Fight Like a Girl
My pal Floweer told me yesterday to fight like a girl!
I like that. I’m going to fight like a girl.
People keep asking me what they can do for me. Heck if I know. Don’t I have enough trouble figuring out what I can do for me let alone working out their to-do list.
I kid. I know what they’re saying. I’ve been there. Friends and family don’t want to sit around and watch somebody else suffer. They want to keep busy and take as much pain away as possible. So while talking to Floweer yesterday, I’ve decided it’s time to come up with assignments.
And Floweer is officially my Watermelon Girl. I read somewhere that watermelon is a good thing for chemo patients. It’s liquid-providing and it’s not so smelly and it’s not so offensive to a churning stomach.
I’m sure that Floweer thought she got off easy. Nay, dear Floweer. I don’t want seedless watermelon. I want the tastier kind with the seeds in it – with the seeds removed from it. I’m not asking for melon-balled seeded to seedless watermelon. Chunks are fine. We’ll discuss proper chunk size on an as-needed basement. Uh. Basis. Basement? Oh my God! I’m losing my words!!!!
Golly, right there, someone else is suffering right along with me.
Buzz is my official Pho Girl. Vietnamese soup will be put to the test. Can it heal or will we find that chemo patients don’t like the taste of anise and cilantro? So there is a subtitle to Pho Girl. It is Pho Girl: Soup Getter. Also, Buzz? You can be my Crystallized Ginger Girl, okay?
My mother (who has rallied like nobody’s business…she has been awesome!) is the official Boy Feeder. She doesn’t cook but boy howdy, does my mom love to hit the grocery stores for food to feed others. Her other role is The Queen of Ironing. It’s not like we have lots to iron, but I will be wearing button down shirts for a while and she loves to iron. She’s already been over here, ironing. Go Mom!
My brother is in charge of Movies and all things DVD. He is my AV Boy. Such a dork. I love dorks.
There will be more official assignments to come. If you think you might want an official assignment, you can “apply” (ha!) in the comments section and I’ll have my people call your people.
I am finally willing to read the printed material the breast clinic gave me. I was reading about wigs today. I don’t want a wig. I’m a baseball cap kind of girl. And really, I don’t give a flying poo if I’m bald for awhile. I know that people wear wigs out of concerns for others and I do know how others can react to baldheaded women – but that’s their problem and not mine. I don’t mean to be so disrespectful but really? I’m fighting for my life and I have to worry if somebody is offended by my bald head? I don’t think so, skippy. The only reason I’ll wear something on my head is to keep it warm or to keep the sun off of it.
The pamphlet I read suggested that if a person wears glasses, they find a pair with big frames, to cover where their eyebrows used to be.
Man, that just cracks me up. I’m going to see if I can score a pair of Martin Scorsese glasses, he’s figured out how to hide those eyebrows so this might get people to think I’m hiding Marty Scorsese-sized eyebrows.
Or I might get a pair of red sparkly glasses from Deepak Chopra’s House of Sparkly Glasses!
So many things to think about.
Again, I’m tired. Emotionally exhausted. This all happened so danged fast.