TRICK OR TREAT?
it is All Hallow's Eve, and i am dining at the illustrious Market Street Laundry, as i listen to the soothing sounds of the water in the washing machines, slowly twirling my clothing, assisting it on its righteous path toward cleanliness. i am alone, except for the employee who is dedicatedly sweeping the floors, and giving me the evil eye for bringing in outside food, instead of purchasing from the lovely vending machine. i feel as though the washing machine has been on for weeks now, time refusing to move onward, as it does on most bad days.
this one's been really shitty.
at radiation, the staff kept congratulating me on my last day of treatment. at first, i insisted that, no, i do believe that this friday would be my final treatment. but i was then assured that, yes, today, was, in fact, my final treatment. tears of joy sprung to my eyes. (and i NEVER cry.) the machine made its strange eerie noises and mooved around me. 'this will be great!' i thought, 'back to work, full time. back to writing group, and poker night, and hell, tomorrow's november, i'll even do NaNoWriMo!'
the second the technician came back into the room, saying 'don't hate me,' i knew that it had been a mistake. i spoke to the doctor, and he said that NEXT Monday would be my last treatment. maybe, he said, he could work it out for Friday.
of fucking course.
i tried to (make like mariah and) shake it off, but i couldn't. it was an unbelievably gorgeous day here in noho- the sun, shining, finally, 65 degrees, the leaves finally having turned- so i read in the park until the next doctor's appointment. (don't ever get cancer, people- too many fucking appointments.) there, i was informed that after my radiation, i get to enjoy another two cycles of chemotherapy.
that was the first time i'd heard anything about that.
i had held on to the hope that once this week of radiation was over, i would again be free to at least attempt to return to a normal life. (well, as normal as i want, anyways.:) and that was taken away, too. i locked myself in the hospital bathroom and cried (and i NEVER cry) until someone knocked profusely and forced me to get out.
so remind me to reference this day the next time somebody calls me a pessimist. yes, i CONSTANTLY doubt that good things are going to happen for me, but that's only because God is CONSTANTLY pissing in my fucking cornflakes.
trick or treat?