Tuesday, April 12, 2016


Today is the first day I have actually been home alone since my chemotherapy last Monday. When Ruanita has had to work in the last week, my mother has come over to babysit me all day. But I've been feeling better the last few days and I have managed to convince the POWERS THAT BE that I no longer need a sitter. Ruanita left for work at 9:15 this morning, and I was on my own.

And I had plans...

With no one to ask me every five minutes if I was feeling nauseous or if I was drinking enough water or if I thought I should maybe eat some more lean protein, I spent the morning lounging lazily on the couch watching Samantha Bee videos on YouTube with my trusty old dog. I've decided that Samantha Bee is my spirit animal.

As I watched Sam (we're on a first-name basis, of course) giddily cursing about all the crap-ton of asininity in this world, I kept one eye on the clock. With no one except my own dangerous self in charge of my nutritional needs for the day, I fully intended to get my junk food on. Arby's started serving lunch at 11 o'clock on the dot, and there were some curly fries with my name on them.

At 10:50, I took a Zantac (constant and unyielding heartburn is one of the lesser dramatic side effects of chemo no one talks about), donned my trusty dog-hair-covered hoodie and UK baseball cap, kissed my confused puppy good-bye (What? Huh? We're leaving the couch?), and skipped to the car. (Actually, I rather sauntered to the car because I tend to function at the energy level of a stoner sloth these days, but we'll say I "skipped" for theatrical effect.) Needless to say, I was excited about the prospect of a lunch completely devoid of nutritional value.

I pulled into the drive-thru and was instantly overwhelmed by the menu of "food-like" options. I definitely wanted curly fries. And a  full-fat soda. Chicken or roast beef? Oohhh...cheesesticks. I opted for a #1 combo with curly fries and a gargantuan Pepsi that somehow passed for "medium." Oh yeah...and the mozzarella sticks. I paid the 9+ dollars and pulled away, excited to dive in.

I had a whole plan. I was going to drive around a couple of the lakes in town. I was going to blare the Hamilton soundtrack (which I have been woefully neglectful of since I rarely get out in my car anymore) while scarfing down my secret lunch. 

Then a funny thing happened.

I smelled the "food-like" refuse I was about to ingest. Rather than feeling giddy about my successfully covert meal, I suddenly felt ill. Not guilty ill. Pukey ill. But by-dammit, I was determined to eat my lunch. I WAS going to drive around the lakes. I WAS going to listen to Hamilton. No one--especially not fucking cancer--was going to tell me I could not have some goddamn curly fries!


I managed to choke down two curly fries, one mozzarella stick, and two bites of my roast beef sandwich while sitting in fume-filled congestion on Lake Street. I never made it to a single body of water--unless you count the sweat pooling under my baseball cap. I ended up turning around and heading home. My covert lunch is now at the bottom of my trash can--all 9+ dollars of it. And that giant soda? Poured down my sink and replaced with a nice cold bottle of water.

My rebellious lunch was a total, tragic bust.

And to make things even worse, I came home to find that I had started my period. Are you kidding me?? It should be against the laws of humanity to have chemo AND your period at the same time. Where is my fucking infertility?! Where is the menopausal barrenness I was promised?!?

But fear not, today was not a total loss. When I came home, there was a package at my doorstep. Look what my dear friends, the Conners clan, sent me:

I think it's time to curl up on the couch (again) with a good book, a Compazine/Zantac cocktail, and my trusty (I'm so glad you're home, mommy! Don't ever leave our couch like that again!) dog.


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