Uh, what’s the big deal? I thought this shit was supposed to be the worst thing ever. I mean, it’s basically a consensual holocaust of all the living cells in my body. I didn’t wake up bald, impotent or grey-skinned today… In fact, I woke up early, feeling like I won the lottery while getting laid last night!
Actually, I was told that the first round wouldn’t bother me. The only side effects I had were peach-colored urine (yes, this is a sexy cancer blog) and a metallic taste in my mouth. I took two IV drugs last night called Vinccristine and Daunorubicin. I don’t know what they do and I don’t care, because what difference does that make? I trust the super brilliant and talented staff here: They give, I take. They say, I do. My life philosophy was the exact opposite pre-leuke… And it has been liberating (have you picked up on my recurring theme yet?)
In just 36 hours I went from being a normal, healthy, handsome, super popular, wonderful smelling, heart-breaking hero to all whose radiantly charismatic force of physical, social and sexual dominance and divine glory couldn’t be eclipsed by Paul Rudd himself to learning that I would spend the next 5-6 weeks of my life (and years beyond) as a consensual prisoner in a blood cancer treatment center, whose only function is to be bareback raped by chemicals designed to destroy everything they touch. How the fuck did that happen??
You’d think that being locked in a blood cancer unit in a hospital for a month would allow you some free time, but you’d be wrong. You’d be wrong because you don’t have blood cancer and don’t know what that’s fucking like, so take a minute to enjoy that, you ungrateful swine!
I haven’t had a moment’s peace or quiet since I was admitted on Thursday (1/22/15) morning. And I’m not talking about the regular hospital procedurals, exams, or administrations; I’m talking about the constant barrage of concerns, well wishes, vibes, prayers, tears, supports, offerings, emotional diarrheas and selfless displays of kindness, friendship and love that have been erupting from my cell phone, Facebook page and email. I feel like the director of a high-octane national press organization who needs several assistants and/or a daily allotment of amphetamines just to keep up with his ever erect inbox. I need help, I need to hire a secretary….