The toxic kill gravy that juices my tumor into submission (I hope) is pushed through my body every three weeks for about 8 solid hours. At first, I chose to remain as awake and aware of the process as possible...but frankly, the only time cancer is real for me is when I'm there. With a fucking spike stabbing into my left shoulder because the right side of my body is fucking my symmetry all to hell. It doesn't hurt but it reminds me of how fucking NOT ME I currently am. Now, I choose sedation. I don't want to be aware of being NOT ME.
I'm halfway through the hardcore shit and I grow more terrified as the time comes when the uber chemo ends, radiation begins, my tits get sliced off, and I begin a five-year process of a less toxic form of chemotherapy...and hope like a motherfucker this shit doesn't come back.
The beginning was easier because it wasn't real. But the unreality that changed my DNA also changed my psyche. Who am I now? I have no idea.
This post is erratic. Fuck you. It's the cancer talkin'.
