I wish.
One of the
side-effects of chemotherapy is constipation. Not a pleasant topic,
or situation.
Hey, that rhymes; I
could write a song....
But no, I'll confine
my creative output to this blog, and hope my body output gets moved
to move too.
My sister from
Calgary just phoned to check in and make sure the chemo didn't "knock
the poop out of me", but I told her "Oh, would that it
had!"
I will sit here in
the bathroom, computer on my lap, phone by my side, foot roller
running back and forth over those large intestine meridians, until I
get some results.
And meanwhile, the
photo below might amuse, or turn you off, but one must have a sense of
humour, mustn't one?
Except right now, as
the Queen says, we are not.
******************************************************
The chocolate
choo-choo never came by, so after a valiant three hours, and a few
phone calls and projects and books from the throne, I gave up. But
they had put the fear of God into me at the Princess Margaret
Hospital, saying that if nothing moves for two days, then the danger
of a bowel obstruction looms.
Since that time had
passed, I phoned the doctors there, and they told me I should go to
Toronto General Emergency and make sure the obstruction was not
happening.
Downtown hospital.
Last day before a long weekend. A few loony guys and an endless
parade of other people in varying stages of discomfort and pain, most
of whom were seen ahead of me. Then eight hours
later, at 1AM, I am pronounced obstruction-free, just full of shit.
Oh, and cancer.
Looks like a big
jobbie for for SuperZoe. I will be stepping up to be boss lady.
What a day this has
been! What a rare mood I'm in! Why, it's almost like being in love.
The love goes to my
son, who has been ferrying me around the city through these last few
weeks, and now tonight into the wee hours. Thank you, figlio mio.
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