Wishing on a Blue Star Read Online Free PDF

findings of the latest CAT scan, though I wasnt as precise as John was because frankly, I got tired of looking up all the weird words. Grin)
    Stage three, by the way, which means I ain’t completely hopeless, except for being stubborn, maybe. :)
    Notice how rambly this post is? That’s exactly why the writing goes so slowly. If I let rip, (assuming I even could) my poor guys would be humping even before they met each other.)
    Consequently I got a whopping 73 words worth keeping, though I did have a bit of time to clean up some of the mess I left behind yesterday, so count a few more, I guess.
    And we wont go into how cranky that few words made me. Laugh.
    Tomorrow is gonna be fascinating. What new worlds of wonder shall we explore, hmm?
    Thanks to the new followers. Sort of cool to know you’re keeping tabs. :)
     
    Cheers!
    Patric

Monday, October 26, 2009
    Rage
     
    Okay, I have to admit, we have a pretty comprehensive cancer treatment center around here.
    When I first showed up for a consultation, (and by that time we already knew the problem, just not the variety) I was virtually inundated with all sorts of helpful people, each armed with mountains of literature.
    Very little of it applied to me. I’m just not the sort to need support groups, constant hand holding, and folks telling me they understand because they’ve been there. (Okay, correction: a LITTLE hand holding, once in a while, maybe.) :)
    Reading through all that paperwork, I was struck by what I considered a kind of cruelty, fostered not by the support people who look after the sickie, but by the sickie himself.
    Big freaking deal. He’s got a disease. Where does that give him the right to snarl and lash out at the people who are trying to help him? All the literature aimed at the supporters counsels patience and understanding and all that tripe, and I dont agree with any of it.
    What’s so hard about warning my friends and others that I’m crabby, cranky, whatever, and telling them I’ll be offline for a while? I did that today because I could feel the frustration and anger at having to constantly navigate my way through strange waters building up faster than I could blow it off. Was anyone’s feelings hurt? I hope not. Would they have been if I answered the messages? More than likely. Why on earth should I subject anyone to that mess? Especially folks who are simply looking to lend a hand?
    That’s probably not a politically correct way to think, but too bad. As far as I am concerned, the only time you are exempt about caring for other people is when you stop breathing, and the last time I checked, I still was.
    So for you whiny, “feel sorry for me” weebles wobbling around behind your illness, grow a pair, mind your manners, and have the decency to let your helpers know you arent communicative that day. Jeesh.
    And why was I uncommunicative today? Rage. Flat assed tired of all this nonsense. It’s like being a hurdles jumper, and occasionally tagging the gates. You can go pretty good for a while, maybe grazing the dang things, but sooner or later as the race progresses, you’re gonna get tired and crash into one. And when you do, ouch. Then you get up, (rest up in my case) and go again until you hit the next one. I’m pretty lucky in that my crashes are fairly rare. :)
    I took advantage of the situation though to get on the phone with the Apple folks and grump about all the dropped calls my phone gets. Papa will chauffeur my sorry butt out to the Apple store to get it swapped out tomorrow. The Apple techs didnt even argue with me. Wise beyond their years. (Though I have to say, the one named Phillip in Kentucky was bloody awesome!)
    Which means, because of all the backups I had to do to get ready for the swap, I didnt even bother trying to write. Maybe tomorrow. :)
    I’ve come to the conclusion that the “new” pain (and oh how I hate to even use that word!) is nothing more than the Neulasta ache that I didnt get last time. It’s well