And so…have I been telling you everything? No, I have not. I have not been telling 3000 readers a day everything or even most things, other than squid things, and I am relatively certain that I’ve managed to meet The Sister’s levels of reticence with my own, or even raise her a few.
So, for the last three months, I’ve been dealing with this… cancer thing. Which is a thing I had before, back in 1996, but I beat that bitch. Sadly, at the time I thought I’d get:
- that fabulous Terry Fox hair
out of the deal, and that just never happened. I gained 30 lbs and instead of spaghetti hair I got linguine hair. Big. Fucking. Whoop.
Anyhoodle, as a Southerner of my acquaintance says…
For the last three months I’ve been dealing with a nasty on-off kinda-sorta set of symptoms which could or could not add up to the Big C.
Now, those of you who’ve known me since 1996, which is a relatively small number compared to the total truckstop strangers who’ve whizzed by en route to BoingBoing, may not be aware, but I have had a cancer scare before, only that one was justified.
I had Stage 3B Hodgkin’s Disease, which in addition to sounding hopelessly old-fashioned, meant that I had an approximately 60% chance of living five years past diagnosis, a fact which I managed to keep from my sister from then right up until… about… now, actually.
Anyway, Live I Did.
But I did not live by being passive. Nor do I so to this day. And I forget where I was going with that, but that is neither here nor there, nor is it either here or there.
Nor does it matter, because this evening I have had two Raven Cream Ales, two Tanqueray Dirty Martinis, and three Jack Daniels and thus cannot recall such minutia.
And you know what? Not only have they 0verserved me, but they’ve overserved me right. Because today I spent from 11 am to 4:30pm at the BC Cancer Clinic, getting checked out for cancer of the boobage, which it appears at last that I do not have. And by 11:45 am I knew what it was, and that it wasn’t cancer.
AND TODAY I FUCKING DESERVE TO GET OVERSERVED!