Thursday, October 16, 2008

Fancy New Digs

This morning I got checked into my new home for the next five or six days, room 126 in the new Critical Care Hospital, and man, is this room huge. Square footage-wise it might not be any bigger than the biggest room I inhabited on North Six, but it is just so spacious. There are two nice pieces of furniture, a loveseat and rolling recliner (This outta excite Little A.) with lots of moving around space. Compared to the closet-like accommodations I've had as of late, this is the freakin' presidential suite. The window's huge and offers a lot of natural light; the view is meh but I can people watch. My television (as yet untested-I am trying not to rot my brain too much) is a shiny new flatscreen, and the remote has actual numbers, not just an one-way channel surfing button. So I guess if I have to be confined in the hospital, away from friends and family, this would be the room to be confined to.

My chemo doesn't start until tomorrow which begs the question-why admit me now? Well, seems they want to pump me full of fluids to prepare my poor kidneys for the chemo and predicted side effects of said chemo (dead cancer cells) that will come flooding through them. The poison regimen this time around is a new to me-untried cocktail of chemicals. Apparently this particular flavor of loveliness is notorious for causing mouth and throat sores and diarrhea. AWESOME. With kicks like these, who wouldn't want to have cancer? I mean, come on people! Mouth sores! Diarrhea! It just doesn't get any better than this!

Honest to Jupiter, I am bored out of my mind. I know I could be writing the three book reports I owe Pajiba on my last three Cannonball Reads. It's not that I didn't like the books; I've enjoyed them all and recommend them strongly. In fact I just finished The Dud Avocado, and it's one of the most refreshing books I've read in a while. And it's fifty years old. But every time I open up Word, my brain goes into paralysis. I could even be writing for the three other blogs I supposedly write for, yet I can't cook up the words. So I've been browsing the internet relentlessly, IM'ing on Facebook, and walking the circuit of my new ward.

I still don't feel sick, but I think enui will be the death of me. Or I could just turn on the TV.

Oh and yesterday, while out the last of Little A's Halloween costume preparations, I asked my smacktacular son what Mommy should be for Halloween (Mister A is dressing up as a race car driver-big stretch.). His reply, "A princess."

Never in my life, folks, but for my son, I will be a princess.

4 comments:

Nicole said...

You are a princess, but in a totally badass way. Like, instead of a tiara you wear a camo headband thing, Rambo-style.

Hang in, girl. Thoughts and prayers at you.

Kathy U from Washington said...

To heck with a princess, be a Queen!

prisco said...

Whatever, lazyass. I know you're just intimidated by the ever swelling assortment of fellow travelers.

Dude, if you want to just up the number on the page, that will suffice. I mean, it's not like you're going to lie about it.

Seriously though. Get off my f-ing bookshelf. The next book I was about to read, that's staring me in the face is The World Without Us. And then...Dumbocracy.

I see you're getting your gifts too! Huzzah!

cindy said...

Be a kick ass punk rock princess who shits the cancer out of her body.

Seriously, good thoughts, vibes and dreams headed your way.

Blog Archive