I have to do this fast because I'm sure how much time I left in coherence. Meaning, I took some meds that are making me feel a bit buzzed (something I've actually begun to miss) to keep me calm enough for the rest of today's battle with the Enemy. But the truth is that I'll be loopy pretty darn soon, so we have to make things clear:This is the arm of cancerous persecution. An image I had sworn I'd seen before. But where? Who would have gusto, the chutzpa, and most importantly the physical presence to have something like this protrude from your meat and veins? A formidable query for a lesser intellect, when it comes to asking questions like this, you should only have one answer. The only answer.
Khan Noonian Sing. Ricardo Montelbon. The Latin Lover. By our twin IVs we enjoy a magical connection that transcends space, time, and the fact that I only know him through works of fiction. I feel his smooth talking, yet Machiavellian methods of seeing old acquaintense flow through me as these amazing, yet nauseating drugs work to make sure I'm cancer free. This give me strength. Cancer, from hells heart, I stab at thee. And it's coming, buddy. Sleep wihe one eye open
So back at the chemo ward, we are the beginning of the last 3 chemotherapy session before I get RADIOACTIVE. We are watching the Price is Right, and someone just won a trip to Barbados. He seemed happy, and so did I for him, until realized that I'm still sitting in a hospital room in a bit of pain, so the Wrath kicks in and i feel disdain. This won't last, but it does feel a bit punk rock. Perhaps if this feeling continues past just chemo, I'll play some Street Fighter and show those turkeys what PAIN IS ALL ABOUT.
The drugs are working. I am spacing out now. But feel free to offer me you KHHAAAAAAAAN!! screams when I see you.