Mayo on the Side

I finally get why they call it a fight.  I'm in quicksand fighting my way out.  Little known fact:  you're not supposed to struggle should you find yourself in quicksand as it causes you to sink faster.  But struggle I am.  In my skewed perspective of how things work, I envisioned doctors and nurses gracefully, magically appearing at my bedside with reassuring smiles as they inject new and improved drugs into my IV.  Meanwhile, a lovely cocktail of pain meds keeps a blissful grin on my face as I slip into peaceful slumber.  The drugs devour the cancer cells and pain medication brings hazy, enchanted dreams.  Birds land on the windowsill and sing cheery tunes while bunnies and squirrels change the bedding and fluff the pillows.  

Apparently, this is not the case.

I called the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota last week to, as I can only find one way to explain it, beg them to save my life.  I had no idea how much work it is to have cancer.  I called Mayo for an appointment with a nueroendrocrine specialist.  I am constantly researching.  I am reading book after book about cures, symptom containment, herbal remedies, and more.  I have to decide what to do.  I have to adjust this straight jacket because it's a bit difficult to type. I emailed my Interventional Radiologist this week and ASKED to be chemoed.  I'm officially looney bin material.  If we are putting surgery on hold for awhile, I decided to do another chemo treatment to the liver.  There are new tumors on the right side and they did not ask nicely to hang out in my abdomen.  No "please" means you meet Dr. Johnson and his little bag of tricks.

I feel great and I'd say it's mostly attributed to the fact I now weld the control.  Power is exhilarating.  All the movies I've seen with a power-hungry lead character who must destroy anything in his way are totally true.  Move over Thor and Captain America!  There's a new superhero in town.

I must specify: move into my place Thor and Captain America.

So, I'm off to majestic Minnesota.  I hear it's lovely this time of year.  The doctors at the Mayo Clinic better have their game faces on, otherwise you'll hear my Godzilla-portioned tirade from your respective location on the planet.  Maybe someone should warn them.