Testing, and What the Hell, Chelsea?!?

Seriously, now. I’m so sick and tired of needles. They plague me. I got a needle in my spine so they could let my spinal fluid drip into a vial. I got a bunch of stinging needles in my butt/back, then a giant auger shoved in so they could filch my bone marrow. I had an IV in all day so they could take my blood, give me drugs, and eventually a bunch of radiation-laced glucose for a PET scan. Ah, the joys of testing when you have cancer.

I took a bunch of viccodin when I got home, before my local wore off on my arse, so I could actually function today. Surprisingly enough, I think I’m getting sick again. Just when I think I’m over having an ear infection, I woke up with swollen glands in my neck, and my throat is sore. I have a constant headache, and it hurts to swallow. Now, this is different from the normal throat hurting from the chemo (because I throw up too much, I’m sure). This feels like I’m coming down with a freaking cold of some sort. Bah, I can’t keep myself healthy. If I don’t kick this thing in the butt, I’m not going to be able to do chemo this week, and we’re going to have to put it off, and I can’t do that.

I’m so terrified the results are going to come back with, “You have an infection. The chemo isn’t working.” bla bla bla. If it did… I seriously think I’d lock myself in my closet.

OH. Ok, so I get home from the hospital and curl myself on my side on the couch, and switch on the Chelsea v Wigan match. This should’ve been an easy win. Seriously, Chelsea, what the hell? Wigan are at the BOTTOM of the bloody table, and you have to go and DRAW with them. The first half was rubbish and I don’t even want to discuss it… but I will. Avram Grant, pull your head out of your arse. You can’t play Essien, Mikel, and Bridge together and expect magical things. Wayne Bridge is rather useless. Michael Ballack went back to being useless today from his brilliant header in the last match. Anelka has YET to score at Stamford Bridge, and many were expecting him to at least pretend he was participating. Drogba was being douchy without even setting foot on the pitch (he resorted to childish antics from his seat on the sidelines). Kalou is just embarrassing. Chelsea were rather lacklustre in the first half since Joe Cole and Lampard were missing (Lamps’ absence has been put down to ‘personal matters’… probably cheated on his fianceé again, according to Justin). The team was booed off the pitched at the Bridge, which was depressing. They needed to be serious about this match. The Premier League title was at stake!! What the hell, Chelsea?! You make me want to tear my hair out!! (haha, chemo joke).

Of course, Essien decided to score in the 55th minute after Joe Cole was put onto the field at the half, thank GOD. Grant needs to realise that Joe Cole is an integral part of the team, and when he’s not playing, footy is plain boring and unproductive. I was nodding off, tbh. So, nothing else exciting happened. A few Wigan players were booked for unsportsmanlike conduct (ninja-kicking to the face, more like it). Actually, only Joe Cole does that, and he never gets caught. Joe Cole is a ninja. I think Wigan just tripped us or pushed or pulled on shirts like they do. Well, the scored in the 92nd minute, which was rubbish. Chelsea were settling for the 1-0 win like they do (just like OSU… we forget we’re playing in the 4th quarter [american football] and just lay back and accept our laurels). But yeah, so we drew. So we get 1 point. So there’s no way we can win the Premier League title.

After speaking to Justin on the phone for 40 minutes (I really do miss him sometimes), we decided that we’ll still beat Man U at home in a few Saturdays time, and continue to barely win any matches, but will lose the title. It’ll be lame.

Avram Grant, here is a little bit of advice: Stop sucking. Pull your head out of your arse and put in the PROPER players. Don’t put a bunch of shite players together and expect miracles. I know you’re testing the waters, but there is a reason Chelsea were winning – it’s because of the way certain players mesh, and you are ignoring the ‘mojo’ so to speak. I’m not too worried, though. If Chelsea win nothing this year, your ass is sacked, and we’ll have a new manager next season. I hate you anyways. And I hate Ronaldo, but that’s just cuz.

I’m going to sleep before I get any more retarded. See what happens when I get all worked up at sport? *argh*

*snorts* I just realised that my Chelsea part of the post is 2/3 of the entire blog entry.  We now see what I believe to be more important.  While the cancer part IS first, I had to get it out of the way to really say what I wanted to say, and that is, “Chelsea, stop being rubbish, and dump your loser manager.  We miss you, Jose Mourinho.”

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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.