So, here we go again. Another flair up of the MS. I missed my friend's art opening, and I didn't even publicize about it much. That's when I knew that I was loosing it. I didn't want to miss that. He's badass...and I missed it. Fucking disease bullshit.
AND: Right after a rather shitty work review, by a person perhaps stepping off the deep end a bit...but, nonetheless, it stung. I knew it was the MS. I've been trying to fake it a bunch, as my thoughtfulness goes down the tub.
What stung about the review, was the lack of being able to talk back. Jeez, for those that know me....that really fucking kills me. I was told that I wasn't living up to my potential. So, I will write my response here:
Who in the hell ever said that I wanted to live up to my potential in the first place? And who around me is doing it? The Prez? That bike guy? Who? There seems to be a fair amount of cheating and improvised potential....enough to go around. And who said that I was going to live up my potential at a job like the one that I have? Are you kidding me? Seriously. I am smarter than that. That is perhaps the part that makes it hardest for me to live up my potential in some job that I know, if I completely applied myself and did every this just shiny, fucking perfect, I would knitted buttlint for and have to seriously flog myself into oblivion for doing such a good job at, in the first place. Are you kidding me?
I did not have a golden family, nor do I have anyone that can slip me creamy testos for my nads. I hate to say it outloud, but I come from the hardknock, passive/aggressive, school of hard time, that allows me sometime the opinion that I should be getting lots of stuff for free. And cut...scene fade.
So, I've been dragging my tail about going to the neurologist. I waited until it really was beginning to hurt and show. It's the same thing every time. And I hate it. AND to make it worse, I watched an episode of some cold case TV show. And do you want to guess what it was about? Well, I'll tell you. There was a serial killer, and he was catching people and making them write out their will, and pick out their death spot, before he killed them...and the kicker was that he had MS. He was having trouble dealing with dying.
It was kinda' fucked up. I mean, I sometimes get in the mood to be reflective in not the most positive of ways...but, jeez, dude, I never want to take people with me. It was a downer to watch...I didn't want that to be representative of "my people". I almost wrote a letter, but my hands are numb, and I can't think on cue, and the Family Guy was on...I got distracted.
I went to the doctor, and I knew the answer, I would start the chemo drugs. I hate them. I never thought that I would say that I hated drugs, but I do. I hate them with all my heart. I hate the stinging needle. I hate the warm goo that runs into my veins so much that my mouth can taste it and I vomit. I hate it. I left the doctor's office and went to sit in my car...in the ever so cool handicapped parking space. The label sucks, but the parking is cool. I just cried. I wasn't mad, or sad...I just hated it...not the angry hate, just the here we go again hate. I cried. There wasn't anyone to need to call or anything like that. I just need to cry...it wasn't really even that dramatic...it was just a cry...an it made me feel better. And then went back to work until injection time.
I went at my prescribed time. Sometimes, there's no clocks in the waiting room. I get it, but everyone has cell phones now that tell the time. It's kind of just stupid. We all sighed. The only decent thing about this place, the infusion lab, it that you're not alone. We're all fucked up. We can all agree with that. Not matter what, being in a room full of other fucked up people has it's privileges .
My eyes met with the guy. His neck was swollen. He has hotchkins lymphoma. He looked like he had swallowed a chicken bone, but bigger. He was worried. He was newly married and they had a baby on the way. He asked if this was my first time. Oh God no, I'm old hat at this. He looked scared. It felt weird to have something consoling to say, but I did. I told him that it seemed like a big deal, and it was a big deal, but people had strength in them that no one knew they had. He was worried about his job. Me, too. But, it's just a fucking job, and you can get another one. It's easy to concentrate on that, but really, you can just get another one. I, also told him that it was boring. It was really fucking boring. And the second time wasn't nearly as bad as the first. It's the first time that's the kick in the pants, but you can get the routine down. And I told him to eat whatever he wanted and buy lotto tickets if he wanted...whatever was fun was an absolute must.
And that there were tricks, yes, tricks. What tricks, he asked.
I laid it out.
Always try to schedule your shit in the late afternoon...that's when the old people are gone, and you have the bigger chance of getting the remote control, or at least getting something bearable to watch. Otherwise, it was strictly Judge Judy and Oprah. And if bossing healthly old people around was super bad...well, fucking with Sick and Old People just got you a bad needle sticker, and no juice box...it was the death of you in the lab. Not even worth the trouble of trying...straight to hell, my friend, straight to hell.
They have juice boxes and cookies, crackers, and peanut butter crackers. If you were hungry, just ask nicely, and say that you had to fast for your morning labs. They'll totally give you more than one helping.Or, pretend that you're feeling nauseous...then, they break out the spread.
Also, it's ok to sit next to someone who's worse off that you or even dying...they will remind you that you're not, and there's strength in that. There is strength in that. And people have stories...it's important to listen...they gain strength from that.
Also, wear easy on and off pants, cause if you start your drugs and have to go to the bathroom, you can get the pants down, but it's getting them back up that sucks...so, you either have to open the door for help, and everyone sees your business or you stay in the bathroom forever struggling and when you come out everyone thinks you took a big shit.
AND, when in the bathroom, when on drugs, you always need to get some toilet paper pre-grabbed with your good hand...if not, it's a real bitch to be in there alone, high, wet and trying to grab for the squares in the big, plastic cage.
My last trick was to steal something...or ask for it, if you're chicken. I usually take a few extra butt cancer pamphlets, or breast cancer pamphlets...or whatever you can find...and then give them/mail them to friends and co-workers...an preferably anonymously. Face masks, big tongue depressors...whatever. One time, I scored a ton of How to Put On a Condom pamphlets, in Spanish and in English, with pictures of a real wiener. Very high prize...very indeed.
He laughed. I did, too. But, he would learn that I was totally serious. Time was up...we went to the "back".
I was sat in the prime spot. I got lucky this time. I had the chair right in front of the tv, and I was blessed with the remote control. It was just right there. I never had that spot.
I sat next to a woman, who was a dangerously enimec. I started laughing, and asked her if business was so bad she had to drive up to the infusion lab. Everyone laughed. She had really almost died. Her medicine was liquid iron...thick, blood-shit, brown creeping. And to my other side was an old woman who bone marrow quit working and she was having leukemia...her progress might turn out ok...might be remission...or she might die...to soon to tell. We all felt like shit.
As keeper of the remote, I wasn't a tyrant about it. We all agreed that no war, no stocks, no barrels, no deaths, etc. We watched Flava Flav. We had quite a debate about it. There women that fought over him on the show. He a little older now. And so is his wiener. I said that it my look like a beat up mangy pitbull at this stage of the game. Yuck!!! Saggy, too, was the concencious.
And there were women really fighting over it. BITCH!!!! OH IT'S ON NOW!!!
Who is the looser there? Are you the winner because you didn't win the hog slop wiener? OR, are you even a bigger looser because you didn't beat down the hog slop wiener lover? It was a hard call. And how romantic is it to think of Flava Flav going down on you when he has all that metal in his mouth? Lookin' like the also fro lovin' JAWS from the ever so hip 007 James Bond movie. Thoughts of him coming back up with girlie hairs stuck in the bling, and the painful bald patch it might cause.
Don't get me wrong, I like Flava Flav, too. I just have enough sense not to ever want to get me any of that. I'll bet I have to rumble some getto stake who wants to defend his honor now. That's funny. Did he live up to his potential...Yeah, chew on that for a minute.
The man that I spoke with in the waiting room left before me. He had a juice box in his hand, and one in this pocket...he winked...and we both said out good lucks. I think that he will be fine. I really believe that...of course, it could be the drugs, but whatever.
I have two more days of pumping, then a few days of the come down. The drugs keep me up at night. So, I'm sure this is to be continued.
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