Of course I whip it out, the cancer card is a great play in hundreds of situations. I don't really use it very often. When I do, it's to humiliate some ass weasel that's staring at me like leprosy has caused my nose to fall off. You've seen them, they look half scared at people that don' fit their idea of "normal". It's one of the few fun things I can do without having to really speak to them directly at all. I went to Sam's with Liz a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't having the best of days, but I like to spend time with her, so I went knowing I might have to sit down. About three quarters of the way to being finished with the shopping, I had to sit down or risk falling down. My head was kinda stopped up and consequentially so were my ears and it was throwing my balance off. Put Mr. Shaky leg in the mix and I had to sit, or fall. There was this cute a button six or seven year old hispanic girl that was standing close to the table where I was sitting. I had my head in one hand holding it up, hoping I wouldn't fall asleep. She moved a little closer, looked around, moved a little closer. She kept doing that until she was almost in my hip pocket and asked me if I was sick. I wrote yes, very sick on my pad and showed it to her. "Oh", she said, "will it make me sick too?" Nope, I can make you or anyone else sick. "Okay, what do you have?'. I'm always at a quandary as to how to answer that with a kid. Will they understand what I say? No, I'm not going to tell them I'm dying, that would scare them, and that a terrible thing to do to a kid. Here goes, I have bad germs that are all mine. They won't hurt anyone but me, and they make me pretty sick all the time. Before she could answer her dad grabbed her and rather roughly and left. Two years ago I'd have gotten up and we would have had a rather loud discussion about me having never seen a prick with feet. But as it stands, about all I could do was watch and shake my head. In his defense, he probably didn't want his little girl to talk to strangers. That I can understand, I was the same way with my kids, but God he went over board.
I've played it at Starbucks one morning this past week. I wanted a refill, got up and got in line, right ahead of a person taking drink orders over the phone. Really? You can't get the orders for drinks until you get to the store in person? People wonder why I have such a short fuse. Ninety percent of the time it's something close to that. I tapped her shoulder, when she looked I handed her this "Ma'am, I have cancer and my feeding tube is plugged, may I cut in so I can get hot coffee in it to clear the plug". Why you poor man, of course! Yeah, I wish. She let me cut in, but was pretty upset looking. Like I care if she's upset. I figure if you're too thick to realize you're ass is holding up everyone, you lose the right to be upset, in fact, everyone should tell you that you're being rude. Which is probably being rude as well, but at least it might make it into that thick skull your behavior sucks dick for skittles.
Tomorrow marks the day I started the tests for surgery in Houston. I had appointments with what seemed like seven million Doctors that week. I got to Houston at 0530 for a 0600 appointment to draw blood to see if I was stable enough for surgery. Physically stable, mentally is always kind of an iffy proposition for me. That's a year ago. Damn, I had pretty high expectations for everything going 100% and being healed up enough to go back to work. I blew that shit plumb out of the water. "The best laid plans of mice and men", right? Although, before seeing the CT results from the 15th of January, the surgeon and I both had those same expectations. The last visit I had with him prior to this final week of preparations, I'd told him I wasn't worried, how much or where it was going to be done wouldn't change my mind about being cut on. Oooops, I misled myself on that statement. When I saw the Doc on Wednesday the 16th, he told me it looked like I was all set, and they'd found a couple of places that the cancer had moved into. Okay, lets do this in six days then, I'm tired of waiting. Once again, not only Ooops, but big fucking Oooops. It's an "Ooops" because not knowing how much it had taken up, I didn't have any thought of getting myself a bit of Houston imbibing, or at least get roaring assed drunk one last time.
Alright, I'm gonna take a poll, do you all want me to tell about my feelings after the first surgery, clear through until they took me home or do you not want to know?
This being so close, I'm gonna just call it and go forward with the blog. Remember, I won't relate what or how I was feeling until I see the poll. It's six months since they found the return of Baxter, meaning according to the Dr's (my case went to the head, neck and throat panel) there was nothing more they could do, and they would help set me up with Palliative care.Which made my wife look up at the Doc and start to cry. Not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, I wasn't sure what Palliative care was, so while we were waiting for the next appointment I looked it up on google. Wow, Hospice, or just plain old stay home and get stoned all the time. Waiting for Death to get off the pot and do his thing. One of the things that he said was I'd bleed. No shit. It used to be one in a while. Then it was up to once a week, with a lot of bleeding all at once, then stop and not bleed again for a few weeks. Now it's all the time 24/7. Yesterday, or the day before, I'd bled enough out of my mouth that I drooled it clear down my chest. Strangely enough I must have gotten hot during my sleep that I took my shirt off. I swear though, if you'd just walked in and saw how I looked sleeping in my recliner, you'd won bets on whether or not I looked dead. I'm glad the kids didn't see that. Now the every day bleeding takes effect and that's going to increase, no two ways about it. As far as trying to guess when I'll kack, I ain't even gonna try. Eventually for certain.
I've got a few places in my neck that are hard as rocks and others that are more soft and much more tender. I don't know if that's normal or not. But then, my normal and all y'all's are two different things. I know I'm speeding right along, and I expect that to just get moving faster. I don't know, right or wrong, but I notice that and have a sneaky suspension that Baxter has his long distance/speed shoes on and is playing "Burn Rock Down Before He Has A Chance to Get Me". That would be my guess.
Random goofy thought, written in jest, but caused laughter: When all is said and done I'm having some of my ashes made into Lye Soap. That will lead to Ashes To Asses, Butt to Butt. That way everyone gets a little piece of my ass that some have dreamed about chewing out for years.
I'm writing this while sitting in Starbucks shoving a little dab of Java into my tube and have come to some conclusions.
First: Skin tight yoga pants aren't meant to hold back that kind of flesh flood that's bound to occur with
the Yoga pants. Blow out should occur near the Nuclear Camel Toe
Second: If you're over sixty, ladies, a mini skirt and go go boots aren't meant to make your varicose
veins attractive
Third: Fellas, Super Exposed Moose Knuckle is no more attractive than Nuclear Camel Toe. Looser
jeans, for God's sake, please, looser jeans
Fourth: Decide what the fuck you want before you get to the order/check out register. Stammering an
"I don't know" order does nothing but piss entire herds of people completely off. And when
that happens, don't act ignorant of the facts. You know you're a pain in the ass.
Fifth: Coffee is very HOT. Don't just slam it into your mouth, Rump Ranger, then spit it out. That
makes a mess, and only proves you're dumber than even I imagined. And also proves you're a
pig.
Sixth: And Final. Dude!! For God's sake do NOT wear spandex workout pants without underwear you
stupid bastard! Myself and hundreds of thousands of people don't give a rat's fucking ass whether
you're circumcised or not. Let alone just how unhung you appear.
The phrase for today is "Rump Ranger". Figure that one out on your own.
Love ya
