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20 –19, cathedral bells and belly shots

It's the eve of my final radiation treatment. 

And tonight I realized, I was getting my outfit laid out. 

WTF

I was laughing with one of my radiation sisters today 

that she comes to treatment looking fabulous, 

and I go for comfort. Reflecting a style 

that often made my ma comment

"you look like bennie off the pickle boat."

I have no idea where that phrase comes from, 

but it draws a clear picture of my radiation fashion, yes?

 

But as I did my nightly boob lube and gauze ritual, 

I looked at my haphazard pile of 85 different lotions, 

stack of non-stick gauze packs, huge pile of gauze gauze

(ALL FREE WITH CANCER!!)

and realized, this tit-shit-show needs to stop. 

Not the boob lubing -- that I have been instructed to do

for the next, um,  forever.

But the mess of it all.

All this lotion and gauze has been my sore crimson tit's saving grace.

It deserves better than a cap off, messy pile of mess.

So tomorrow, I will make a little boob lube basket. 

Treat my lube regimen like royalty instead of the court jester. 

And maybe wear something kicky to treatment.

 

The art of ritual. It's good in all things. 

 

So with radiation wrapping up, 

perhaps your wondering from the lead-in

if I am gonna celebrate

and drive right from Piper to Cowboy Slims,

lay across the bar and let some

Drakkar Noir doused lad suck tequila off my belly.

You know, like the one episode of the OC? In TJ?*

 

No. 

 

While lunch tomorrow might involve a glass of bubbles,

the belly shot in my future is the Zolodex.

Which reminds me of Zoltar from the movie Big

And like any wise soul, when you can't sleep, it's good to look up

the procedure online. Yeah the one with the gigantic needle. 

The one that leaves a bruise like I got in over my head in a bar fight. 

With a really short person. And got a belly shiner.

 

I think that happens next week. So if I am going to do my holiday ritual

of shopping every store at the mega mall in bedazzled jeans, crop top and an elf hat, 

it's gonna need to happen before next Tuesday. 

I don't want to attract attention with an unsightly bruise. 

 

And that shot opens the menopause floodgates. 

And if these hot flashes are at hot as they promise, 

just gimme a call. I plan on offering a ice-clearing service

which involves me slowly rolling down an icy driveway, 

while watching an episode of NCIS. 

 

It's a win - win. Just ring me up. 1-800-HOT-MAMA

 

So Part II of Bye Bye Brett wraps up. 

The opening credits of Part III are cuing up.

Do you like butter on your popcorn?

I am also happy to hold sticks of butter in my steamy hands. 

As for the salt, you're on your own. 

 

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT THE MARATHON ANALOGY. 

Just about to hit mile 25. Dale street. Looking ahead you see the curve

that will reveal the Cathedral of St Paul. You can already hear the bells. 

And if you listen hard, you can hear them calling the names of the finishers.

And you hope they pronounce yours right. 

Tomorrow they'll pronounce mine like they always do, 

Ginda. 9/27/69.

 

Yep, I can smell the barn. 

Let's get this bitch done. 

 

Thank you all for cheering me on,

even when I ran a couple of 14 minute miles.

 

Love, 

Ginnie

 

PS: Fuck cancer 

 

*I am not binge watching the OC. I don't know what you're talking about

 

 

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Comments (1)

  • Cathy
    Cathy

    Go git 'em Gin! Love ya!!! XOXOXOXO

    9 months ago · Reply

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