Saturday, March 12, 2011

Big Cupcake Explains The Dangers Of Kindergarten Cupcake Fruit-Cookie In...

This song is dedicated to Glenn Beck. Sing it to the tune of "She Talks to Angels".
He never mentions the word vanilla
on his Fox TV show.
Yes, he'll tell you he eats wheat grass
And you can trust him as far as you can throw.

Says he talks to cupcakes.
He calls them all out by name.
Says he talks to cupcakes.
Maybe he's insane.

He puts some frosting on his tongue now.
Pulls his chalkboard so he can write.
He gives a smile as his teeth rot.
the frosting's gonna make everything all right.

Says he talks to cupcakes.
He calls them all out by name.
Says he talks to cupcakes.
Maybe he's insane.

He connects the dots to nonsense.
Even his peers think he's nuts.
But the cupcakes say they've missed him.
Rupert Murdoch--not so much

Says he talks to cupcakes.
He calls them all out by name.
Says he talks to cupcakes.
Maybe he's insane.

The letter G

My maiden name Godbey starts with G.

I've been playing Scrabble on my iPhone in a feeble attempt to keep my brain strong. G is worth two points.

I'm not as good with words as I used to be. Still, I have forced a lot of online Scrabble players to forfeit.

G as in getting along;settling for less than perfect.
G as in God! I would like to take a trip-anywhere!
G as in getting through another round of chemo.
G as in glassess raised in celebration of the weekend.

Getting back to Scrabble, don't you hate it when you have a cool letter like Q, but there is no U on the board, so you can't make a word.

Gee I feel tired today--this whole week actually. Pucky on taking chemo for the rest of my life.

Goodness Gracious, but I'm griping. I forget sometimes what it's like to feel good.
G as in grief for another person stricken by cancer.

Lung, that word ends with G, probably worth five points on a Scrabble board. Cost on the board of Life? Too expensive to think about.

a fond memory

It was when I found out my tumor had grown to a point where I needed to consult a surgeon about a possible second surgery. Of course I was afraid. I was paralyzed after my first surgery, and now I was being asked to submit to a second. Who would I be when I was done? Me or a vegetable?

I talk to my mom and sister daily. Usually I call them, but this one time my sister called me, and she asked if I (we) would be interested in going to Hawaii or some other place where I could get my mind of my upcoming troubles. We (her little family and mine) ended up going to Kauai, truly a paradise.

Ironically, I was carded when I went to order my sister and myself lime daiquiris.

"Do you have ID?" the person behind the counter asked. I didn't, so I went to get my sister, thinking she could use her ID. During this time I am thinking There is no way in hell I look under 21, I'm 43 and I'm dying. Give me my drink for Chrissakes!

The rest is history: I had my surgery, my tumor is more aggressive, I had radiation and have been on chemotherapy since last July. I never would have made it through all of that without the trip. It was nearly impossible to think a bad thought while I was in Hawaii. And whether she knows it or not, I am very grateful to my sister for knowing exactly what I needed.

Going to paradise--a strange way to mark the unpleasant milestones of my cancer journey. I went there after my first surgery too.

taking care of business

Just to get you readers up to speed, my husband has been looking for work again, after being fired via a telephone call! Steady stream of interviews, but no Terra Firma.
Meantime, I just completed another round of chemo, and see one of my oncologists for bloodwork to bless more chemo.

On the plus side, my hair is growing back. My dad joked that it was a mustache on my head but I think it actually looks like hair. The ladies at my writing group commented on it.

And after six weeks off trying topical acids and taping to erode the Plantar Wart of Doom, a doctor has recommended surgery for it--laser surgery. I will need to be off my bad foot for a while.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

in the cuckoo's nest.

Portland Center Stage put on a production of Ken Kesey's chilling novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I remembered how life in the acute rehab center(where I worked to overcome paralysis) was like the nest. There were some stroke patients, gunshot victims, people who needed help to eat, and people who couldn't read. Like the Chief, and the sociopath McMurphy in Cuckoo's Nest, I wanted to get the hell out of there, and it felt, even looked a little like a prison.

I experienced the feeling of being in the nest yesterday while waiting to see my neurologist who prescribes my seizure medications. A patient was there who kept rocking back and forth and saying:
It made me sad and uncomfortable at the same time. My husband and I caught up with the patient in the elevator, where he randomly said "Hello" and "Goodbye".

Oh how I would love to fly the Cuckoo's nest, but I must belong here, because I'm here for life.