Chemo, Part 3

As I was writhing around in bed waiting for the vomit to come, I started negotiating with the powers that be about my future.  God tends to be mum about these things, and I can hardly blame him what with my constant snubbing.  But the Devil’s been too goddamned busy to take my calls, lately, so I decided to bring my grievances before the inside of the toilet bowl.  It’s as good an altar as any, especially these days.

Me: So, how many years is this really buying me?

(The dry heaves begin, and then subside)

Me: It better not be five.  Five years is shit.  Five years is like why did I bother finding the tumor at all?

(More dry heaving)

Me: I don’t need 50 years.  Fifty years would put me at, I don’t know, 85?  Does anyone have a calculator?  I don’t have a lot of confidence in what this country is going to look like when I’m 85.  Will there still be farms?  What about jobs of any kind?  I can’t still be turning tricks at that age.  My heart won’t be in it.  And we all know that retirement is out of the question.

(Dry heaves turn to wet)

Me: What about 30 years?  Does 2039 sound like a good year for wine?  I mean, I know this conversation is moot because I could be struck by lightening at any time, no discussion.  And then there are all those crazy Boston drivers out there, myself included.  Not to mention how accident-prone I am on solid ground.  Okay, so forget 30.  Not going to happen.

(Vomiting.  More vomiting.)

Me: Fifteen.  I’ve definitely earned 15 with the throwing up alone, and that was before chemo.  In 15 years, the kids will be through high school.  Or they better be.  They’ll be off to college and they’ll still probably need me but at least they’ll pretend they don’t.  I won’t settle for less than 15, so don’t be an asshole.

(Vomit, etc., etc.)

Me: Make it 20.

After studying the pattern of the chunks in the vomit, trying to read my fortune like so many tea leaves, I gave up.  No way to know.  No point in trying.

Comments

[Amy]

You know how when someone yawns, you start yawning too (what's that about, anyway?) Well, your writing is so visual, I'm heaving over here with you.

That dreaded chemo is buying you at least one more day.

It's buying your husband and your kids another day.

And it's buying your selfish readers at least one more day. Thank goodness.

[yasmin]

i'm with amy. 20 years at last so i can read much more of your writing. you are hilarious, even heaving over the can. i wish i had something funny for you to read... you could watch this movie if you want... http://vimeo.com/1025180

[MidLifeMama]

I am with you, it had BETTER buy you at minimum 20 years. And while I am very sensitive to even the suggestion of vomit, I am showing my solidarity, as much as I can via a blog, by reading about you vomiting. Because you are funny even in the midst of chaos.

[Catherine]

No way man, hold out for 50. 2059 is when we get cold fusion, robots and hover bikes.

[Robin]

Thanks for the report from the toilet bowl. You are amazing! One day this WILL be over. So many people are with you right now, holding your hair out of the way and pressing a cool damp cloth to your forehead. Hang in there and keep on writing.

[Cheryl S.]

I think you're selling yourself short with 20. Especially with the vomitting. Believe me, I bet we've all bargained with God over something much less important.

Seriously, though, Take every moment you can get. God bless.

[danish]

I am just wondering how you have the energy to compose a post and be freaking funny when you do! You are amazing.

[Kathryn]

won't tell you it gets better (they told me that & it was a blatant lie) but hang in there eh? it does end at some point. zofran (ondansetron)helped me with nausea - you tried? I am aiming for porch swing & pink-rinse level old - I would expect you to do the same...

[Jeena]

Is this the last round? I really freaking hope this is the last round.

You're too interesting to go away in twenty years. I think fifty is much more acceptable. Besides, think of how much more excitingly weird the world will be in 50 years!

[Kalyn]

I have to say that 85 is looking younger all the time (to me at least!) so go for as many years as you can get. (Amazing post, and you are an amazing woman. Sending love.)

[Kasumi]

I couldn't decided whether to laugh or cry. So I did both. Don't sell yourself short of your shelf life. Everyone knows you can get at least a week more out of that gallon of milk......

[giovanna]

Brave, brave Tammy! How you can still write while going through chemo is beyond me. I'm glad you do though because I'd worry about you if you didn't!

Isn't it amazing how many people love you, want to help you and share their intimate feelings even though none of us have never met? The amount of caring here is fantastic.

So hang in there sweetie. You are so welled loved and we all want to keep reading your blog for many years to come.

[Eugenia]

It's very selfish of the Powers that Be to even *think* of taking you back. We need the good writers down here, dammit. Or up here. :) Keep your chin up. You can beat this thing.

[musingegret]

Thank you for taking us into the eye of the storm with you, retching, laughing, bargaining and puking all the way! You are real and true and an honest-to-god hero in my book----hang in there Tammy; we're all keeping those interwebs/interprayers lines buzzin' to those PTBs. (see note above)

[melch]

hmm... folks have already said what I was thinking. I'll just re-iterate that you are amazing. My sympathies for all the crap you're going through. Way to hang in there for yourself, your family, your friends, and your fans!

[adele]

If the devil disagrees, you can tell him he'll have a horde of angry food bloggers on his tail. We're pretty scary in a horde, right?

Sending good thoughts your way.

[Tammy]

Everyone: All I can say is wow. I'm really lucky to have all this support to fall back on when I'm feeling really low. Thanks for continuing to read and for being such excellent cheerleaders. It helps more than you know.

Tammy

[Lorrie@ReadNEat]

Fight girl, fight. Fuck that cancer.