[adult language and anger warning]
It feels like someone, I mean CF, threw me in the back of an empty cement mixer and turned up the rotation speed to high. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, someone, I still mean CF, threw rocks in the mixer with me. The noise alone hurts my ears and the rocks cause bruising and welts. Then, as if that isn’t enough to cause pain, someone, you know who I mean, adds broken glass to the mixer. The glass cuts my skin and I start bleeding.
Meanwhile, the cement mixer keeps turning and turning and the rocks keep banging against me and the sides of the barrel. The glass keeps cutting.
Then someone pours salt into the mixer, which makes my cuts from the glass burn.
All in all, this is what CF has felt like lately. First, the bleeding two months ago, two embolizations and 20 days in solitary. Fuck you, CF. Then more bleeding the day after Thanksgiving to show me who is really in charge – it’s not the doctors who perform embolizations – and eight more days in the hospital. Fuck you, CF. The hospital kicked me around too. A blown IV puffed up my left hand and I now have a two-inch vein made of rock. During the PICC line procedure my heart went nuts and a doctor actually had to come to the room. When someone was drawing blood, they hit a nerve and now I have nerve pain in my forearm. Then, one day out of the hospital I caught a virus and my white cell count shot up and set back my progress with the IVs. That’s the nutshell version.
Do I need to repeat tonight’s mantra? I think I do – Fuck you, CF, fuck you, because I’m still the luckiest guy in the world.