And Then There Was One

Cancer keeps you from updating blogs. It also keeps you from beer, but not for long. That's right; in T minus 4 days I will be through with chemotherapy (assuming all goes according to plan, and like my dude Hannibal Smith, I love it when a plan comes together) and ready for the next phase- radiation.

This means one thing: in a few weeks when my body recovers and starts to agree with what I want it to do, I'm going to get turbodrunk. Why? Because that's how you kill cancer. Don't argue with me.

So the last chemo session was not a red letter day for manhood. As evident by my last couple of updates, I am so disconnected from reality that I may as well be an Erasure song. But sometimes timing the medication to coincide with getting drugs blasting through your veins just doesn't jibe, and things get a little sickly. Pukey, in fact; and that's exactly what happened for the first time thus far in my Cancer Odyssey. I took it like a man, though, even telling my nurse to just keep pushing that shit into my system in between vomitous hurks into a trash can. Let's hope Chemo: The Final Fight (which we may playfully call this Friday's last confrontation) goes a little better.

Anyway, hope things are well, suckas

The Worst Jokes Are The Ones You Have To Explain

So, it seems that in my incoherent state that I left out a crucial detail from last time. Here goes:

In Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan -by and large the Moby Dick of science fiction flicks- Latin Lothario Ricardo Montalban plays the eponymous Khan with a tube sticking out of his arm throughout the entire movie. Somehow, this speaks to me.

There.




And Kyle Massey, you're a champ. So let it be written.

Th Wrath

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.