My walking adventures

So, I went for a walk today with my new puppy Sophie.

It was a twilight zone kind of walk, and I have some things I'd like to discuss. I promised myself I'd be more positive once I completed my treatment, so I have to get this off my chest before I go to WalMart or I'll more than likely clean someone's clock.

#1. It's a nice sunny day. Sophie and I are walking along neighbourhood streets, and I have to ask some homeowners out there- what's your problem, huh? Is there some particular reason why you're so fucking lazy that you can't possibly clean your sidewalk? I'm speaking in particular to the deathtrap sidewalk on Green Cedar drive that I wiped out on.

There's one car and two trucks in the driveway, and another car parked right in front of the house. With $80, 000+ spent in vehicles, you can afford a snow blower. My burnt bum and hips will now be bruised, too. If you happen to get a flaming shit bag on your doorstep some day, please know that karma is a bitch. PS- I hate you. PSS- It's because you are a douche.

#2. To the blue Honda Civic that almost ran me over as I crossed the street on Upper Paradise- you're an asshole, too.

#3. To the lady parked in front of R.A. Riddell Elementary school who was plucking her moustache hairs while waiting for her child- YOU DON'T HAVE TINTED WINDOWS. PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU GROOMING YOUR FACIAL HAIR. You aren't an asshole per say, but it's awkward, so stop.

#4. To the blue line cabbie who would not stop and pull over for the firetruck coming down Stonechurch rd.- Did you not hear the truck honking at you? You missed the flashing lights? I hope that  truck was headed to your house and by the time it got there, your whole house was burnt down BECAUSE YOU ARE A DOUCHE AND WOULDN'T GET OUT OF THE WAY.

That's all I have to say about that.

I miss Chemo...

Sounds weird, doesn't it? Those were the good old days... I guess I don't really miss chemo; I miss the post-chemo drugs I used to take.
On those bad boys, I could eat whatever I wanted- fruits, salads, a little spicy. No way I can do that now. I'd shit my pants. No really. Radiation does that to you. I've been afraid to leave the house for anything other than treatment for the past two and a half weeks because that means I may be more than 10 paces away from a bathroom, and well, that just won't cut it. I've had a few close calls. I sharted once *hangs head in shame*.

The steriods gave me energy. Sure, I didn't really sleep at night, but I could do stuff during the day. Now, I'm like a narcolept.

I nap 1-3 times a day, and I'm still tired. I usually fall asleep around 9:30pm in front of the tv and miss whatever has happened on whatever Real Housewives franchise I was watching. Thank gawd for Slice online. I hate missing NeNe lose her shit on people.That's my favourite part!

(I covet her giant earring collection)

I'm not really going to continue complaining, though, because today I have brachytherapy and it's MY LAST TREATMENT! I'm still going to feel like this for a couple of weeks because the radiation is still doing it's thing with my lady parts, but after that- I'm going to get my life back! I'm going to burn my sweats, and only wear fabulous dresses, and go to yoga, and take my new dog for walks, and live my life again. I can't fucking wait

The Other Reason I'm Famous at the Cancer Centre

There was another story I eluded to in the last post and I figured now is as good a time to share as any...

The day I was diagnosed with cervical cancer, the oncologist walked into the room, looked at me, and said, "It's nice to see a healthy person in here for a change." That changed once he examined me. He said my cancer was more advanced than I had previously anticipated. He gave me the facts and figures then asked when I'd be ready to have surgery and start treatment.
I said, "Now."
And so I started that day with blood work and x-rays within the hour and had surgery 5 days later. I've been on the fast-track ever since, thanks to that man. He got me into a study in order to receive a PET scan, since people with my type of cancer don't usually get one.

I had already booked a weekend trip to NYC for the same week as all of this fun stuff was starting, though. I figured it would be my last bit of fun for a while, and we already had reservations at fabulous restaurants, and I already had tickets to the Knicks/Celts game, so there was no way in hell I was not going to go. (So worth it- Red Rooster was amazing and the Celts won!)
So, I told my doctor of my plans, and went despite his recommendation that I cancel (He clearly isn't a fan of a good meal and some hoops the way I am).

I had surgery on Wednesday, a PET scan on Thursday morning, and flew to NYC on Thursday night. No big deal (until I got to the border).

My cousin was driving, I'm on some good pain killers, we're having a laugh and waiting at the border to pass through customs. I was feeling pretty good about it all, then the border gates all come down.

THEY CLOSED THE BORDER. Weird. Then, a dozen or more border guards starting jogging out of the main office with hand held machines (I later discovered they were geiger counters). We watch as the officers start examining all of the vehicles in the line. Several of them pause at a big pick-up beside us. Our mouths are agape that we are potentially witnessing a foiled terrorist attempt unfold. Then, an officer turns to our car, points the machine at the passenger side, looks straight at me and says, "It's you." AS IF I'M THE TERRORIST. I replied, "Uh, no. It's definitely not me," but the geiger counter was beeping and glowing, so I guess it was me.
A bunch of officers surrounded our car, they opened the border gates again, and we were escorted to the office where scary offenders sit. It felt like the police station from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and everybody looked like Charlie Sheen.

The officers tried to get a reading from the geiger counter, but I was too radioactive.

It just started flashing and beeping. I'm actually lucky I didn't blow the thing up. They took my passport (I assume to look me up on Interpol and ensure I wasn't a terrorist or anything) and eventually let me go when I explained I had cancer and had just had a PET scan. Using the C-word got me out of that jam, I think.