Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Fortune Teller

It was a dark and stormy night.

Why do I feel as though this passage in my life is turning into a bad novel?  The worst case of fiction ever.

Can't I just have one thing I want?  (She whimpers.)  Can't I just have one thing, in this thing I did not ask for, go the way I WANT IT TO GO?  Damn.

Get ready for the anti-serenity prayer, prayed by God's favorite donkey girl.  Hey.  No laughing.  I'm gonna rant now and whine like a baby and stomp my feet.  And spit.

I'm too mentally exhausted to recount how the plot thickened today, but let me put it to you like this.  Ever ride Space Mountain at Disneyland?  Rockin rollercoaster, right turn, right turn, right turn, right turn,

THEN BAM, FREAKIN SHARP LEFT TURN YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING AND YOUR WHOLE BODY, WHICH HAS BEEN LEANING INTO THOSE RIGHT TURNS, IS VIOLENTLY THROWN LEFT AND YOU SCREAM BABY SCREAM.

Let me put it to you like this.  It's like a damn roux now, headed towards gumbo or jambalaya and I ORDERED SOL MEUNIERE.

Deep breath.

Are you ready for this?

True North had a scare with the twins yesterday.  Everything is fine except HER DOCTOR thinks she is overdoing it, and wants her to drastically reduce her work week and surgical schedule.  Especially the surgeries over five hours on her "Babies Onboard" feet.

What does that mean for our heroine?

Another twist of twisted, gosh how much more of this, fate.

Am I tied down to the railroad tracks and just don't realize it?  Take a look at me.  Is there a sign on my back that says "kick me?"

If I'd like True North as my plastic surgeon, I will have to wait till after her return from maternity leave to have my reconstruction.  February.  Oh no, wait, it gets better.  After being radiated, I have to wait six months before reconstruction.  That really makes it June.  Kinda makes the whole who-tee-do dance I've been who-tee-stewing about regarding plastic surgeons moot.

Let's review.  A breast cancer diagnosis.  Five months of chemo.  Double mastectomy.  Five and a half weeks radiation.

Iced with months and months with no boobies and dragging this thing well into 2011?
  
Deep breath.  Blow it out like a dragon.  Scorch.

Let the record show that in addition to all she is, Da Good Witch is a fortune teller.

Somebody, get my Fay Ray outfit and cue the JAWS music please.

Shit.

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