cancer · wimps

If I Try to Have a Positive Day

If I try to have a positive day these days, something always comes up and fucks it all.

I just called my prescription place and they told me my chemo pill prescription has been cancelled. This makes no sense whatsoever since I have 3 more rounds of this chemo.

I called my doctor’s office to ask what the heck is going on. Someone is going to call me back today.

This is my life now. Waiting for doctors to call back about pills I’m simultaneously afraid to take but afraid to not have.

Of course they won’t call til the end of the day so I can enjoy a day of freaking out instead of trying to just have a normal day (as if anything now is normal).


You know what else I hate?

All my life I’ve been one of those people who stood by my friends and always helped no matter how bad a situation is.

Seems like I’m in the minority with that super power. I know I asked for people not to contact me at first and I still feel the same

Do you know how overwhelming a diagnosis is to deal with at first all the while my phone blew up every second of every day?

It’s interesting how some people were probably thrilled with that request because it got them off the hook worrying about me.

I don’t know what I’m saying right now.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m glad I’m not a wimp.

So yeah.


This all sucks.

Have a nice day.

6 thoughts on “If I Try to Have a Positive Day

    Be the cyclone you have to be, twist the trailer court of disconnects and fuck-ups into the next time zone.
    You’re in a miserable stinkhole, but you’re climbing out. See the day that is somewhere ahead…it IS there, on a blind calendar. THEN, this will be only a memory.
    Keep throwing your words to us, you can’t hurt us.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I would think it’s kind of like grieving. You want people to say something, but then they say the wrong thing, and it doesn’t help at all. And at first, you’re inundated with doorbell ringing and casseroles and fruit baskets. Then it’s all gone while you quietly grieve. It’s disgusting that life goes on without you. You look out the window and wonder why the sky is blue and the birds are doing their usual thing. Because this nightmare is right there in your face. Why isn’t it in everyone else’s face?! What’s wrong with this picture?!

    They’re still there, honey. Reach out to us, and tell us what you need at any given moment. I think about you every day.


  3. I’m still here. I’m still worrying. I’m giving you your space, but will be more than glad to provide those casseroles, a shoulder to cry on, or a backside to kick from the rage you must feel at times. I have no real idea what you’re going through, but reading this gives me some sense of the crap…and it stinks. Please reach out when you want or need anything at all! It’s an open invitation. And I won’t pontificate my Lutheran platitudes either.
    Love from your forever friend and fellow Fozzarellian.


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