big fat faker

Someone reached out to me who also has cancer.  And whenever that happens, I feel like I'm riding my tricycle in the Tour de France. Or maybe driving my go-kart in Formula One.  You get the idea.   My cancers are numerous, anxiety-provoking, and stressful, but they probably won't kill me.  So it's not quite the same as other cancers.

I like to say I'm immortal.  Only Wendy can kill me. With my stupid choices.  Try not to make any stupid choices today, Wendy.

 

However, the pain of healing is real.  I'm not faking about how much it hurts to get my flesh cut and burned off of me.  Or the traumas of watching my body get re-imaged by life.

I'm having another pity party as I'm treating my latest round of spots.  Ugh.   They hurt, and I'm anxious about how bad they'll look when I remove the bandages.

This is hard to type while Kitten is licking my arm.  First world problems.