I have a terrible sense of humor… Well, I enjoy it, the majority of my friends seem to enjoy it, but other people can be put off by it. It’s a little twisted, full of sarcasm, and sometimes takes a dark turn. But I figure if I laugh at the darkness, it’s a little less scary, right? So try not to be offended, I didn’t mean it. (Ok, I meant it, but I’m sorry you don’t get it. It’s sad for you.)
Barry and I were driving home from a fundraising event. I was asking him for something, I don’t remember what it was, probably had to do with bringing home another dog… Anyway, he told me “no.” Do you believe that shit?!?! So I said, “You can’t say no to me!”
“Because I’m dying of cancer!!!”
“You are not dying of cancer!” he scolded.
“But I could die, it could happen, so you can’t tell me no!”
“You’re not dying from cancer, and even if you were… just because you have cancer doesn’t mean you get whatever you want!”
“Yes it doooooooooes! It’s my ‘make a wish’ and get whatever I waaaaant! Because I have the cancer!!!”
“No, you get nothing. You don’t deserve anything!”
“But I’m dying from the caaancer!!!”
Then we laughed about how sick we were, because cancer isn’t funny, and everyone would hate us if they were involved in this conversation. It was good times.
I got my surgical clearance for Monday. She called me to let me know that I will be his second surgery for the day and won’t have to be there until 11:00AM! I was all, “yea!” in my head because last time we had to be there (in NYC) at flippin’ six in the morning. Then she ruined all the good news by saying I had to stay overnight, (I didn’t have to the first time so I was taken back by this), but she explained that it was because they were removing the organ completely. Stupid-jerk-thyroid.
I DO NOT want to stay overnight! Overnight in hospitals is the worst! I will be bored, probably lonely, possibly stuck with a terrible roommate, stuck with hospital food, not sleeping because it’s noisy and they have to check on you periodically instead of just letting you sleep, etc. Then my mom tells me that they probably won’t let me wear my yoga pants, and I said straight-up, “I will fight them. I’m wearing my own damned yoga pants. My surgery is in my neck, they don’t need to concern themselves with what I’m wearing below the waist.” <- true story. She laughed, but I’m so super serial.
So now I’m more anxious about it than I was before, plus I have separation anxiety from my dogs and it kills me to be away from them for a night. Don’t judge me.
Speaking of being anxious and the possibility that I could, (however highly unlikely), die… I’ve forsaken, abandoned ship, and/or taken a flying leap off the healthy living bandwagon. I figure, just in case I die, I’m dying fat and happy. I will not deny myself anything that I want until post surgery. It’s a guilt-free free-for-all for my tummy! I’m making cake tomorrow! I’m eating cake tomorrow too! Then Saturday I’m going to make different cake, because CAKE!!! Yea, cake! If you like cake too, you can come and have some (if you know me personally, I’m not giving out my address to weirdos on the internet.)