I’ve been having good days and bad days. This probably doesn’t come as too much of a surprise, and even the bad days haven’t been too bad. I’ve mostly managed to wind up in the right buildings at the right times without being arrestably naked and I haven’t been fired, incarcerated or savagely beaten in quite some time.

But they were bugging me a lot. I talked about it last post quite a bit.

Then I had a conversation with a close, somewhat disreputable friend (that actually covers quite a few of my friends, but you know who you are). He told me that the person that I had been pre-cancer is gone, and that can be hard to accept. NO matter I do there’s nothing I can do to go back to being that guy. There’s no getting back to normal; now is normal.

It sounds depressing but it made me feel better. Instead of trying to match up to some half remembered vision of what I used to be like, I’m instead building towards being better than I am right now. Again, things aren’t too bad at all, but I do have a way to go before I’m where I want to be. Somehow thinking of it that way instead of trying to get back to an old normal makes me feel less guilty about the bad moments I still get from time to time.

I did a bit of reading, and it seems quite common amongst survivors of major trauma and illness to go hunting for what we were (or we thought we were) before existence kicked us in the shins. It was a major mental step to let go of that, but I’m feeling good about it.

The cat just celebrated my breakthrough by being heartily sick under my desk.

And on my foot. Second time in two weeks.

It’s nice to know my place in the grand scheme of things, which apparently is smelling faintly of Hill Science Diet for Cats.

 

 

 

So apparently I’m cancer free.

I went in for a CT scan Monday last week, and got the results on Thursday. No evidence of cancer. In the same week my Dad found out that there is no evidence of cancer in his system either. As a family we’ve been dodging bullets like we’re in the Matrix.

Like this, but cooler.

I am one very relieved human.

It’s not over, because this kind of thing is never really over. I still get monitored every month for the next six months, then every six months after that until I’ve survived cancer long enough that death by misadventure becomes a more likely thing to read about my inevitable demise.

I wish I could say that I felt instant overwhelming joy at finding out from my oncologist that even the little smudge on my lung was gone, but what I actually felt was tired. I’d been wound up pretty tightly in the days leading up to the CT scan results, and getting the good news meant that I could let go of all that tension. I wasn’t really worried about dying, but I REALLY didn’t want to have to do another big cycle of chemo.

Chemo is my friend, it saved my life, but it’s the kind of friend I’m happy to appreciate from a distance.

I finally feel like I can at least sort of move on with my life, which is scary, because all of those things I was putting off until I was cancer free? Now I have to do them.

There are a few things on that list, and they’re either scary, expensive or scary and expensive. I also need to make some scary adult type life decisions in the next few months and a part of me really doesn’t want to.

It doesn’t matter though. I get to be alive, and existing is an important first step in attaining your life goals.

I’ll let you know what happens.

 

 

Like the title says, fear is a weird thing.

This is one of the free images that comes up when I Googled 'fear'. To be honest this guy seems more cute than scary...

This is one of the free images that comes up when I Googled ‘fear’. To be honest this guy seems more cute than scary…

 

It’s not even one thing; the bitter, hot, sharp fear that you get when you know a fight is about to happen is different from the deep, cold dread you feel when someone you know is very sick and that’s different again from the background fear that comes in when you yourself are sick. The fear that just hums away in the back of your mind.

When I first got diagnosed I felt the hot fear. My heart rate jumped up, I couldn’t hear properly for a few seconds (I think. Memory is even weirder than fear.). I had the same thing when I found out I needed chemo, but both times that fear faded back into the background. I got caught up in just doing everything I needed to do to survive and the fear had to take a back seat. The fear was always there, ready to poke its head out at weird times, but it never went back to being that sharp, intense fear.

Until this morning.

I needed a CT scan to make sure that the cancer has stayed away after we punched it in the face with chemotherapy. I had been anxious before then but nothing too terrible, normally the worst thing about a CT scan is feeling like you’ve peed your pants after they shoot you full of contrast dye. But while I was waiting my turn I felt a sudden rush of real, sharp fear. I felt like I wanted to punch something, preferably while also running away. This wasn’t down to a bad result, I won’t get the results until Thursday, it was just one of the those moments where my body decided that punching seven different shades of crap out of cancer was a viable strategy, and if that didn’t work fleeing down the hallway crying was also a workable plan B.

As bad as the fear was, it didn’t last.

A little kid ran by me trailing a sizable amount of toilet paper (and an exasperated parent) and that was enough to send the fear back into its lair at the back of my mind. By the time the nurse arrived I felt back to my normal self, but just for that one moment my normal self was nowhere to be found.

I hate that feeling. I worry about what I’ll do or say when fear has the reins.

I’m just lucky that little kid went running by.

As far as I can tell, I’m fine. In fact I’m in better health now than I’ve been for a long time, but that fear is always there, waiting for its moment.

I think that’s what I’m most afraid of. Not the cancer itself, if it comes back there are other things we can try, but that when the fear slithers back out into the world, I won’t be able to pull it back in again.

 

 

 

You know how when someone loses a limb, they can end up having problems with ‘ghost limb’ where they feel like the missing arm or leg is still there (and what’s more, it hurts)? Well when you’ve had an orchidectomy it turns out you can get ghost nut.

I imagine it like this, but angrier.

I imagine it like this, but angrier.

I know this because I currently feel like someone has given me a solid boot in a testicle that is no longer there.

This seems unfair.

The pain comes and goes, but there really isn’t a good time to endure sudden groin pain. It’s one of those things that would normally make me angry and want to punch things but I really feel like trying to punch my way out of this problem might end up being counterproductive.

Still, I suppose it could be worse. I could be haunted by an actual ghost testicle. I’m not sure what a ghost testicle would do (probably just float around making a nuisance of itself like a real testicle) and I don’t necessarily want to give it a lot of thought, but nothing about the situation seems like it’d be good.

What would you even say to the exorcist?

 

 

I’m cancer free.

Probably.

We think.

Dammit.

I went in to the oncologist’s special under hospital lair yesterday (like many a lair it is underground, unlike most lairs it’s full of good people and sometimes smells like cabbage). I sat in a tiny room with my wife and I hoped I’d be told that I was so free of cancer they were going to use me as an example to other people as to what being cancer free looked like. I didn’t get my wish, but it was pretty close. My cancer has responded incredibly well to treatment. The fat, strangely symmetrical cancerous lumps that were sitting on my lungs generally being a nuisance have gone altogether. The combined chemotherapy punched them right in the metaphorical dick and they have gone wherever cancers go in the afterlife.

The problem is this little smudge on the CT scan.

It’s tiny. In fact it’s so tiny it really might be nothing. Apparently if I was a normal person it wouldn’t be enough to worry about…but I’m no longer normal. I personally have high hopes it’s just where someone sneezed on the CT scanner, but it’s not nothing, which means as a collective unit we’re all going to glare at this smudge until we know what it is. It’s actually currently too small to know what it is at all, it might even be a perfectly normal part of my lung.

Not my lungs, not even a CT scan...and yet I felt like I needed a picture.

Not my lungs, not even a CT scan…and yet I felt like I needed a picture.

The rest of me is truly all clear. My remaining testicle does not need to be cut off. My lymphatic system is healthy.

I am a very, very lucky person.

So what happens next is surveillance.

It sounds very much like my oncologist is going to be taking up residence in my garden with a pair of binoculars and an unhealthy interest in the color of my pee.

We feel like you should stop drinking Toilet Duck...

We feel like you should stop drinking Toilet Duck…

The truth isn’t that far off. I get checked once per month for the next six months (and by checked I mean blood tested and fondled), then once every three months for a year…then at ever increasing intervals for the next ten years. After ten years it becomes more likely that I’m going to die from something else.

Currently the leading bet is ‘bear related incident’.

Somewhere, a bear dreams of eating my face.

Somewhere, a bear dreams of eating my face.

I was quite depressed yesterday. I shouldn’t have been, I should have been happy but instead I was deeply weirded out and as flat as the surface of a frozen lake. I think I had really been hoping that I wouldn’t have to worry any more, and that this was all over with. In reality that was never going to happen, there was always going to be more follow up, more tests, more visits to the big grey cabbagey hospital building.

It doesn’t matter. I’m alive to do the tests. I’m alive to enjoy the holidays. Moping about will not change the smudge in even the smallest of ways, so I’m resolved to celebrate the fact that I need no more chemotherapy, and to enjoy every second that I possibly can with my family and friends.

The amount of support I’ve had throughout all of this cancer business has been overwhelming. I mean that quite literally, there were times where I took in the sheer number of people willing to help me, and the intensity they carried with them, and my brain just kind of shorted out and I had to go and stare at a wall for a while.

Right now I’m feeling pretty good about the future.

I should probably put some pants on and go and face the day.

 

 

I finally find out what my CT scan results are tomorrow.

When you get a CT scan they inject a contrast dye that makes you feel like you've wet your pants. It's disconcerting to say the least.

The blessed and infernal machine.

As I’ve said before, I hate the waiting game. If I’ve got to get get bad news/fight something/put on pants I want to get it over with quickly. Putting it off just winds me up, and (to mangle a Pratchett quote) sometimes I unwind all at once.

But with medical stuff there’s no changing the fact that you have to wait. No matter if you’re in a private system or a public one, there will always be people just as sick (if not sicker) than you who are ahead of you in the queue. I don’t begrudge them their time, I just have an irrational wish for everyone to talk a bit faster so I can get this done.

Sometimes I wonder if the problem isn’t so much the waiting itself, it’s the fact that I have absolutely zero control over the outcome. I wish I did, I wish I could punch cancer in the face and then kick it while it was down, or that there was something I could do to affect, even in the smallest of ways, what happens tomorrow. There just isn’t, and I’ve swung backwards and forwards between being accepting that I have zero control and outright frustration at the whole process. I’m yet to chew off anyone’s face, but I’m glad that the appointment is tomorrow, otherwise face-chewing was becoming a real possibility.

I like to think that if I was in real ‘get your affairs in order’ trouble someone would have called me by now, but there’s no guarantee of that. The odds are though that good news is waiting for me, most cases like mine are fixed after three cycles of BEP chemotherapy and while I really don’t want to do any more chemo, it’s still better than dying.

I’m mostly OK. What’s scaring me is the stress this is putting my loved ones through. I can see it on their faces and in how they’re acting around me. I don’t blame them. When my Dad was sick I felt like I had a bowling ball in my stomach. I wish there was something I could do to reassure them, to tell them this is going to be OK, but I’ve got nothing to say that isn’t a platitude. I just hope I can call everyone tomorrow and tell them good news.

 

Other stuff:

I finally actually listened to the lyrics of Baby It’s Cold Outside as sung by Dean Martin and Marilyn Maxwell…and yeah…that song is creepy as hell. 

Misheard song lyric: During Everclear’s Santa Monica – I am still living with your ghost, I heard as I am still living with your goat. Frankly the goat sounds like a good story. I’d listen to that song.

I have been sent three insane cancer cure ideas this week.

I cannot recommend the website Wait But Why enough, especially if you have some time to spend reading. That said the most recent post The Tail End, is quite short, and made me think very hard about the amount of time I have left, no matter what the results are tomorrow. I highly recommend you read it.

 

 

I’ve noticed something about people who go through cancer, at least the ones I’ve met. We all go groping for answers, sometimes literally.

I checked my nuts before all of this happened. Just gave them a solid non-entertainment based fondle. I can’t remember how often I did it, but I did.

You’d better believe I check my remaining ball every damn day now.

smiley-535286_1920

As much as that’s a solid self care plan, I don’t think I need to check every day. But in the absence of any real answers as to why I got cancer (official word on it is that I was unlucky and I can accept that), I feel like checking myself is one small piece of control I can have over it. Once I accepted I had been unlucky and that there was no reason for my cancer any more than anyone else who draws the short biological straw, I started noticing that a lot of people have a hard time accepting that things happen without a reason. There was no split between people who were normally on the hard science of things and people who were already into alternative medicine…pretty much everyone went looking for reasons.

Sometimes they found them. Sometimes those reasons were real, and sometimes they were just the first, easiest thing they could latch onto.

I’ve heard about everything from ‘sugar caused/fed my cancer’! (no it didn’t).

to ‘my relationship with X/Y or Z caused my cancer’ (it was rogue cell division).

to ‘I didn’t smoke enough weed’ (I feel like inhaling anything other than air might not help lung cancer).

and my personal favorite because it was about my cancer, not the speaker’s: ‘God gave you cancer’ (dick move God). Although come to think of it she didn’t specify which god…

ANUBIS: MY BAD BRO.

I initially reacted badly to all of these. I hated the idea that people I knew and in some cases were very close to couldn’t just accept that cancer is an awful, painful and yet often utterly random thing. Yes there are cancer causes out there (stopping smoking is a super good idea), but so often there just isn’t a clear reason and I think that’s OK…

Doesn’t stop me checking myself every day. Doesn’t stop my from reading up on cancer research, because it makes me feel better.

I think we all try to find comfort where we can, and I’ve softened on people who reach for that comfort outside of my own point of view. Cancer is scary. We all deal with it a little differently, and while I find the blatant misinformation of alternative medicine extremely frustrating, I don’t blame someone who is suffering to seek answers outside of what their Doctors tell them. I still love me some Western style peer reviewed medicine and that’s always going to be where I go for my answers, but if you seek answers elsewhere then I hope they bring you some comfort. Still: don’t buy anything from anyone, don’t trust something someone says just because it agrees with your worldview and always check with your doctor before taking anything.

And don’t try and force your weird turmeric drink down my throat, I will punch you in the dick.

 

 

 

 

I’ve said before that I never got a big epiphany from my cancer, but I did pick one up from someone else’s emergency.

It didn't look anything like this. I just like this photo.

The moment didn’t look anything like this, I just like this photo.

 

One of the many people who’ve taught me Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, a man named John Will, had a heart attack. John is quite simply one of the best teachers in the world. It doesn’t matter if it’s a complex technique or a life lesson, he can bring it across to a room full of beginners and experts alike. His particular gift seems to be imparting lessons that will hang around until the student is ready. More than once he taught me something in a seminar I thought I hadn’t understood, and yet once I’d progressed in BJJ enough, the technique slotted itself into my repertoire like I’d be taught the day before.

John is also the person I think best exemplifies the idea of living life fully. He does more with his days than any other five people I know, and he’s one of the fittest people I’ve ever met.

 

This is John. I always assumed when death showed up for him he'd break its legs.

This is John. I always assumed when death showed up for him he’d break its legs.

 

He still had a heart attack.

Fortunately his wife made him go to the hospital and he’s well into recovery now. The lesson I got came when John mentioned that a lot of people had said that his heart attack was a reminder of how precious life was, to live life to the fullest. The thing is, John knew. He really, really already knew. As I said above no one I know lives their life more. John didn’t need the reminder that life is precious…

But I did.

Cancer should have been one heck of a reminder. I would have preferred a short note.

It doesn’t matter, I didn’t get it. Not really.

I was too caught up in the process of surgery/chemo/recovery to really notice that the lesson I’d been hanging around waiting for was right there. It took John’s medical emergency (and subsequent Facebook post advising the world he was OK) for me to pay attention. It’s a cliche, but life is precious. I just didn’t realize it. Not just as a whole, but in the specific too:

I didn’t realize what a blessing being able to eat more or less what I wanted was until I couldn’t for weeks on end.

I didn’t get how big a deal keeping myself fit was until I couldn’t walk to the end of my driveway.

I didn’t understand how loved I was by my friends and family until they all stepped up to the plate AT ONCE to help me. I sort of knew, but I didn’t understand it. I have an army of people right there, ready to fight for me, and the idea of that is so overwhelming I have no idea how to process it.

I didn’t realize how much time I was wasting until there was a chance I didn’t have any left.

That last one is the one I want to unpack. I want to make it clear that I don’t regret one second that I spent intentionally. If I lay down on the couch to watch something with my awesome wife and a bowl of popcorn, I don’t consider that time wasted, because that’s one of life’s great pleasures. Similarly I don’t consider any time spent writing to be wasted even if it’s writing I don’t end up using 1I wrote three different versions of this article for example. The unused versions aren’t waste, even if they are unused.

The time wasted I’m talking about is the time I didn’t intend to waste. Time I spent aimless online, or channel surfing. The decade I spent miserable in jobs I could have quit. Time I knew was wasted and time I just let slip by. So often I was too caught up in doing what I was doing to notice the wider picture.

I spent a lot of time daydreaming. Not the good daydreaming that makes for new stories, the kind where I dream about winning the lottery. Or about having superpowers. Or about spending my time productively.

Maybe the most honest I’ve ever been with myself was at the beginning of last week where I admitted I’d given up on my dream of being a writer, at least as far as novels and scripts went. I was enjoying my job writing for radio, and the idea of pursuing being a novelist seemed too much. Because I was scared it wouldn’t work. Because the idea of going through so much for possibly no result was terrifying.

It wasn’t just that though. For a while there in my early twenties I trained hard at jiu jitsu, I even had an MMA fight 2Which I lost. and had always wanted to get back to competition of some kind. But I didn’t, and I was kidding myself that I ever would.

Because I was scared. I never really learned how to handle competition, and I hated to lose, especially in front of my friends. So I found reasons not to compete.

That pattern has been there for a long time and a part of it is the lie I always told myself: I’ll do it later. 

You would think that getting cancer would have snapped me out of it, but it didn’t. As I said above I was too busy running through the process of getting well to really get any epiphanies, so instead I’m going to steal the one that John didn’t need. I needed a reminder that no matter where you are in life there might not be a later. 

I wish I could make some grand announcement that from this moment forward I wouldn’t waste any more time, that I would achieve X, Y or Z. Life doesn’t work like that. I can’t make any promises to you or to anyone else. There are no promises to make, all I can say for sure is that it took me seeing someone else’s epiphany for me to get my own lesson.

As I’m finishing this off it occurs to me that maybe there’s another lesson there that I’m not ready for yet, and that will slot itself into my repertoire when I’m ready.

I hope so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Footnotes   [ + ]

1. I wrote three different versions of this article for example. The unused versions aren’t waste, even if they are unused.
2. Which I lost.

I have a bad habit of writing long posts and then deleting them because they weren’t what I really wanted to say.

I had one written already, I’ve been working on it for two weeks when I could here and there in preparation for finishing chemo. It was…pretty bad. The problem, as far as I can tell, is that the thing I was writing about wasn’t what I really wanted to say and I was going to take four thousand words to say mostly nothing. The upshot was this: I don’t know what to do now I’ve finished chemotherapy. I hate waiting around, and I feel weird about having a second shot at my life, especially when so many people don’t get one.

Fortunately my brother turned up (yep, the one who got attacked by a goose) and I croaked some of my general angst at him ( right now I sound almost exactly like Ned Gerblansky from South Park), and as he does, he had a good clear answer for me: I’m actually a little scared of having a second chance.

I didn’t get a single big cancer epiphany, instead little things started to creep in at the edges. Some of it was small, like I know now that if you’re feeling nauseous suddenly changing position will end badly for everyone. Some of it was big, but slow and gentle, like the realization that I was loved far more than I ever really knew, and how grateful I was for that. I’ve had a lot of realizations about how privileged I am, to live where I do and when I do, because in so many other places and times my disease would have been a death sentence.

But the one that really crept in was the cliche that life is short, and that I should try and make the most of it. The idea that stomping cancer down was a chance to reinvent myself. I’m going to have rebuild myself from virtually zero anyway, so why not try to build a better me? I certainly have every opportunity to do so.

And that’s terrifying.

I can’t just go back to being exactly who I was before all of this. Too much has happened for that. Too many people have gone to the mat (literally in the case for BJJ club who ran two separate fundraisers for me) to just go back.

Too many people don’t get the chance to rebuild themselves.

Fair warning: I’m about to use a role playing game metaphor.

Also, be careful when you go searching for photos about roleplaying on Google. You'll see things.

You were warned: nerdiness inbound.

Sadly it’s not quite like building a character in Dungeons and Dragons. If it was I’d put all my points into charisma and take up acting.  If I could literally just choose from a list of personality traits it would be very easy. Instead it’s like being handed a smudged, torn character sheet someone else has already filled out, complete with flaws and skills, and being told ‘sorry you can’t change most of these things about yourself without serious work, and some of them you can’t change at all….but if you want you can choose to play this a little differently.

That’s why it’s scary. There are no numbers to shuffle around, just a choice to play my character a little differently.

I don’t know what that means yet.

I have a bad habit (I have a lot of bad habits) of making up answers to things that sound better than saying ‘I don’t know’. I often say these things with great confidence and people tend to believe me. It doesn’t make them any more true. So the answer to the question of ‘what are you going to do now your cancer is hopefully cured?’ is not what I would have once said. My old answer, again said with great confidence, would have been something along the lines of ‘I’m going to live my life to fullest’. Astute observers will note that sentence, ‘I’m going to live my life to the fullest’ is almost totally meaningless. It’s a stock answer.

In fact even the question isn’t quite right.

The real question is ‘now what?’ and the honest answer is ‘I have no idea’.

Maybe my big epiphany is that I think I’m OK with that. Obviously I’m not OK enough not to write a long blog post about it, but I’m OK enough that I don’t feel like a bad person for not knowing what to do yet.

Now I just have to remember that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wrote this last week and didn’t post it for some reason. The week after was pretty much the same thing repeated though, so it’s still as relevant as a post of dream buffalo can be. I’ve been so unwell I haven’t been able to do much in the way of writing, but I hope to get a few posts in this week.

-Andrew

 

I’ve had a bad few days.

Actually it’s been a pretty bad ten days.

I knew my last run at chemotherapy would be bad, but I had no idea how bad it would be. I constantly vomited for days on end, so much I burned my throat and while the general upchucking has stopped I can’t really talk. When I do try to speak above a whisper I sound like I’m speaking through a Darth Vader voice synthesizer from 1988, complete with elderly battery and broken hardware. It’s also been painful, and pretty emotionally rough. My wife has been amazing, looking after me while I’ve been alternately bedridden, vomiting or in hospital. I can see why people used to fully hospitalized while they went through high dose BEP chemo in the past.

By the way, I got thoroughly ticked off for not calling the hospital sooner about the vomiting thing. It was done in the generally friendly and caring way of nurses and doctors everywhere in oncology, and yet I was left in no doubt that I had in fact been a stubborn idiot in assuming there was nothing that could be done.

So, if you are one of the unlucky few that has to go through this, when the hospital gives you a card and say ‘call us’ they mean it. Don’t wait.

The throat burning has put me in a weird position. Obviously I haven’t been able to eat until lately, and even then it’s only in tiny amounts. I haven’t always been lucid (hence the lack of blog posts) and have generally been feeling a bit sorry for myself, so I turned to a previously unknown comfort:

Cooking shows. 

I couldn’t choose a favorite, although I did just see Nigella Lawson make a margarita ice cream that is going to be in my face’s future. I’ve watched Jamie Oliver and Rick Stein travel to exotic locales, and Michelle Poh do amazing things. I have watched a lot of YouTube food bloggers.

Yes it’s torture. It’s the best sort of torture, and one I subject to willingly. My mind appears to be able to appreciate the food even though my mouth and my stomach can’t, and far from making me feel sick, I actually feel oddly satisfied seeing Rick Stein plate up an enormous bowl of Sicilian spaghetti. So really it’s not a bad thing, more a way to keep my mind and body happy while I recover.

Except…

Except, I really want a pizza.

pizza-925463_1280

While not just any will do, I would be quite happy with either an exceptional New York style slice, a cheesy deep dish Chicago pie or a charred, mozzarella laden Neapolitan endorsed masterpiece. I have not actually eaten any of these pizzas in my lifetime. I’ve made my own approximations, and I’ve certainly eaten enough pizza, but these pizzas in their truest form exist only in my mind and a kind of bizarre cheese and topping baked fantasy that tugs at both my dreams and my waking thoughts. It is purest fantasy…and it’s gotten weird. 

I dreamed of pizza last night. I dreamed about buying it, eating it, enjoying every mouthful. Then I dreamed I went back in time and selected the precise ingredients, even making the fresh mozzarella from a very placid water buffalo 1water buffalo are, typically, not really very placid creatures and picked the fresh basil. The tomatoes fell off the vine as I walked over to collect them. I’m not sure why I didn’t realize I was dreaming when they broke into slices and the buffalo helped me out by kneading the pizza dough, but it all seemed very normal at the time. Then we baked the pizza and ate it.

It was the greatest pizza never made.

I woke up with a real sense of loss that I had not in reality consumed my dream pizza. I watched a few shows about making perfect pizza, but suddenly they didn’t hit the spot anymore. I had been forever ruined by a pizza cooked up by my subconscious mind. I question my subconscious’ qualifications as a pizza chef. I certainly question its knowledge about the general helpfulness and relative dangers of water buffalo.

I don’t know if (probably as a teenager) you ever dreamed of a person who never existed and then woke up sad that you’d never get to meet them (or, let’s be honest here, see them naked) but it was very much like that…only more so. With cheese.

I told you it got weird.

Cancer has given a me a lot to think about. For a while there I didn’t know who I was (more on that in a future post) and I at least in part still don’t. Physically I’m a raw nerve and twitching muscles…and yet despite all this I have somehow made the time to be sad about a dream pizza made, at least in part, by a friendly water buffalo.

I like to think that, across time and space, a connection was made.

 

I wish there was a point to all this beyond ‘my brain is stupid’ and ‘I still really want a pizza’ but there isn’t.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Rick Stein is on.

 

Other stuff:

I wrote an article over at the Evil League of Evil Writers called Taking Good Things from Bad Experiences and then Writing About Them. The ELOEW have been supporting me since well before this cancer business, and have helped me in ways too numerous (and evil) to recount here. If you have any interest in writing or publishing, I recommend them without reservation.

I have a webcomic named Cthulhu Slippers, a (sort of) office comedy set after the apocalypse. I just posted an update there if you are interested in such things.

Have you seen Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess) and her amazing Twitter based record of humanizing awkwardness? Pee first, put down any hot beverages and go check it out. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Footnotes   [ + ]

1. water buffalo are, typically, not really very placid creatures