience, Mothers, Fathers, how even the people you don't give a damn about completely Change. Cancer will turn your life upside down!

... in ways you are far from ever fathoming.