I am exhausted and even threw up in my mouth a little when I got home. I've used that as an expression when I've heard or seen something nauseating (good or bad...) but I think I may just reserve it now for when it really happens. I had a protein shake for breakfast before treatment with a cup of coffee and a kombucha, had acupuncture, had a cup of coffee while waiting, had blood drawn and later found out it was for a pregnancy test (um, aren't they supposed to tell me this - or when your life is signed away for medical care, do you no longer matter?), had a nervous breakdown, got radiated, had a nervous breakdown, spoke to the social worker who doesn't think I'm insane, but I do need to take over my own treatment rather than agree to do things to keep my family together, had a cup of coffee on the walk home while I had a mobile breakdown (lucky me, I had on humungous sunglasses today!), got home, helped my kid with homework which resulted in a mini breakdown, but really - she is a smart kid and sometimes acts like she's not so she'll get more help. I had just had enough. I can barely look at hubby right now. He's not the devil, but I do feel like he wants me to do everything the docs say, because the docs say. He nods when I take my holistic treatments, but if I ever mention something that will be costly, or that I consider to be something I could do instead of conventional (and by conventional, I mean covered by insurance) medicine, he freaks. He never pretends to discuss the potential with me. That's all I want. I want someone to discuss how something may help me, in addition or instead of what is currently being offered by my Cancer Team.
Yup. I think they should wear uniforms. Sporty! I might be more inclined to relax if they had on jerseys instead of white coats. I might feel better if they carried around sport bottles and wore sweatbands. Actually, I'd be totally down with all the shit they're trying to feed me. Because they would be more human than these people in lab coats carrying medical charts, with worried looks on their faces when they talk to you. Like, *you're going to die and I'm going to try to stop it but I can't guarantee*. I'd rather see sweat and maybe those weird black smudgies that football players have under their eyes - that would say, Hey. I'm on the team you're rooting for. I'm taking your cancer to the fucking Superbowl, and I'm kicking it's ass. I'd like to hear them actually say that, spit on the ground (of course, the cleanup staff would be mighty ticked off... maybe we could have special astroturf squares laid out for the spitting bit). I don't want them to go as far as chew tobacco, but maybe they could Join the Big League! Of course, that shit probably causes cancer too. Ok, we'll work on this, but I like where it's going!
I haven't looked at my poor Boobzilla yet. I'm sure it looks the same. It should take a few weeks to get those awful tan lines or burns. Maybe I can take a break in the middle. Or, why can't they just hit me full blast with their fricking laser beams and just burn the shit right out of me now? Why 30 sessions? Is it safety or money?
Anyway, I really just want to go to sleep now. It's 5pm. *yawn*. Has my life come to this? Apparently, it has.
Addendum. I took a shower. I have a serious tan. I'm considering asking them to do a full-body radiation once a week. Yeah, it's dangerous. But I'd look so much better. Ok, maybe every other week. Also, white wine is delicious in the evening when you're exhausted after cancer-stress. I could barely eat dinner, which may help me in the long run. I did manage to choke down a big bowl of raw spinach with oshinko and kimchee. What I really wanted was a big freaking glass of Schmailey's. And, I'm making a new batch of yogurt. I can't lie - I'm a yogurt master. It's like Pokemon, but real.
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