Like clockwork I got really bad muscle pains a week after my infusion in the arm where the chemo was injected -- THE FIRST TIME. Obviously not the last time, they used the port! Half the reason for getting that thing was so I wouldn't have arm pains but apparently my arm remembers and is STILL MAD.
My oncologist's proposed solution: an Oxycodone prescription. Yeeeaaap. Now I do hard drugs.
The strips are off my port surgery incisions and that area of my chest is looking mighty manly. Not in terms of muscles, obv, but like I went through some tough shit. The stories scars tell excludes the part where they give you nice happy sleepy drugs the entire time real shit is going down. All they say is "Where are your chest scars, pussy?"
I had a beer and I did not explode. The weird alcohol pain is gone, so drinking is on. Phew, now I'm interesting enough to be a character from Mad Men.
Though I can't drink often and never a whole lot. So thankfully I baked some brownies that are MAGIC! Get it? With the cancer?
Pop culture tells me that me and my cancer are much more interesting if I'm drinking and doing drugs.
The brownies' secret ingredient is TLC. Yes, first I steeped and simmered both tender love and care into some butter until all the TLC was extracted. Then I used that butter to make the brownies.
You really feel the love working on you, and the care. But it takes like an hour.
It's a mellow, subtle feeling that's not too crazy. To quote Raymond Carver, these are brownies you can reason with.
Oh, it would be nice to get a little of that Chinese Food Effect: food that makes you want more food.
In other news, my hair is starting to fall out.
1 comment:
I love unearned manliness cred that comes from surgical scarring. My match stomach and back scars tell the tale that I was probably stabbed with a sword in a fierce deck-to-deck pirate battle. Not that I was an old man with exploding organs and a broken back at age 23.
Plus side of losing hair: Bald dudes with scars are at least twice as fearsome.
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