Cancer, bloody cancer

My own cancer is at bay with more LEEPing and lasering and slice and dicing and all this without the benefit of a boyfriend to hold me and tell me all is well! Well, bugger the cancer anyway. It aint mine that is the worry, it is my best friend.

Once a Doctor says that dreaded c-word, the patient tends not to hear anything else as in their head a tape is playing.... Cancer, cancer cancer cancer. That is why they recommend you take a friend. We heard today that DREADED word. Yes, it is breast cancer. Now her choice is a surgical option of either lumpectomy or mastectomy.... but the part that she is staggered by is the radiation followup. She will be in Victoria for 15 treatments. Five a week for three weeks. Tuesday we go again for the last pre-microsurgeries Xray and consult.


My own date came and went. I went by myself because the only people I could ask are ex-husbands and elderly parents....
But I am strong in some key ways. I get mad and the anger propells me forward. My friend is more fragile and decidedly not a blogger or blog reader. I am ranting because I have paid my debt to cancer if debt it be. I want it to leave me alone now. And my friends too.

So we go.
In all honesty I would rather it were me than her. She has three beautiful daughters to raise.
Bloody cancer.

Bugger!

Bugger the Familes, Ask the Damned Client

This WAS my rant about families of clients.

Since we have similar issues in my own family with other siblings not me treating the paid help less than thankfully, graciously, and GRATEFULly, I shall consider the title of this post self explanatory.

Diet

Having met all my (medical) goals now it is time to face the February phase of things.
It is called *Diet and Exercise*

The actual goal is to incorporate 5 extra hours of exercise into my week while practising moderation in my eating habits. Oh it seems so unnatural.
Horrors!

Reading Neil Gaiman's post of this morning I had a good laugh.
He had a little footnote on his own diet.

* It's working just fine, thank you. I call it The Don't Eat So Bloody Much and Would It Kill You To Take A Walk Now And Again Diet*


--- * ---

Not that it is important of course, but I have had to buy new (bloody) clothes to accommodate my goddessnesss. Stretchy pants. Baggy tops. Dark colours to camouflage the uhm, divine.

In the pool, pretending to enjoy whatever it is I do there, I try to mirror the movements of the instructor but it is hopeless. As I go to the showers to wash off my ineptitude, I get a tap on my shoulder. It is the instructor.

"I have to ask. Are you a former weight lifter?"
I turn to look at her in amazement. Surely the roundness has confuzzled her focus.
Another voice behind her:
"You have the most developed shoulder muscles I ever saw in a woman."
They are insane. That is all past history of the long long ago and the only over developed muscle of mine is my sphincter.
(haha)

I come home and look through 2 mirrors.
Nope, looks pretty normal to me.
I lift my arms and stretch.
Ooooo. They are still there. Amazing. But it just ends after that, down down to a sea of soft white skin.


My haircut looks great by all reports. (She says cleverly changing the focus of the post)

Perhaps my destiny is to live on, redeeming the place of soft round womanhood to a cultural norm instead of a fate worse than death.