give a neurotransmitter a BREAK, mannn.

I can't remember what it feels like to not be in physical pain.

Of course I took it for granted; it wasn't even there until I hit age 23. Now... I wake up feeling like something has hit me, an invisible moving vehicle that I happened to step in front of. The accident can't be reversed, no matter how tightly I shut my eyes and reminisce about past-me.

The only time I don't feel pain is while sleeping. This is ironic, because I have chronic nightmares- every night is an increasingly ultra-violent scenario, usually involving me being captive and trying to outrun my captors, and of course, a tortured death. The end is usually grim-- I am on the ground about to have my skull kicked in, or I am shrouded and noosed and pushed off of a parking high-rise. I mean, seriously, seriously grim. But I feel no pain, and right before the final blow, I awake.

I wake up safe and warm in my bed, in pain.

I honestly can't decide which state I prefer, awake or dreaming?

what would you prefer?

Cancertainment

Ah, it has been called to my attention that I have been NPR blogchecked. Yesterday's edition of Fresh Air focused on young adults with cancer and specifically, the difficulties of obtaining healthcare in our country. Thank you Iva and Kairol for sharing your stories. Listen further:



A friend commented that "cancertainment" is perhaps taking the word-combo trend a bit to far. I might agree. What's next? Aidstastic? Hemroid-rage? Flesheatingbacteriawesome!

A word on my personal heathcare situation: I am a 24 year old unemployed student with a pre-existing life threatening disease under my belt. I'd pretty much be fucked if it were not for my mummy's fastidious savings and willingness to pay the $430/month for Cobra.

The service I get at Kaiser is atrocious, and it would be perfectly acceptable if it was free or somewhat affordable. I'd shut my mouth and gladly wait in line. But paying hundreds of dollars up the arse every month only to be ignored/referred/pushed to the side is unacceptable. I love Kairol's story about how security had to be called because she demanded an appointment at Kaiser Oakland. Hells yeah! I feel like I'm dealing with the phone company when I'm at Kaiser. But... you can't threaten to take your business elsewhere as with most companies, can you? "Oh? You don't like our service? You're overcharged? I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Go die then, see if we care."

[One thing I must commend Kaiser for that has nothing to do with the company at all: the oncology nurses are the greatest, most caring people in the world. This is the only redeeming aspect of my healthcare experience.]

Anywho. Here is a new hair update. I've dyed it blond, well, because I can. See further:



I look kind of grumpy and ill-rested, I know. I've been having terrible, TERRIBLE nightmares. The kind that make me nauseous in the morning and stay with me all day long. One in particular I still can't get over. In this dream, I have a fist-sized hole in my chest, partially covered with flaky scab skin. I am looking at it in the mirror. I start to peel off the dead skin, revealing a rotting, decaying cavern within me. There is a little bar of soap stuck inside. I am disgusted but also morbidly fascinated.

I'm thinking this image spawned from the trauma of having my port put in, as well as anxiety about my body. It still makes me uneasy thinking about it. I feel violated, I feel raped by experience.

Have you had strange nightmares about your cancer experience? Care to share one? I remember chemo gave me amazingly vivid dreams. Ironically they were happy and full of excitement... I wish I could have them back, minus the drugs.

camera obscura

Today I found the stack of photobooth pictures that used to adorn my fridge. I stared at them for a good 10 minutes, unable to recognize the constant in all of them. That hair, those good times. Whose are they? Certainly not mine. I feel like I'm staring at a dead girl. The people in these photos have gone on to do all sorts of things- some have moved away, some are having babies, some are in love now. Some are out of love. Some I see more, most I see less. I am the same. I died in September, and now I'm just waiting to be born again.
I don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror, either. Here, I am totally alien. Bald like a baby, except for blond downy hair that seems to be sprouting up everywhere. I wonder if I will be blond now. eep. I don't want to be a whole new person just yet.

For posterity's sake, here was my radiation burn last week:


It's so strange having a burn eat up your skin seemingly out of nowhere. Lamest super power ever.

Another effect of radiation? Laziness. My dreams are becoming too easily decipherable. Last night I dreamt I had a boxing match with death. He was eight feet tall and shrouded and absolutely terrifying. He then turned into a man that suspiciously resembled Ryan Seacrest. I couldn't touch him, lest I die, so I boxed with red knitted mittens on my hands. Thanks subconcious. I already knew that I like boxing and knitting and that I am still a little scared of death and definitely very scared of Ryan Seacrest.