Uuuuuugh

Dude. I’m still getting fat. No energy. Still healing. Can’t even stretch my arms. Everything always itches. UUUUuuuugh! I just want to have a little pity party, ‘k? Cool.

I want things to be totally awesome, so I can be all like “Look at me! I’m so busy cancering and being fabulous!” but I can’t. I’m more like “I’m. Over. It.”

Here and there, even rockstars get whiny. It’s the last week before school starts and I cant even do anything fun because it’s filled with medical stuff, with only a couple of super fun things mixed in. Whine, whine whine. Yes, I’d like some cheese with my whine.

I did get to spend an afternoon and evening with one of my best friends and her man, visiting from home. Just being driven around Sanibel and Captiva, putting our feet in the luscious, warm water, watching sea lions frolic in the surf was one of the highlights of my summer. (You hear that, Kel? You made the highlight reel! Woohoo!)

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In case of emergency (or random need for snarky humor), she is listed under Pimster a.k.a. Keltastic in my phone.

But as for the other stuff, if that could all stop,

YEAH, THAT'D BE GREAT_ _ Yeah that'd be great___

One thing keeps really reverberating, and it’s as simple as it is profound: I have zero desire to be doing any of this.

That’s the truth. I have no compelling urge that this is an immediate danger, or that it’s a life and death situation. Instead I feel like I used to every day walking into Algebra II. I dread it, can’t wait for it to be over, and regardless of how many times people tell me that it’s all going to be ok, I keep finding myself doing worse and worse on my tests, with more and more work ahead of me, just like when I was 15. I distinctly remember sitting in the guidance counselor’s office at Pryor High a week after my mom died at the beginning of my sophomore year of high school . I had to move schools, and it was now three weeks into the year. My grandmother and I were there with my transcripts, having exchanged pleasantries and accepting condolences, and Mrs. Murray was quite insistent that I most certainly could pass honors Algebra II. That made my grandmother quite confidant. I, however, knew how much I struggled in Algebra I, and that I knew for a fact that I was not ready. It was the first time in my life that this honors student, academic team champ, type-A made a D. People need to listen to me. (I’m almost always right)

Anyway, I knew this was not going to go as planned. That’s the thing with my big plans: they seem to go awry.

My dance card is filling rather quickly with many appointments and tests.

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Old school planners: the wave of the future

Mind you, I still think that this may be the best thing that  has ever happened to me in many ways, it’s just that I don’t have much patience and this whole experience is like my worst nightmare version of Algebra II on steroids.

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This girl HATED Algebra. And smiling in her braces. And tweezers .(damn girl, those brows!)

Today should’ve been pretty easy, since it was just a follow-up with the oncologist. We needed to go over test results in more detail and pathology results from the tumor. First of all, I do not particularly care for the fact that I have to deal with PA’s and ARNP’s (Physician Assistants & Nurse Practitioners) who have superiority complexes, or who at a minimum treat me like I’m an idiot, before seeing my doctor. I like her, but honestly can do without the rest of the team. Second, sitting in a crowded waiting room listening to old ladies snorting their snot while throwing candy wrappers on the floor, loudly talking about their stool sample drop-off, and just hanging out puts me on edge.

But noooooo! Not so easy.

I have to have 2 MRI’s in a couple of days to confirm that the lesions on my sternum and spine are cancerous. Ok. That, I knew. Today I got hit with the demand for a biopsy of one of the bones. How about my spine! Hell yeah! Let’s jump right on that! Someone sticking a CT guided needle in my back to take a chunk of my bone sounds F’ING AWESOME! Yeah.

In better news, I got to stop putting nitroglycerin cream on my nipples (which made my TSA friend laugh) because Right is delightfully scabby. (That’s sarcasm, you know) Left has shiny, new skin and seems to be in the clear, it’s Right that looks… iffy. It’ll get better, it’s just kind of gross right now.

Other highlights of the day were that my right arm is officially a pincushion. And since I’m usually dehydrated, that makes it particularly tricky to get blood samples. I can’t wait to see how they get an IV for contrast for my MRIs Thursday! Yikes!

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3 vials of blood? We’ll see about that!
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Let’s try in the vein where the IV worked last week, right there next to the one that blew….
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And the hand wins! Till it blew a vial and a half in. Good times!

Oh! In light of my upcoming trip to Colorado, which was non negotiable, Dr. R has decided that I will start chemo the week that I get back, which is the same week kid #3 turns 11. The week of Sept. 14 is going to be quite the experience, it seems. At least I have a date. Date with Destiny? Doomsday Date? Hm. I’ll have to come up with a catchphrase.

And thus ends the pity party! Hooray! Should’ve worn a party hat.


4 thoughts on “Uuuuuugh

  1. for the record… your eyebrows were awesome in the 90’s. Everyone was still on the Brooke Shields bandwagon so it was cool to be all sasquatchy. Chill. Flip through memory lane there and take a look at mine from the old way back time machine there. YIKES.

    Bone biopsy. Suck. This shit just keeps getting better and better. I’m sending you something. I don’t know what, yet. It hasn’t quite come to me. I know that the perfect thing will pop into my head at a totally inappropriate moment and I will become obsessed with obtaining it. But something’s coming. I keep thinking I know what I’ll send, then I decide it’s stupid or lame, or not what you REALLY needed. It has to be befitting your sassy badassy-ness. It will come.

    Until then… I miss you and love you. And if I need to come punch some one in the throat for you for being a health care douche, I will.

    Liked by 1 person

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