Wednesday, January 31, 2007

The gift of....Cancer?

Those of you who actually know me in person (or as in person as you can get on, say, email or aim) know that for the most part, I'm a cynical person. I've got a pretty sarcastic and dry sense of humor, and am just kinda...well, sardonic.
That being said, what with being diagnosed with a deadly condition and all, lots of people have either pointed out to me, or I've read, that you grow to appreciate everything so much more after diagnosis.
You really begin to realize how relevant the phrase "Life is Short" is, and appreciate life in ways others simply cannot.
Now, I'm not saying that is not the case. I certainly know when to stop and acknowledge those moments when I'm truly enjoying life. Those times when you're just feeling good, not thinking in the future and just in the moment.
But I was watching some show on TLC titled (and I kid you not) "The Man Whose Arms Exploded". It was about Bodybuilders and steroids, but specifically followed some guy who had the biggest biceps in the world.Guinness Book winner, and a true freak (his own words, not mine).

So they are interviewing this dude about how he got so big, and was on so many drugs that he gave himself an infection from a bad needle, and developed a hematoma in his arm. So he tried to 'fix' it on his own by poking at it trying to drain it. Needless to say, it didn't work.
Anywho, my point in telling you about that is...I watched as they interviewed all sorts of bodybuilders and experts about what they referred to as "bigarexia". Sorta the anti-anorexia. The compulsion of these men to want to be bigger and bigger regardless of how they do it.

And I started getting really annoyed.

Because of the audacity of people with perfectly healthy working bodies to subject it to dangerous substances purely for vanities sake. Hell, here I am happy to be alive, and working on getting over having my abdomen sliced open and an asshole placed on my belly. And YOU'RE pumping yourself full of steroids for the hell of it?!?

It just got me thinking about all of these silly things people do to themselves in general. Plastic surgery, cosmetic surgery, body modification, etc. And all for what? Vanity? The need to fill some void in your life? Low self esteem? Daddy issues??

I suppose I'm very happy that I can adjust so easily. But that's not to say that, if given the choice I wouldn't take the option of just having a normal body with no ill treatment side effects, no surgeries, no weird new orifaces. And the fact that there are aaaaalllll these people who are seemingly ignorant and unappreciative of the simple joy of having a plain ol' normal everyday body...really grates my nerves.

So cancer should basically wake you up to life, and how good it is and can be (goes without saying it also shows you how horrid it can be). But I guess it gives you alot of other perspectives on life, and silly humans. I'll have to start documenting every "gift" this bastard cancer has blessed me with. Starting with the super-human ability to recognize how ridiculous our vanity can get....wait, can that be considered a gift?

Friday, January 26, 2007

The nitty gritty

First off...a big ol' HOOOOOOO-RAAAAAHHHH!!!! is an order, since at this very moment in time I am finishing up my VERY...LAST....CHEMO treatment!!!

(can i get a Whooo? c'mon....whooooo!)

I was supposed to get it on tuesday. When I went in my white blood cell count was dangerously low. (1.0....a normal person is more around 11-14 range). They want you to have at least a 3.0 in order to get treatment.
So they gave me a shot to boost it (lovely Neuprogen). And I was to come back the next day to see how it worked.

The next only went up to 1.3 (er? the last time my counts were so low and I got a shot, the next day it shot up to 10.6! I was sorely disappointed.) Ssooooo, they gave me another shot of Neuprogen. And told me to come back the next day.
So now it's thursday, I come back in, get my blood
tested. It went up to 2.9. Now, remember, I said they want you to be at least 3.0 to get treatment. But my oncologist said I could go ahead and get it that day b/c he was afraid I wouldn't come back if he told me to wait til next week (oh he knows me so well...cuz I damn sure wouldn't!)
They just tapered back the dose of Oxaliplatin (the main biggie drug I get over the course of two days) to 80% strength, and I'll have to go back on tuesday to get my blood tested and make sure the counts don't drop too low after getting disconnected.
If they are low,'s more Neuprogen for m
e...but I DON'T CAAAARRREEEE!!! Cuz it's my last ooonnnneeee!!!
(heh, note the joy in all my exaggerated words)

Anywho, I thought maybe I'd share some pics with you guys. You know, a little taste of my life.

First up, the needle jammed in my port and all taped up:

(purty, ain't it? it's under the little yellow butterfly needle)

And here, my lovely chemo-ipod...and no, it doesn't hold nearly as many mp3's as my regular ipod:(hehehehe, don't you just LOVE the thrilled expression on my face? I <3 chemo so much.)

Soooo, tomorrow (saturday) I should be going in to get disconnected from my ipod. I shall update upon that event happening.


Saturday, January 20, 2007

The lurker is beat at her own game

Drats! Just when I'm starting to have fun eavesdropping on odd bathroom conversations, I'm discovered!
By a child nonetheless...those crafty youngin's.
The bathroom convo from today:

Young Girl: LalaLAAAAAA (singing in the stall rather operatically.)
Mother: (from outside the bathroom) Marisol ....(something in spanish I don't understand).
Young Girl: (sigh) Oohhkay.
(I am trying to be very quiet. The girl is in the next stall from me. After several seconds...)
Young Girl: Is someone there?
Me: ....yea...
Young Girl: How old are you?
Me: ....26....
Young Girl: college I see (which sounds pretty funny. Very wise sounding for an 8 year old)
Me: Nope. I'm well out of college.
Young Girl: (sighs again) Aw...I'm wrong again. Ah well...
Me (giggles)
Young Girl: (flushes) Bbyyyeee girl in the bathroom!
Me: Uh, see ya.

Young Girl: (now outside the bathroom) Mama..I made a new friend in there....

hehehehehe.....only me. Only I can make friends with an 8 year old girl in a bathroom stall without ever seeing her.

Friday, January 19, 2007


I just felt impelled to inform you all that Berry Rice Krispies do not deliver near the delicious-ness that I desired.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

The Lurker

It seems these days I get to enjoy lots of quality time in the bathroom. And some of this glorious leisure time is spent in public bathrooms, much to my dismay.
In an attempt to appease myself that I have to be stuck in a bathroom so much, I've taken to really enjoying the random snippets of conversations (or rather just interactions) I overhear while stuck in a stall.
I feel very voyeuristic in these moments. Since most the time I'm in there for a good half an hour or so, many people come and go and never even know I'm there (I'm very good at being very quiet). So just be mindful of what you say when you think noone's listening. It just may end up on a blog about some girls colon ;)
So now...for my first installment of "strange bathroom chatter"!

Mother: Hurry up honey, mommy has to go REAL bad.
Daughter: Kay momma. Hey! look how yellow it is. The mailman's was green. And the firemans was orange. Mine is so yellow! Why was their's different?
Mother: Food coloring baby, now hurry up, mommy REALLY has to go...
Woman: (on cell phone, in stall) Hello?? You're fuckin calling me now? Look, I'm...I'm taking a shit. You're annoying the hell outta me. What? I dunno. Whitehouse or something. I'm hanging up.
Woman #1: (opening bathroom door) Hello?
Woman #2 (ironic funny pun in there somewhere): Yes, I'm here.
Woman #1: Things moving along okay in there?
Woman #2: Yea, slowly but surely

Teen Girl #1: Sarah, oh my god. I'm locked in!
Teen Girl #2: Um..well hold on, I'm almost done.
Teen Girl #1: (frantically jiggling lock) Ooohhh my ggooooooddd! Noooo....I'm stuuuuucck!
Teen Girl #2: Just hold on! It's no big deal.
Teen Girl #1: That's it. I'm crawling. I can fit...

Dad: (from outside bathroom door) Madison? Be sure to untie her pants.
Madison: Ew Daddy, the strings are sticky.

More to come!

Saturday, January 13, 2007

I do not want to be defined by poop

You ever get tired of hearing someone complain? I have friends that will just go on and on and on about their lack of relationship luck, or career luck, or family luck...or hell, even bad luck with pop tarts (yes, pop tarts.)
I'm a good listener, when i wanna be. But obviously you can get tired of listening to someone whine eventually. Generally I don't say anything, I figure, people gotta vent, they gotta vent. And I enjoy that I can give someone that freedom to do just that. No matter how trivial an issue it may be. (Yes, you may really really really just HATE Rachel Ray and want to drop kick her in the neck. And sometimes you just need to let that out)
I've started to aggravate myself these days though. I'm actually sick of hearing myself complain. And complain about what, you may ask?
I'm tired of talking about what I can do to make going to the bathroom easier. Or faster. And those of you who know what kinda plumbing I'm working with these days...know exactly what I'm talking about.
I don't wanna hear it. I hate how at least once a day I end up growling at this hole in my stomach and muttering "just go in you sunnuvabitch...WOOOORRRRK!" I know noone in their right mind is gonna tell me to quite complaining. I think I've pretty much earned my whining rights for the year by now. probably longer. And I think my knee jerk reaction to someone telling me to quit my whining would be to of course, dropkick them in the neck. (well, when i am capable of dropkicking again, naturally).
But me myself, I'M tired of it. I do not want to be defined by my bathroom habits and quality of my poop.
AAALLLTHOUGH...if i HAD to be judged on my poop...I must say, it's pretty decent poop. Nice uniform texture and consistency. And yes it may not ever actually be in the form of a turd (sorry, no Mr. Hanky's here) it is actually quite spectacular. But I digress.
I'm just not too keen on being a slave to my toilet. Or rather, My catheter. I want to be more concerned with perfecting my pop tart toasting skills. Or perhaps updating my myspace page? Now THAT is something worthy of being obsessive over.
(and now i shall plug my myspace page for all you curious spectators: ta-da)

While I had not come up with any New Years Resolutions (lose weight?? HA, Chemo handled that one for me. Thanks). I think I'll change my mind.

My new years resolution? (albeit a bit late)...

Do not let shit rule my life!!!!

Aaaaahhhhh yes. Feels good to say it loud and proud.

So while I will of course continue to talk about my ass, and my poop. I must also enlighten the masses to my other really really grand qualities. Like my ability to contort my mug into magnificently unflattering faces:

Feliz Novo Ano!