Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): The red devil is in me. Along with other drugs. Somehow this day has been the best day of my life and the worst day of my life at the same time because I have amazing news to share. I am going to make you read this post if you want to hear it. Please read it. It is worth your time. Or I mean I am assuming that it is? According to Olive Garden, when you’re here, you’re family. By default that means you care.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

“Oh, right. The poison. The poison for Kuzco, the poison chosen especially to kill Kuzco, Kuzco’s poison. That poison?”

Replace Kuzco’s name with my name and remove the kill part and call me a new character in “The Emperor’s New Groove.” I love that movie. Top five Disney movies for sure. I want to say that I screamed at the nurse to “Pull the lever, Kronk!” as she injected the red devil into Harry Porter and the Prisoner of Cancerban but I actually was crying. I realized as she injected me that I have crossed the barrier between talking about having cancer to dealing with cancer. That emotion overwhelmed me. The act of receiving chemotherapy is relatively painless. It is the side effects and all the other dramatic pieces that come with recovering between rounds that are my biggest fears now. And the fucking new needles I have to encounter. Fuck.

Random photo intermission!

My first needle is one I talked about in a post from two days ago. That is my growth factor injection. That injection will help in the production of “healthy” white blood cells. Going to link you here for more information for now about that. Those will happen 24 hours after my first four rounds of chemo. I will go to the cancer center, tell them in my chirpiest voice to “fuck me up, fam” and they will give me a subcutaneous injection in my fucking stomach. Gross. Now, on the off chance you talk with other breast cancer thrivers, they might inform you that they got the luxury of taking their needle home with them and administering this injection “themselves.” I guess there is an option for a needle and balloon type situation and you trigger the needle to go off and it does a slow release over 45 minutes or something. But my insurance is refusing to cover it (it is like 20k or something absurd) and this injection is at the discount rate of 7k. Don’t quote me on prices. I am just re-sharing what my nurse told me today. The gross part is insurance can approve it if they want (the more expensive option) but looks like they aren’t. My care is at their mercy. What kind of fucked up nonsense is that? I have fucking cancer. Also the price differences make me laugh. I love a deal but is this a good deal? I will get three of those only during the red devil rounds so I won’t need them when I go weekly.

We need healthcare reform, folks.

The other needle… gosh that is a hot mess. I haven’t talked about fertility preservation conversations much in my blog because it has been something I have not been able to emotionally conceptualize yet. But I have to soon since it is going to impact me right now. I will have to receive an injection IN MY ASS ONCE A MONTH FOR THE NEXT FIVE FUCKING YEARS. I bolded this for a reason. It is a hormone blocker designed to make my ovaries go mimis (aka sleep that is a fun word in Spanish for you.) I will be in a chemically induced menopausal state and will get to enjoy menopause symptoms at the bright and fun age of 29. Such luxury. I have the option to start this now with chemo or I can wait after chemo and do it then. I have no idea what I am going to select but damn it is just one fucking horrible choice after another.

In my ass. Really? Could it not be somewhere else???

If you can’t tell, we are still on the bad news part of the day. One more piece of bad news and then I promise that what I am going to tell you is a fucking gift that chemo decided I needed. Okay so… I mentioned that I got my scans back and there were some concerns in my imaging that I needed to talk to my oncologist about before I shared with you all. They found something in my spine in my lower back. A lil round hard boi. Super small, but you know it is there. There is a chance that it could be cancer, but my oncologist believes it is something else. I have an MRI scheduled the day before my second round of therapy on March 30 at 6:30 am (ew…) to learn more about what the fuck my back is doing. Piece of shit.

Okay you have made it this far so let’s share the most fucking amazing news I could possibly share in this fucking shit storm hellish space. I ordered enchiladas poblanas from Mexico Lindo (um these enchiladas are the shit if you love mole sauce) and their frijoles are ~chef’s kiss.~ So like yeah I want this. It is a meal that is parosmia friendly and I just want to feel comforted by delicious beans. I have been ordering them with beef as my protein because beef is something that doesn’t taste totally nasty to me still, but a slight COVID taste. It is tolerable. Anyway, it shows up and I take a few bites and the beef…. what is this…. tastes normal??? No, that cannot be. I have parosmia. I take a few more bites. “Normal.”

Wut.

I get up and taste my mom’s chicken and onions and the salsa…. THE SALSA. It does not taste like DIRT. I run to my fridge and taste the cold brew from the store. The tears are starting to form. My mom is confused, wondering if I am sad because I am wrong or if I am right. I am full blown melt down mode as the bag of lettuce slips from my hands and the lettuce hangs from my mouth. Who knew you could be so emotional over lettuce???

My one year anniversary with parosmia was next week. I made it a whole fucking year eating the bare minimum to survive. I made it. And now I have to do this other really hard thing. Parosmia was hard. I cannot even begin to describe the emotional and physical toll I felt. Now, chemo does fuck with your taste buds. There is still a chance that this cool thing has happened to make room for a new bad thing to happen. I am going to manifest it now and say I AM FUCKING CURED AND HAVE TASTED METALLIC THINGS FOR A YEAR AND DON’T NEED ANOTHER SIX MONTHS.

Boom. Manifested.

I am so tired right now. I have more to share, but maybe tomorrow. Ya girl needs a nap. Don’t forget to drink your water and check your boobies!!!

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by IDLES. A friend sent me this song and I figured it might be a good song for today’s shit show haha.

“I am I and I intend to go, go, go
Like Frida Kahlo painting of the poor on your fuck off wall
Like Tracey Emin in her unmade bed listening to The Fall
Like Flava Flav in the club riding on the back of John Wayne
Like David Attenborough clubbing seal clubbers with LeBron James”

– Mr. Motivator, IDLES