Sunday rolled around, and the “tag teams” made hand contact: my Dad and Brother left to go back home to Fort Kent, and my Mom and Gary returned. It was nearing the end of October, and I was set to go home– home home. God, it felt good to get out of the hospital these days. The cold autumn air hit my delicate skin as I anticipated snowfall once more.
Wow, who would have thought I’d want to see the snow?
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t terribly religious. Now please, don’t get me wrong: I had nothing against faith, (the faith of my loved ones and of my own was keeping me sane during my chemotherapy), but I did notice a disturbing element to religion. I found that lots of religions were obsessed with trying to get people to accept their respective interpretation of the Bible.
And while I appreciated all of the prayers and thoughts (and could feel the collective energy helping), I knew that I wasn’t long for my Catholic ways. Instead, I would use this newfound focus on positivity and compassion to be a better person overall- free from sect and sacrilege.
It was a standard Monday night. The chemo was kicking my ass but the Marinol made me actually want to eat. My parents had to go back home and all that was just the TV and me. Vanna White kept me awake long enough to remember that my friend Brad’s parents, Don and Sue (lovely people), had purchased me a snack “goodie bag.” In it, a party-sized bag of the original Nacho Cheese Doritos. Well, this particular night I decided to revel and dive into the childhood favorite (with an assist from the previously mentioned miracle drug).
I nearly ate the entire bag in one three-hour-long sitting. The “fat boy” mentality doesn’t work if you’re taking chemotherapy. As I held my stomach in agony on my fully adjustable hospital bed, I said simply: “Bad fat boy.”Read More »