Get a slinky. There. Done. Simple!
Okay, I know you already think I've got taffy for brains, but hang with me a sec, alright? I gave my slinky a name: Ralph. Why Ralph, you ask? Well, just look at him. Doesn't he look like a Ralph? He does to me and as long as I'm happy that is all that matters.
Ralph still doesn't obey commands. Um, that's not true; he can sit, stay, play dead, and roll over...with some help. Really, though, what Ralph needs is a pair of googly eyes and a felt tongue. You know, that really would help people warm up to him and it just might help me pick up women down at the park.
I might have to change which park I've been going to. The last lady that found Ralph and I a hot item turned out to be an undercover cop dressed as a gypsy hobo. Is there such a thing as a gypsy hobo? Well, that's what she looked like to me. Come to think of it, I don't think that was a cop at all. No wonder why that pat down was a bit peculiar. Why must I be so trusting?
So, I've got my second chemo done today and the first blood work and chemo done using my new porta-catheter. The needle, rather, hook that they put in me was a bit scary looking. The nurse was all, "They were supposed to get you a cream for that to numb it. Didn't they do that for you?"
I was all "No (shit on me)."
So, we had to do this "1-2-3, breathe in hard!" kind of mind over matter shit to get the thing in and out of me. It hurt but I dealt with it. The porta-catheter really made the chemo less of a pain in the ass.
My blood work showed a dangerously low white blood cell count and we almost had to stop my treatment because of it. My doctor decided to let the chemo go on. However, I know have to get a series of five shots starting Friday and ending on Wednesday in order to try and restore my white blood cells. If we don't go through this expensive procedure ($3,000) then any infection I may get could be deadly. This is serious stuff. Hell, the cancer won't kill me if I go through the treatment, but the treatment is doing its best to kill me. I guess the idea is that the cancer cells will be dead first and I will have a period of time after I'm done with treatment to recover from all the collateral damage done to my body.
So, while the treatment went smooth, the after effects today have been such that I have been incredibly weak and nauseous. This is like having mono at a toga party, but without all the other partiers or fun, for that matter. Hell, my brother even tried riding a motorcycle up my stairs and doing the "William Tell Overture", drumming his fingers on his throat bit from "Animal House", and that didn't even cheer me up.
I told my brother that since he resembles a Mexican version of Meat Loaf, circa 1978, that he should do a duet with the crazy lady down the road, or even a full theatrical version of "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" for my amusement. Yes, dance fat monkey, dance!
"It never felt so good. It never felt so right."
4 years ago