This is not the kind of post I ever wanted to write on this blog.
Hell. This is not the kind of news I ever wanted to receive, or have to share with anyone.
And I debated a long time about even writing this post, because it is a difficult subject.
Scratch that–it’s a shitty, shitty, SHITTY subject.
But as I’ve already shared the news on Twitter (because what doesn’t get shared on Twitter these days?), I figured I might as well go ahead and post it here as well.
A week ago, I learned that I have cancer.
I sat in a tiny exam room plastered with anatomically-correct diagrams of various lady parts and listened to the doctor who had performed my surgery five days prior explain to me, with tears in her eyes, that the biopsy had come back positive for adenocarcinoma.
The doctor cried. Then I cried. Copious tears, people. We’re talking steal-the-tissue-box-from-the-doctor’s-office level of eye flooding.
(I didn’t really steal the box of tissues. Just a lot of what was inside. Though, considering the news I had just received, I think a little tissue theft would have been justified.)
I called my mother from the exam room and told her the news. She didn’t believe me at first. Then she cried. And I cried some more.
And every single day since, I have cried. Sometimes multiple times a day. It hits me out of nowhere. Driving down the road? Sobs. Checking my email? Sobs. Watching Spongebob Squarepants? BAWLING.
And when I haven’t cried, I’ve been angry, ready to crawl inside my own body and kick this cancer’s ever-loving ass.
I am readying myself for more surgery. I am preparing for the possibility that later on, I will have to endure radiation or chemotherapy. And even though I am trying to remain as positive as possible, and am even joking about the diagnosis (to clarify for the gentleman driving down FL 231 who cut me off last Friday evening, what I yelled out the window at your inconsiderate and reckless ass was, “Motherfucker, don’t cut me off! I HAVE CANCER!”) … I am scared.
SCREW THIS SHIT.
AND SCREW CANCER.
You’re going down, diseased cells.
(Okay, well, actually, you’re going out … of me … through surgery … yeah.)
So, yes, I’m ready to fight. Don’t let the tears fool you.
(I’m entitled to them. I have cancer.)
There are a couple of positives to this entire crapfest of a situation, however–the main one being that, while I am flat on my ass recovering from surgery, I will have ample time to watch classic movies until my eyes cross and I start deliriously imitating Joan Crawford.
And perhaps I’ll even have the time to blog about those films at some point.
But for now, True Classics will continue to be on hiatus.
Thank you for your understanding.
We’ll see you soon.