I had guinea pigs as a young girl. Sneakers and Whistles. Cute little buggers, pooped a lot, squeaked when you snapped a carrot in half (or clapped your hands to create a carrot-snapping simulator... how cruel we were), and basically did nothing but eat green pellets, drink out of a water bottle that had a weird little metal ball in it so that it wouldn't spill all over the cage, and chew on a salt lick that hung from the wires of the cage.
I wish I had a salt lick.
I've been craving salt - something that is totally new to my cravings list. New as of a couple of months ago, but getting stronger by the day. Is it the medication? Is it leeching sodium from my body? Savory cravings, ok. Sweet, definitely. But specifically, salt now. Like, I could dump a spoonful of salt down my gullet and feel quite pleased with myself. Of course, I won't. Probably.
Is that a teaspoon or tablespoon? Perhaps I can start with a demitasse spoon and work my way up.
I've also been getting these bizarre headaches. Something else totally new to my "Oh, my aching..." vocabulary. Usually it's my wrist, more recently my hip, and always my upper back. I feel like a little gremlin is stabbing my brain with a small knife. A good one, but small enough to not kill me quickly. I asked hubs if he thought I had a blood clot from the meds that travelled up to my brain and is about to kill me. He thinks not. But he doesn't even play a doctor on tv.
The truth is, I don't want any more tests for a while. I'm so radioactive that my skin is actually glowing. I mean, it looks pretty good. Perhaps it's the exfoliation I recently did, but I'll give radioactive particles a nod in my beautification. At least it makes me feel better about all this shit floating in my body. Stupid cancer.
Hubs keeps telling me to take an advil, but I don't want anything else in my body! Stupid? Maybe. He is performing late tonight and I'm heading out in a few. Maybe I'll throw a few in my purse just in case. Or maybe I'll just take one or two. I mean, it's Advil. Not Tamoxifen. Now THAT shit is toxic. Oh, crap...
How many things can one worry about when one is a cancer patient? Sure, you can get the surgery, the radiation, the medication, the tests... and then you not only have to worry about the cancer, but you have to worry about the side effects of all the shit that didn't even eradicate your cancer. I mean, that's a pretty crappy deal if you ask me!
I had been SO bad on my diet the past (almost) 2 weeks and gained a few. That certainly didn't help my mood. Well, today I weighed in at a respectable weight for me nowadays. I mean, really - you have cancer, you do all this shit to your body, you are worried about your mortality more than ever, and on top of it you have a muffin top? No thanks.
Though I did have (after dinner): a yogurt, a slice of raspberry tart, and an apple. I know, for most that's good. But with new and *improved* tamoxifat, breathing in too much air will make you gain weight!
NO! I'm on tamoxithin. Must keep telling myself that. This diet shit is not easy at all. I need to keep it together - I watched my mom at the end. She let go of everything. She sat around and stopped exercising, ate a bunch of processed shit - something we never were allowed as kids - and she died. Of course she did. But, by the time she did, us kids moved out and were on our own, and she was left with a husband who clearly didn't give a shit and thought of her as a burden. I know that for a fact - it was so obvious, even a week before she passed he said to me, "It won't be long now". I could picture him rubbing his hands together maniacally and plotting to sell her wedding rings - since he destroyed her will, there was no evidence that she wanted to leave them, or anything else, to any of us. Yeah. I have good reasons for my short shit list. But, I can still picture being a little girl and wearing her rings and her telling me that someday they'd be mine. And memories - good memories - are worth more than anything. I'm glad to have my memories of her, and I refuse to leave my daughter like that. I have a husband who actually loves me, who gives a shit about me. And I hope that in 10 years, he still will, no matter what happens. And even though my daughter doesn't even have her ears pierced or wear jewelry, she will get my wedding rings, and whatever else she wants that makes her happy and think of our good times.
Well, crap. I think I just built my coffin with that paragraph.
But, I want to be cremated anyway. So I guess we'll just plant some flowers in the coffin and keep my will safe and perhaps take an Advil or two before I leave for the show.
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