Burning down the house
The machines they were big. The barium though, was not Country Time and clear, but rather a thick, milky substance the exact color of paste. The first tall, round container was slightly creamsicle flavored and the second tasted like a loud fake banana. I was injected twice with glow-in-the-dark isotopes: They’re so toxic the nurses retrieve them from a locked-in container attached to a rolling table. It looks like they’re going to give you one of the last, rare pieces of kryptonite.
I won’t have the test results until tomorrow. But I swear the radiologist at the PET scan gave me a real smile; last time the person in the control room gave me a sympathetic, sucks-to-be-you smile. So, we’ll see.
Chemo number five tomorrow. Out of six. If all is well. The second I get the word, if it is good, I am booking a flight to Tulum for March. If it is bad, well, then someone will have to come over and rub my feet.
I’m on deadline for three stories, one of which is long, two of which are tiny. I feel so useless about work. Missing deadlines, bad writing, not pulling stories together well, over-reporting, procrastinating. And being generally exhausted most of the time. Maybe it’s not so different than before I was sick. The question is, when is before? Have no idea when this started. Can I blame all my bad habits and tiredness on this? Starting from when? Hm. I’m looking forward to being less pathetic and more professional. It’s an act of surrender though. To just allow myself to do what I can do when I can do it. Even if it makes me look horrible and lets people down. The ego, it is burning. Someone once said humiliation purifies the ego if you don’t mess with it and just let it burn. Well, burn muthafucka, burn.
Will try to update tomorrow upon return, but maybe not till Friday. Thanks for the love, kids.
