May 07, 2010
Is That All You Have?
As many of you know by now, about two months ago, my mother was diagnosed with an aggressive and freakazoid strain of breast cancer that was hyper aggressive and resistant to many of the standard methods of combating it. In fact, she had received a pathology report last week that had stated that the cancer, even after surgery, had almost certainly spread to her brain, bones, blood, and vital organs. In essence, she was told she would not be here this time next year.
Needless to say, that was some tough news, but she (along with my father, a man raised by a man who fled on foot at the age of 4 in the 1930s to escape Nazi tyranny, only to fight it a few years later) raised all of us to be humble, thankful for what we have, fight, lead from the front and think of others before yourself, never quit, be fearless, protect those who are weak and small, and give adversity and darkness the prison goatse treatment when confronted with it. So, what did she do? First, she told all of us there will be no sadness. And secondly, she sought a second opinion and second round of tests from an oncologist trained and mentored at a clinic that is the best in the fucking world.
And what did the second round of tests reveal? Well, she still had cancer, but it had not spread to her vital organs, bones, blood, etc. It was a treatable Stage Three, which means that with radiation and chemotherapy, she will be damn near 99% cancer free come Christmas time. While none of us are naive enough to believe that her treatment will be easy and complication free, she is upbeat, ready, and willing to do what is necessary to have her natural hair back come this time next year. And this news was the best news we could have heard, especially my fat and overprotective ass, especially as Mother's Day approaches.
And yes, my family and I are thankful. We are thankful that she was confronted with the retarded half brother strain of this cancer and not the A-Team version. We are thankful that (hopefully) The Big Kahuna In The Sky felt it was not her time. We are thankful that she will (hopefully) be here next year. And we are thankful that we live in a free country, one which (for now) allowed her to seek treatment in a rapid fashion and not be put on a waiting list for rationing.
As for the cancer, I have a few words for you. But first,
*lights Opus X cigar*
*makes and drinks Bombay Martini*
*makes and drinks second Bombay Martini*
*finishes cigar*
*eats a bacon wrapped bacon sandwich on a bed of bacon with a side of bacon*
*Brushes teeth*
*Clears throat*
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you up your fuckingly rhinofucked loser ass with a lobster knife fight party. Fuck you for even thinking you could take any member of my family. Fuck you and your weak ass fucking attempts to hurt the people I love and care about without paying for it. And fuck you pandemic style with a neutron bomb of fucking funhouselevel of fucking fuckitude for being such a fucking weak ass fucking opponent in light of who you thought you could take.
Did you really fucking think you could win against my family? Did you really fucking think that we would lay down and surrender? Did you fucking think we would fucking roll over and quit? Then if so, you truly are fuckingly fucked up fuckity fuck "someguy" style stupid and should go back for recertification at the Disease School, for you picked the wrong fight with the wrong people. You fucking took on the one woman I truly fear, and you thought you could win?
Fuck. Ing. Stupid.
You lose, cancer. You fucking lose. You fuckingly fucked up fuckdrink of fuck lost when you picked my mom. You are losing as we speak. And you will always fucking lose, liquid Chick-Fil-A sandwich with a side of biscuit soup style, for taking us on. And to think, I was raised to expect more from you. But I guess I was wrong.
So fuck off, cancer. Fuck you up your losingingest ass with the Bob Fucking The Hookers In The Shower Crane Treatment. Fuck you for coming near my family. And fucking get the fuck off my lawn and go bother somebody else.
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Needless to say, that was some tough news, but she (along with my father, a man raised by a man who fled on foot at the age of 4 in the 1930s to escape Nazi tyranny, only to fight it a few years later) raised all of us to be humble, thankful for what we have, fight, lead from the front and think of others before yourself, never quit, be fearless, protect those who are weak and small, and give adversity and darkness the prison goatse treatment when confronted with it. So, what did she do? First, she told all of us there will be no sadness. And secondly, she sought a second opinion and second round of tests from an oncologist trained and mentored at a clinic that is the best in the fucking world.
And what did the second round of tests reveal? Well, she still had cancer, but it had not spread to her vital organs, bones, blood, etc. It was a treatable Stage Three, which means that with radiation and chemotherapy, she will be damn near 99% cancer free come Christmas time. While none of us are naive enough to believe that her treatment will be easy and complication free, she is upbeat, ready, and willing to do what is necessary to have her natural hair back come this time next year. And this news was the best news we could have heard, especially my fat and overprotective ass, especially as Mother's Day approaches.
And yes, my family and I are thankful. We are thankful that she was confronted with the retarded half brother strain of this cancer and not the A-Team version. We are thankful that (hopefully) The Big Kahuna In The Sky felt it was not her time. We are thankful that she will (hopefully) be here next year. And we are thankful that we live in a free country, one which (for now) allowed her to seek treatment in a rapid fashion and not be put on a waiting list for rationing.
As for the cancer, I have a few words for you. But first,
*lights Opus X cigar*
*makes and drinks Bombay Martini*
*makes and drinks second Bombay Martini*
*finishes cigar*
*eats a bacon wrapped bacon sandwich on a bed of bacon with a side of bacon*
*Brushes teeth*
*Clears throat*
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you up your fuckingly rhinofucked loser ass with a lobster knife fight party. Fuck you for even thinking you could take any member of my family. Fuck you and your weak ass fucking attempts to hurt the people I love and care about without paying for it. And fuck you pandemic style with a neutron bomb of fucking funhouselevel of fucking fuckitude for being such a fucking weak ass fucking opponent in light of who you thought you could take.
Did you really fucking think you could win against my family? Did you really fucking think that we would lay down and surrender? Did you fucking think we would fucking roll over and quit? Then if so, you truly are fuckingly fucked up fuckity fuck "someguy" style stupid and should go back for recertification at the Disease School, for you picked the wrong fight with the wrong people. You fucking took on the one woman I truly fear, and you thought you could win?
Fuck. Ing. Stupid.
You lose, cancer. You fucking lose. You fuckingly fucked up fuckdrink of fuck lost when you picked my mom. You are losing as we speak. And you will always fucking lose, liquid Chick-Fil-A sandwich with a side of biscuit soup style, for taking us on. And to think, I was raised to expect more from you. But I guess I was wrong.
So fuck off, cancer. Fuck you up your losingingest ass with the Bob Fucking The Hookers In The Shower Crane Treatment. Fuck you for coming near my family. And fucking get the fuck off my lawn and go bother somebody else.
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