Showing posts with label holy fucking shit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holy fucking shit. Show all posts

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Corky's Next Fishing Trip

Subtitle:  Lieutenant Ilia's Worst Nightmare






Back in the Fugawe Period of the Precambrian Era, I dared to go fishing with Corky, willSIX, and various other action figures.  I actually sort of enjoyed myself.  That can almost definitely be attributed to willSIX's making fun of me for joyfully freaking out over catching a turtle.  (Even the Double Rainbow Guy would have been embarrassed for me.)  

The fun was short-lived.  At the tender age of seven, a box of Gorton's Fish Sticks (fish dicks?) caused me unspeakable gastrointestinal distress.  As a result of that digestive Hiroshima, I have not been able to endure even the faintest whiff of fish. (Insert joke here.)  My husband enjoys fish (thank goodness) but is not permitted to cook it while we still share a household.

Osama is sleeping with the fishes now.  Personally, I couldn't think of a better resting place for him.



Tuesday, August 10, 2010

The Beginning

(Stardate: Tuesday, June 24, 2008)

"Yeah, it looks like cancer."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

(No reaction to my cursing.)

"It's treatable."

(Notice she didn't say "curable").

"But I want another kid."

"Not right now."

"Is there a chance it's not cancer?"

"No. Probably not."

"How bad is it?"

"From the radiology report and the mammogram films?  Stage 3B."

Stage three?  What makes it B?

"Am I going to live?"


(long pause)

"You'll need chemotherapy and radiation."

Holy fucking shit.

This cannot be happening.

My OB/GYN told me it was a swollen milk duct. 

So did the mammography techs nine months ago.

I want another kid.


Somebody make this stop.

(To be continued)