PET scans…

…make me glow in the dark. The amount of radiation they use is akin to the size of a Pringles can (mmm pringles). It’s irradiated glucose, and it’s injected into an IV (I seem to permanently have an IV in me, even though I refuse to get a port put in.). I don’t mind having the needle tracks, to be honest. Needle sticks don’t really bother me anymore – not like they used to. It’s just a fact of life now. My tumor is pressing in on my left lung which is why it’s so hard to breathe. They can’t operate though, so they’re changing my chemo schedule (again) and they’ll try to get it that way. My doctor’s really positive, so I’m pretty positive. Should I be scared? My mum is more scared than I am, which is strange. I’m surprisingly not scared. I’ve talked about it with a ‘therapist’ at the hospital, and she said my bright, sunny disposition really helps. I’m supposed to use imagining techniques to “imagine my cancer being attacked by the chemo”. I told her I have the worst imagination ever, and it probably won’t work now. (I have the worst imagination on the face of the planet.) She said drawing pictures helped – but I can’t draw worth anything. Now, Sean can draw, and I’m madly jealous of his skills. I can draw flowers, and really only pictures of orchids and apple/cherry blossoms. And maybe daisies.

Maybe I should draw some angry pictures. I don’t really have it in me to draw angrily. She said that expressing my emotions through art would be cathartic (well, I said cathartic, she said, “…good for my soul.”) What if I want to express my emotions by pwning ppl in Gears of War? Videogames allow me to ignore the crawly, pensive feeling in my chest and let me kick the crap out of people.

Sean wants to eradicate a few letters of the alphabet and narrow it down to 20. If we did that, what would the rest of the buttons on my keyboard be used for? And why do I end sentences with prepositions? Mum would kill me if she heard.

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