This essay was originally published on April 7, 2015.
Life has been very interesting since I last posted, mainly because I had a complete meltdown following the conclusion of roasting. I didn’t realize that, like the roast you let rest on the counter after removing it from the oven and tenting it with foil, you keep cooking after you’re cooked. Yes, as bad as I felt the last time I blogged, I started to feel even worse a couple of days later.
This essay was originally published on March 17, 2015.
When you’re diagnosed with cancer, the days, weeks, and months following that news are filled with loss. You lose a body part or two, you lose your hair, you sometimes lose your dignity, and often times, you even have to sacrifice your livelihood because the treatment leaves you incapable of earning a living. In most cases, you can recover those losses; I can even replace my breasts if I want to, but I’ve yet to make that decision.
This essay was originally published on March 15, 2015.
Maybe some of you like your chicken this way, but not me!
Sorry for the delay in getting this post up; I’ve actually been suffering more from roasting fatigue than the burning. Although, my skin is starting to take on the hue of fresh ground beef. It’s different than a sunburn; there’s a sort of brownish tinge to it that I’ve never before experienced. Chalk more oddities up to the cancer experience.
This essay was originally published on March 10, 2015.
It is pertinent to the subject of today’s blog to say that I grew up with a mother who was constantly worried about what other people thought. Moreover, she passed that charming trait down to my older brother, who, at 61, still lives his life without the ability to say, “I don’t give a fuck” about what others think of him. Now I can get on with the matter at hand.
This essay was originally published on February 20, 2015.
You’re wondering where my picture of Michael Richards as a turkey is… Well, I chose this one of Bill Murray instead, for no reason other than I like it. It’s from last week’s Pebble Beach Pro Am golf tournament, during which he always does a great job making everyone laugh. Though I’m not a golfer, I’ve been to Pebble Beach, and it is one of the most spectacular places here in North America.
This essay was originally published on February 19, 2015.
I’m beginning to think roasting is having a negative effect on my brain. For the past few days, I’ve felt more annoyed, pissed off and agitated than I’ve been in recent months.
The thought of shutting the laptops and avoiding social media has crossed my mind, but without access to both, I am not capable of working. I suppose I could go get a job as a greeter at Wal Mart, or a barista at Starbucks (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but that would be treasonous to my education, not to mention my body. I’m still not physically capable of all that much, and if the Internet did not exist, I’d be standing on an entrance ramp to Interstate 5 asking for spare change.
This essay was originally published on January 6, 2015.
After yesterday’s post about the continuing horrors of chemotherapy, I feel I have to redeem myself a little bit by posting something positive.
Last July, shortly after my mastectomy, an old and dear friend of mine started posting links on my Facebook page to some YouTube videos made by one of the countless beauty “gurus” who review makeup and skin care products, in an effort to keep my spirits up. The videos she chose are made by a woman who is relatively close in age to us, with a very down-to-earth attitude and sense of humor about beauty. She ends each video with a few minutes of bloopers culled from the filming, which are flat-out hysterical. I’ve gotten many a giggle from those videos, and as a result, I’ve taken to viewing such snippets regularly. I’ve also become somewhat of a disciple of these women, and now there is a growing group of them whose videos I’ve begun watching obsessively.
This essay was originally published on January 5, 2015.
It’s been ten days since my last chemotherapy treatment, and, well, I still feel like crap. I’ve felt like crap for so long that part of me was hoping for a minor miracle: I thought maybe since the chemo leg of this journey is over, I would feel better more quickly. Turns out I was kidding myself; I actually feel worse if you can believe it.