thisismydisease.com

i feel like seagull poop. no, i feel like seagull shit. smelly.

last time I saw Cannibal, he told he was starting infusing me with zometa - and i should google it (favorite thing to say to me, but who can blame him as most of his clients are over 80 and don’t have internet access) to see if it’s for me. well, it’s not for me, no more so than alcohol is for alcoholics. do the nursies listen to me? not “no” but “hell no”. i got the zometa despite not wanting it. and they didn’t weigh me so they, most likely, gave me enough for someone of much more weight (like, 50 pounds more weight). so i’m falling all over the place and scaring olivia. and messing myself up to boot. (can you say “blood everywhere”???)

i’m glad i got laid off (although it was illegal for them to do that - bossie didn’t know the laws, especially considering i was working at least 42 hours every 4 days).

and i’m glad my neighour phoned social services! maybe now i can live out my life - and littler dog can live out a part of her life - in peace. hey, maybe i can learn how to use that rangefinder before i die.

i’m tired - and my hands are frozen due to the zometa.  even B’s blanket won’t warm them up. Littler Dog is doing her best to keep me entertained.

my head hurts.

…but i still can’t eat much of it (only two miniatures per day).

my ears itch…but this will pass (i have the cut on my knee to prove that).

i cannot force myself to eat save for every three days (and doing so requires me to take prilosec and results in severe heartburn) - but at least i can eat sometimes. and i do take vitamins.

i have a headache.

the taxi driver was an hour late.

i met a guy who’s also open source. we laughed about centOS.

i slept, off and on, from thursday evening til saturday evening. so much for a holiday.

i have a headache.

…had the nerve, 2.5 years ago (but not seen in places i go), to issue “i’m sorry you have cancer” cards. last year, a gentleman wrote a book and included Hallmark’s blurb on why “I’m sorry you have cancer”.  just 6 or so months ago - just 6 months - one month after the review - the book came out in kindle.

to the guy who wrote the book “What Were They Thinking” (and you can either google him or pull him up on amazon, which has a great search engine): THANK YOU! nobody with cancer cares about those stupid cards - epecially those with Stage 4 cancer.

to the HALLMARK woman that wrote the cards: YOU IDIOT!!!!!!! tell HALLMARK, YOUR EMPLOYER, YOU HAVE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE!!!and get fired - which is what you deserve.

i don’t care about cards - especially those with no return address (which is ILLEGAL as of 11 september 2001). they got the card AND to break the law? anything that is hand-written with no return address goes in the trash. emails go in the trash - except if you’re a well-trusted friend, and then you might get a response in three or so weeks. send a note with the return address on it - and don’t send one of those “I’m sorry you have cancer”  HALLMARK cards.

i have to go to chemo now.

actually, it’s the skin between my fingers.

it started at about 7:30 tonight and only stopped when i went into the kitchen. but then again, i could have just gotten distracted. regardless…

…8694536365*(%#$%!$%!%#5874523134!!!!!!!!!!

i haven’t taken any drugs since 6:00 this morning.

what could this be? some sort of reaction? don’t i have enough with the neuropathy?

oh…fuck.

i cut my nails again today. third time. only one bleeder. i should be thankful - but dayam it hurts!

my teeth are breaking and/or shifting - and as of right now, i cannot go to the dentist without some sort of decree. my mouth hurts (as it should) and is all funny.

everything tastes like salt. lotsa salt.

my nose is bleeding. my mouth is bleeding.

geico (great Web site - but even better customer service) cancelled my premium.

it takes me four times to do what an average person does, thanks to the brain cancer (which is doing well i’m told). or very weird reaction.

i miss little dog.

i go to the grocery. one day, i went to Rainier. that’s it since i got on the radiation bandwagon (which i’m off of, but i still hurt because of the chemo).

i need to get out.

but i get sleepy.

i’m off drugs. nurses don’t understand. “we don’t let anyone live with pain”. but i *WANT* to live with pain. so i will. occasional ibuprofin. it’s not like cannibal junior didn’t prescribe NSAIDS which the pharmacist had to call about!!!!

all in all, most people would want to die living the life i live.

but…

…i want to live.

…and giraffe slippers. that’s what fits. and they’re cute - they’re CUTE!!!!!

update on me:

close to c-mas i ended up in the er thinking and writing (very slowly) in english but speaking in what i found out was french. my friends on the east coast got me an ambulance. the head male thought i was drunk. the head female knew i was not (where did i hear that before???). net-net: i had a small stroke which required 15 very, very short sessions of radiation.

i have brain cancer.

i’m having a very bad reaction to something. i think it’s the arthro - which i had to take to get over the pain of the port removal -  and residual pain - because everyone in oly and lacey was out of oxy. since, like ibuprofin, it’s an NSAID and has the same side effects, i’m taking ibuprofin now - weeks later. don’t ask.

chemo (finally) tomorrow. senior doc being more doc-like.  junior doc being a futz. (she didn’t even remember to put the arthro in the computer. must have a new girl.)

i *heart* my boots and slippers (but my slippers more cuz they’re funny - and warm).

little dog died late in january. nothing to say, other than i’m going through a depression and he’s not here to help out. i miss him terribly and wake up crying from missing him. almost 17 years. tears. random tears.

i can’t get clean. my skin looks and feels like fish - and it’s everywhere. cannibal says it’s another reaction. all i know is baby oil only makes things worse. just call me pigpen.

i woke up on c-mas day completely bald (hair everywhere!!!) and 25 pounds heavier - seriously. thank goodness i wore something loose to sleep. when in doubt, eat cookies - and after i finished off mum’s cookies (which were sooooooo good)  i made my own. coconut, brown sugar and a few choco chips. so there!!!  and they were also so good. not as good, but pretty damned good!

everything tastes like salt.

the doc who put the port in had to be convinced to remove it. i did not know that the argument went so far. all i know is they hardly ever used the port because it was always infected. the taxi driver didn’t even want to take me to the grocery store - despite the fact it meant more money for him. he just wanted to take me home to sleep.

my sleep cycle is strange.

so is my dream cycle.

i keep dreaming of aw. it’s b&w. and brown. and green. mucky green.

mucky green.  why in the hell am i dreaming of him?

upon having the port removed i, immediately, felt much better. the following day, though, i had to get the packing removed. s tried - to much screaming on my part. b tried with lidocaine with more success - but not without some screaming.

i’m not a screamer. really. not. a. screamer.

all in all it went ok. on saturday i did have to take 3 arthro to get through the pain, but that’s it. some days one. some days none. now i get ibuprofin. we’ll see.

for now, that’s it. more later. tomorrow. a week from now. a month from now. whenever.

i miss you.

i’m not dying.

today.

i have to make choices. write an email - or update my blog.

the doorbell rings.

i think.

i’m tired, groggy, woken up by what may really be the doorbell - or may just be some sort of imaginary noise in my head.

but i’m not about to find out.

i’m alone (save for little dog) and not about to find out something imaginary is really something real, or visa versa.

tiny doggie next door barks and barks. she’s a barky girl - but not that barky. i pee, crawl into bed, get comfortable, go back to sleep.

4 AM

the doorbell rings.

i think.

i’m tired, groggy, woken up by what may really be the doorbell - or may just be some sort of imaginary noise in my head.

but i’m not about to find out.

i’m alone (save for little dog) and not about to find out something imaginary is really something real, or visa versa.

tiny doggie’s daddy next door revs his truck’s engine. he normally gets up and out early, but not this early. i reposition myself on the wedge, watch a little unwrapped, fall asleep uncomfortable and wondering if the ringing doorbells were real, or was i just imagining things.

4 pm

i ran out to do a short errand and was greeting by a very somber neighbour. he introduced himself (as he always does, for whatever reason)  and told me:

another neighbour’s house was broken into last night. around 9:30. they found what remained - one  big mess - when they got back home…and the sheriff came…and he visited the neighbours to let them know, check around… and came back if he didn’t get a response.

we don’t talk.

i wave at them when i drive past on the way from the grocery, when i walk out to the post box, but they never wave back. keep to themselves. the guy on the corner - the other one that works from home and also doesn’t pay an already inflated price for a substandard service - we wave. we say hi. the old guy across the street from him - he waves and says hi. even tiny  girl’s parents wave and say hi. the direct neighbours, we don’t even talk about them. they talk. they say hi. they visit me to make sure i’m still alive, doing as well as possible, eating as best possible. they take care of me and they take care of little dog. and they corner run-away, scared beagle puppies that are afraid of the dark and react by running in circles scared as only puppies can be scared.

i love them.

the people that got robbed don’t talk, wave or say hi. it’s not what happened, though.  something happened to one of our very small group of residents, regardless of whether or not they talk or wave and despite the fact they don’t say hi. something very extraordinary happened to them.

i’m sitting here right now holding back yawns, trying to stay awake for just a little more time. robbery, no matter who gets robbed or why, is never easy on those left not to be victims. my heart goes out to these people  - and i hope that, someday soon, they’ll talk, wave and say hi.

and as for the as**h**es from ft. lewis, the very reason why this quiet neighbourhood i moved into a year ago has gone from not needing to even lock doors or windows to needing weasons (and i’m sure it’s even worse now that the over-abundant houses have gone to auction): next time i see you drinking beer on the golf course or  doing “something” in the middle of 54th i’m going to run you down like the rat you are and teach you a few things your mama didn’t but should have.

people are so excited i’m finally wearing footwear other than randomly purchased slippers come on, folks, you didn’t just love those toggle red fleecy things - or the ones with the lumberjack lining) that pictures have been demanded. since all of this has happened pictures haven’t been at the top of my list of things to do (breathing comes first, followed by eating something that tastes remotely not yuk) - but i have the following to offer:

black toemales are simple

pumpkin mary janes are keen

i’m still extra pleased with the simple shoes - but the keens kinda hurt - which is so odd considering they’re the fourth pair of keens i’ve ever purchased, and none of the others ever needed break-in time. oh well, i’m sure they’ll be just fine if i keep wearing them. it’s only my left big toe - so maybe a little soaking of said shoe in bubble-filled water is in order? ok the bubbles are selfishly for me - but if i have to put a shoe-clad foot in water, it may as well be bubbled. meanwhile…

i purchased sesame sticks and aminal crackers (among other things) in the fm organic bulk bins. the sesame sticks are extremely salty - and the aminal crackers have this odd sense of maple. now granted i do like maple syrup (pure only - none of that mrs. butterworth’s stuff, although she is cute on the geico commercial) - and i don’t dislike salt (sea or kosher only - no substitutes), but it has to be in very small quantities. i might have to have amber taste these. it might be me - or it might be what things actually taste like.

i’m tired. it’s been a long day. i’m feeling good - but a little sleep  might be in order.

i tried to open my sil’s package today. i know, from yesterday, it was going to require a garbage bag for the peanuts alone - and gods know what for the packing paper. i geared up for it. i planned for it. i got about 1/3 of it done before i had to both abort the mission and crawl into the wedge to relax it all off. at the rate i’m going, i might have the whole thing done and fully open by sunday night. i hope there’s nothing melty in there. or alive. that would stink. actually, it should, so i guess i’m back to only melty.

it’s beddy bye time. i need to breathe into my little tube, finish my drink, and nod off into sleepy land.

oh and speaking of drink, all this milk can’t be good for me. oh well. the gogi berry ended up across the room with a substantial amount of force. milk has never done that. what’s a little full fat, weight gain and whatever else organic milk has to offer?

nighty folks.

for the first time in more than four months, i have shoes - and i can wear ‘em!!!!!

my feet have gotten a lot bigger, but they’re not swollen anymore. so i have shoes, thanks to endless and zappos (both of which have free overnight delivery and return, if needed). a pair of black hemp boots with crepe soles and rubber buttons - and a pair of orange nubuck mary janes with huge elastic straps.

i picked the right size - really big.it feels weird wearing shoes. i’m not used to it. i’m mostly used to wearing slippers and, maybe, the smiley cow gumboots. but not shoes.

i’m happy.

can i sleep in my shoes? please???