One thing I hate about having what I have is knowing that my kids know and even though they’re grown, I’ve made a life out of sheltering them from all the shit we’ve been through (most of which they still don’t know about) this they have to know about. I can’t hide this shitstorm from them.
And I can’t help thinking I’m fucking up their lives. Even though they know this year is gonna suck. They’re busy with their lives and work and friends and they’re happy overall.
But look at this giant pile of shit I’ve dumped in my family’s life. I feel guilty…completely guilty. I never meant to get this!
I soothe my upset brain by telling it to just get through everything, and hopefully I’ll come back feeling better than I have before. And when I do, I’m going spoil and love my kids and husband EVEN MORE.
I love Bill, Andrew, Audra and Maria. More than they can ever understand. My family is my life!
I got to the hospital this morning at 7:00 am. I didn’t start getting my infusion until 11:00 because my platelets are low still. They finally decided I could do it and I was so damn glad. They also lowered my doses and it makes a difference. I could actually walk to my sister’s car instead of having to have a wheelchair.
Chemo sucks really bad. I’m lying on my couch for the next 5 days at least. No sense in pushing myself.
But supposedly this medicine is killing cancer in my body which I appreciate. Also, I used to have a lot of blood sometimes in the bathroom. After starting treatment it has stopped. I hope that means it’s working.
I get up and do this crap even though I’m scared.
I do it for Bill, Andrew, Maria and Audra. I do it for my sisters. I do it for my friends (finding out who those people really are) I do it for future grandchildren.
So I don’t really love my chemo infusion people. Quelle surprise!
So I call the lady who draws my blood “Fucking Marla” because even though she’s “nice” she mentions God to me too much. <eye roll>
Also she comments on my clothes. Loves my coat but tells me my jeans are too big.
Thanks for the fashion heads up, Fucking Marla. Truthfully I think she says these things to me because she knows I’m not even almost like her. I can’t help it if I’m cooler than she is.
My infusion nurse I call “Fucking Julia”. She doesn’t like me because I have a mind of my own. I ice my hands and feet at every infusion—for the WHOLE infusion—because I’m trying to minimize possible neuropathy. She wasn’t into me doing it, but I told her I could never live with myself if I didn’t try. And that I was going to do it whether she liked it or not.
During my first infusion she congratulated me for showing up, saying some people just dodge it altogether. Then after my 2nd infusion, I asked while panicking a little if people ever freak out at chemo and she looked at me and said “no, never.”
Right, Fucking Julia. Way to contradict yourself.
I have 3 more rounds of this. Last one will be May 5 (if my blood counts stay up, please let them stay up!)
I shall never ever miss seeing these people again.
Final thought—there should be at least one atheist caregiver in every department of a cancer center.
I’m in the middle of my chemo treatments. I hate them. I go again tomorrow. Treatment 3 of 5.
I’ll be at the hospital all morning. Today I’m a nervous wreck.
I hate this whole thing. I never go to doctors or hospitals! I don’t take pills or stuff like that.
Guess what. Now I do.
I still can’t believe I have this.
I hate when people pity me, so please, if you’re going to say something to me, don’t make me sound pathetic. Also, don’t call me a fighter or a warrior. I hate when people say that too. These days I’m hating lots of things.
So I had all my consults with specialists this week. It was really fun, seeing that I love going to medical places so much.
Anyway, the oncologist wants me to start with chemo up front. They say I’m strong and young and they think I’ll kick butt with that. Then more chemo and radiation and then surgery. The surgery won’t be until October?! I’m like—I don’t know about that.
They usually start with chemo and radiation then surgery then more chemo.
I told them at first—just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Now I have questions. I don’t want to wait til October for surgery. At least I don’t think I do. I called my regular doctor to ask what she thinks.
Meanwhile, our awesome neighbor Kim brought us chili and wine yesterday. Yum. And I slept like a damn rock last night and it totally ruled. I’m up and making a grocery list and watching our cat Ghost stalk birds on tv. She’s a hoot.
That’s all for now. I’m feeling okay. House is spotless, laundry done, just waiting on the weekend.
Wish Covid would piss off. Would like to do normal shit again.
I just wanted to take a moment out today to ask if you are reading this
WHILE SITTING ON YOUR ASS?
Feel comfy if you are? I bet you do. Probably taking that comfy ass for granted, aren’t ya? I can’t blame ya.
I am sitting on my ass writing this here post.
I’ve been up a few times today, doing typical boring Saturday crap. Laundry, cleaning cat boxes, emptying and loading the dishwasher, I even did a thigh and lower core workout and I lifted weights.
Also, please take a moment to congratulate me:
I successfully ordered and will later pick up our weekly groceries via curbside pickup! I texted my adorable niece who does this work at my store and I believe she will be doing this for me. I am so grateful. I always liked buying my own groceries every single Thursday. We have dietary restrictions–no dairy can we enjoy–so I have to always read labels because did you know dairy is in all kinds of things? Shit you’d never expect? Anyway, I’m considering this a victory. Pretty soon with chemo coursing through my body, I guess my immune system is going to take it’s first shot at not being perfect. Won’t that be fun. Small price to pay, I guess. Hard to accept anyway. I never really get sick.
Back to my ass.
My ass has always been not normal, like most everybody else. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s never just been incognito. To be honest, it kinda sucks.
So I sit on it and it freaks me out because I know I have something in there now. And I’m going to have to get it out. And it’s not going to be a walk in the park, either. In fact, it’s probably gonna suck. Small price to pay, once again. Rather, make that large price to pay. Do it anyway is going to be a must.
I dream of a day down the line this year where my ass might no longer bother me. Is that a sad dream or what.
So, if you are reading this and you’re sitting on your ass pain-free, utter a small prayer of thankfulness. Let me lead you if you don’t mind:
Ass upon which I sit, orifice from where I shit large or small, squishy or bony You are a comfort and my homey thank you for cushioning me when I need rest That I rarely need to acknowledge you is simply the best And ass, let’s lift up Susan’s rear and others whose are the same Seal the deal, let them heal We pray this in Booty’s name.