The Blitz

This post has been a long, long time coming.

I bought this poster either shortly before or after Violet was born, putting it up in her nursery above the changing table.

I thought it would be kinda funny, you know, "You've got this living, breathing, breakable being that came out of your body and is totally dependent on you for survival but don't freak out! People have been birthing babies for, like, a bazillion years and it's all worked out pretty ok so far!"

For a while it was a force for steadiness and rational thinking for me, as I blurred through the first weeks of sleepless nights and endless shitty diapers and second guessing myself every waking moment (and some sleeping ones as well) and having a wave of relief wash over me every time my baby woke up from her slumber.

I was right, it was funny, but it turned out to be funny not so much in a "funny ha ha" way but "funny ZOMG WTF" way.

"You should get that blood in your stool checked out, it could be something serious."

Deep breath.

"Your blood pressure is elevated, you could be pre-eclamptic."

Deep breath.

"The cord was wrapped around her neck. Twice."

Deep breath.

"It's probably nothing, but you should get checked out anyway."

Deep breath.

"It's nothing cancer."

Breathe.

Brigita, breathe.

BREATHE, dammit!

Deep. Breath.

Now let it back out.

---

2008, was--bar none--the worst fucking year of my life. Terrifying. Desperate. Trying. Exhausting. Disgusting. Horrible. Horrifying.

• For one hundred and sixty-two days, I shit out of my stomach.
• During chemo, I had to go into the clinic for fluids on more than one occasion because I could either not get or keep them in me. On one day in particular, I think I had to empty my bag twice in ten minutes. It was like a damn fire hose.
  
• Another day during chemo, while taking a shower, I was so weak that my arms literally felt like they were made of lead.
  
• All of this and worse.
  

Cancer is awful. It is sneaky and cruel and unmerciful and--let's be honest--deadly.

But invincible? Sometimes, yes. But I got lucky. I kept calm [mostly] and carried on. I had relatively good health and even better doctors and a metric shitton of support behind me and all together we beat. That. ASS. Like a motherfucking drum.

Get thee behind me, 2008. Your reign is over.

The king is dead. Long live the Queen.

Be Careful What You Wish For

It comes as no surprise to those of you who've known me for more than five minutes that I'm spending more time on the throne these days, which means I've been able to catch up on those teetering towers of magazines that have piled up over the last few months.

In the past week I have read not one but two stories in Self about women who were suffering from either a mysterious disease or a known disease that had gone undiagnosed for several years (Morgellons and Lyme disease, respectively).

Both of these women were quoted as saying something to the effect of "I wish I had cancer, then people would believe me/we would know what is wrong with me/etc."

These crazy bitches have obviously never had cancer or known anyone with cancer. I would gladly explain to them at great length and great volume how fucking nuts they are for having said this.