You know what's great about having cancer? Well I will tell you what.
You get free stuff !!! That's why we wear bandanas.You get more bandanas....free. You get your wig trimmed, free. You get creepy fake boobs that feel like a very large testicle.....free !! Last week I got a box filled with $500 of free make up just for attending a seminar on how to wear it without looking like a drag queen.
You can almost behave any way you want to and people will excuse it because you have cancer. Bursting into tears when you find a potato chip that looks like jesus, swearing like a Tourettes victim at the toaster who swallowed my bagel.....all perfectly acceptable.
Not so acceptable however is to joke with the chemo nurses about FU5 as they inject it into your arm. Chemo nurses don't have an obvious sense of humour. FU5 is a component of chemo....sure, fairly serious stuff, but come on.....it really does lead to a pretty obvious segue.
Did you know there is a sushi restaurant downtown Toronto called Fuk Yu ? In the town where my brother resides, in Thailand, there is a sushi restaurant called Fuk Yu 2.
I spot a trend.
Coming soon to Tennessee......Fuk Yall, and to Newark NJ.....Fuk Yuz.
Pollyanna and the Piranhas........ Online Dating for Dummies
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Monday, February 9, 2015
A Postscrit on Chemo Brain
It just dawned on me....it's a bit like being stoned. Scratch that....it's a LOT like being stoned !!
If I still smoked I would be doing that thing that stoned people do; lighting a cigarette, putting it in the ashtray and then lighting another one. If Jeff and Larry were still my gaybours they would be surreptitiously putting all of the un-smoked cigarettes in their shirt pockets with a "nothing going on here" look on their faces.
I probably have that slack jawed expression that only stoned people have until they are suddenly, and very expressively struck with the understanding of why bats always turn left when they fly out of a cave.
It's really not all that bad. I don't need to panic if I run out of rolling papers and go searching for a carrot and a ball point pen, AND.......I can do it all without the eventual need to toast an entire loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.
If I still smoked I would be doing that thing that stoned people do; lighting a cigarette, putting it in the ashtray and then lighting another one. If Jeff and Larry were still my gaybours they would be surreptitiously putting all of the un-smoked cigarettes in their shirt pockets with a "nothing going on here" look on their faces.
I probably have that slack jawed expression that only stoned people have until they are suddenly, and very expressively struck with the understanding of why bats always turn left when they fly out of a cave.
It's really not all that bad. I don't need to panic if I run out of rolling papers and go searching for a carrot and a ball point pen, AND.......I can do it all without the eventual need to toast an entire loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
A Few Notes About Chemo-Brain
I still wrestle with the notion of allowing this blog to lapse precariously close to a flag waving, chest pounding declaration of being a cancer survivor. The survivor label perhaps being presumptuous at this point, but I can at least see it looming.
I'm sure there are hoards of cancer blogs that will be far more clinical, maudlin, celebratory or "Kumbaya" laden than mine and, since I will never wear a pink ribbon or stick one on my bumper....since I will never leave my house sporting a bandana, and since I happened to find a wig that makes me look like Tina Turner in whiteface.....be aware that
you won't find any "Come Together" postings here. I have the right to poke fun at people with funny names, because I have one. I have the right to castigate Brits because I am one. I am likewise assuming the right to poke fun at cancer because.....I have chemo-brain.
My daughter and I recently watched the movie "Flight". I had avoided it upon initial release since I enough of an airplane wienie already and did not wish to condemn myself to never again leaving the province of Ontario. We can discard the entire premise of the movie because all I would like to segue into is one of the funniest throwaway movie scenes I have seen in some time. Denzel and a young overdose victim are surreptitiously sneaking a smoke in a hospital stairwell when a young man appears clad in a hospital gown, dragging an IV pole and seeking asylum from the cancer ward. He launches into a babbling, non-linear and completely hilarious diatribe about having cancer which is probably only funny if you actually have cancer.....or maybe not.
The young man asks Denzel for a cigarette and, after being given a whole pack, he promises to hand them out in the cancer ward.
Now I thought that was funny. I thought it was hilarious, but I'm sure it wouldn't go down well at the Susan B Komen foundation.
As the young man departs, Denzel and his companion discuss the degree to which he has "chemo-brain". It is a very real affliction, you see, and while I consider myself a very literate person, there are certain things that I can just no longer do.
I cannot pronounce the word "auxiliary". In normal times this would not be of much concern but when there is a hospital auxiliary to which I would like to give credit....it becomes somewhat more critical. I get as far as "aux" and my mouth stops working. I can hear it in my head. I just can't say it. I haven't been shot in the head and I haven't suffered a stroke but damn it.....I can't say "auxiliary" !!!
I cannot pronounce the word "anesthesiologist". Same explanation as above.
So far the words I can't pronounce seem to begin with A. I am in dire straights if this verbal paralysis lapses into B words because they are amongst my favorites.
In case you have missed this phenomenon....many rude, offensive and downright dirty words begin with the letter B. Case in point; bum, bugger, boobs, bollocks, balls, bastards, boner, banging, blow job.........but I digress.
I can no longer play Bookworm. Now you have to understand, I was the queen of Bookworm. I could view a screen of random letters and instantly form such awe inducing words as "botulism" and "ineptitude" casing Lex the worm to spew a stream of bonus points that threatened to blow up my laptop. I rejoice now in forming such combinations as "the" and "four". My ranking has dropped miserably.
My daughter recently tried to reach me "Candy Crush". I felt like a 1 year old learning how to sort blocks. Unable to grasp the concept I was left with pointing out that one of the shapes resembled Worther's Originals....a sad but nontheless accepted victory.
I am reduced to doing the NYT crossword puzzle in pencil. I bemoan this crushing blow. Doing it in pen was a badge of intelligent adulthood that I wore with gloating pride. How the mighty have fallen.
Now don't be too alarmed. I can still dress myself without looking like I am auditioning for Clown College. I can still make a cootie catcher and I can still read a book without mouthing the words or using a ruler. All is not lost. I may drool a little more in my sleep, but I can probably still pull off a Michigan left without causing a 6 car pile up. The feeling of accomplishment however might reduce me to tears of joy......but that is another posting.
I'm sure there are hoards of cancer blogs that will be far more clinical, maudlin, celebratory or "Kumbaya" laden than mine and, since I will never wear a pink ribbon or stick one on my bumper....since I will never leave my house sporting a bandana, and since I happened to find a wig that makes me look like Tina Turner in whiteface.....be aware that
you won't find any "Come Together" postings here. I have the right to poke fun at people with funny names, because I have one. I have the right to castigate Brits because I am one. I am likewise assuming the right to poke fun at cancer because.....I have chemo-brain.
My daughter and I recently watched the movie "Flight". I had avoided it upon initial release since I enough of an airplane wienie already and did not wish to condemn myself to never again leaving the province of Ontario. We can discard the entire premise of the movie because all I would like to segue into is one of the funniest throwaway movie scenes I have seen in some time. Denzel and a young overdose victim are surreptitiously sneaking a smoke in a hospital stairwell when a young man appears clad in a hospital gown, dragging an IV pole and seeking asylum from the cancer ward. He launches into a babbling, non-linear and completely hilarious diatribe about having cancer which is probably only funny if you actually have cancer.....or maybe not.
The young man asks Denzel for a cigarette and, after being given a whole pack, he promises to hand them out in the cancer ward.
Now I thought that was funny. I thought it was hilarious, but I'm sure it wouldn't go down well at the Susan B Komen foundation.
As the young man departs, Denzel and his companion discuss the degree to which he has "chemo-brain". It is a very real affliction, you see, and while I consider myself a very literate person, there are certain things that I can just no longer do.
I cannot pronounce the word "auxiliary". In normal times this would not be of much concern but when there is a hospital auxiliary to which I would like to give credit....it becomes somewhat more critical. I get as far as "aux" and my mouth stops working. I can hear it in my head. I just can't say it. I haven't been shot in the head and I haven't suffered a stroke but damn it.....I can't say "auxiliary" !!!
I cannot pronounce the word "anesthesiologist". Same explanation as above.
So far the words I can't pronounce seem to begin with A. I am in dire straights if this verbal paralysis lapses into B words because they are amongst my favorites.
In case you have missed this phenomenon....many rude, offensive and downright dirty words begin with the letter B. Case in point; bum, bugger, boobs, bollocks, balls, bastards, boner, banging, blow job.........but I digress.
I can no longer play Bookworm. Now you have to understand, I was the queen of Bookworm. I could view a screen of random letters and instantly form such awe inducing words as "botulism" and "ineptitude" casing Lex the worm to spew a stream of bonus points that threatened to blow up my laptop. I rejoice now in forming such combinations as "the" and "four". My ranking has dropped miserably.
My daughter recently tried to reach me "Candy Crush". I felt like a 1 year old learning how to sort blocks. Unable to grasp the concept I was left with pointing out that one of the shapes resembled Worther's Originals....a sad but nontheless accepted victory.
I am reduced to doing the NYT crossword puzzle in pencil. I bemoan this crushing blow. Doing it in pen was a badge of intelligent adulthood that I wore with gloating pride. How the mighty have fallen.
Now don't be too alarmed. I can still dress myself without looking like I am auditioning for Clown College. I can still make a cootie catcher and I can still read a book without mouthing the words or using a ruler. All is not lost. I may drool a little more in my sleep, but I can probably still pull off a Michigan left without causing a 6 car pile up. The feeling of accomplishment however might reduce me to tears of joy......but that is another posting.
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