Well, hello my lovelies. Getting a little personal today.
Quick admission: I have Hodgkin's Disease. It's a kind of cancer. The kind Dexter had, actually. That's why I'll be out of work for at least twenty two more weeks. Twenty two more weeks of chemo, radiation, sleepiness, pain, and hopefully not losing my hair.
(Edit: I originally said ten weeks here. My last chemo appointment is actually 01/29/2013, after which I have four weeks of radiation five days a week and then recovery).
(Edit: I originally said ten weeks here. My last chemo appointment is actually 01/29/2013, after which I have four weeks of radiation five days a week and then recovery).
Anyway, that's why I've been out from work since late August.
Did you read 13? You should. It's not about cancer and as of now, doesn't have comments! So go comment. Moving on to the story at hand:
When I was in the hospital, one of my closest family members told me to write about what my body was going through.
This is that.
Enjoy.
This is that.
Enjoy.
Of Poison Men and Tiny Soldiers
There are tiny soldiers hunkered behind a wall of tossed up earth. The little men are three, maybe four feet tall. They wear World War I garments, the dusky fatigues and turtle helmets. They have dirty little faces. They have hairy little feet.
Beyond the clod of earth, across a raging battlefield, sits the great Opponent. It is a wet thing, a swollen clump of clumps all the more startling for its being lit by the sun. It's a fleshy, fatty beige, and the godlike rays of light pierce its surface, scattering in a dance of pink and orange at varying glowing opacities. Flesh with sun behind. Not skin, but the kind of color and texture you find in all men, when you cut them open.
