So here I am, I've just looked at my reflection in the mirror and for months now I've been going on at nauseam about my bloated, double chinned, Bert Newton and Amanda Vanstone's love child face and tonight I am looking emaciated and gaunt, eye's sunken and more and more like a contestant on Survivor every day, it's horrible.
Around the time of the Cup, I was starting to feel more human, more like myself facially, I wasn't quite there, but I was starting to get my groove back. Here I am six weeks later and I still look six months pregnant from tumours, tumour fluid, bloating and my good old friend constipation, my thighs still remain bloated from medication, but the rest of my body is losing weight and losing it quicker than a celebrity Mum loses her post baby weight from breast feeding hhmm hhmm, tummy tuck, hhmm, sorry I have a frog talking bullshit in my throat......breast feeding my ass, I'm not saying it doesn't help, but Mum to be doesn't go in on Tuesday, pop Bub out Wednesday and have a pool party on Monday with no jiggly bits in sight.......just sayin'.
I know what you're thinking, you can't win with this girl, well all I want is to be somewhere in the middle, just plain old average. I don't want to be a bloated mess and I don't want to be a skinny wreck. I'm tired of wasting meals that my Mum puts great effort into making, as soon as I take the first bite I'm trying to push back the urge to regurgitate. I force myself through half a meal, most times, but by the time I've gotten comfortable on the lounge after dinner, I've got Mum or Dad running for a sick bag or I'm hobbling to the toilet, trying to avoid a scene from the Exorcist, without the head turning and demonic possession.
Is it really too much to ask, to at least look a little normal on the outside, when the insides look like a scene from a Saw movie, a nice happy medium. I also remember the last time I had major issues like this, it was days before I was going under the knife for the fifth time. I remember I was on holiday up north with my Ex and I had been admitted to Cairns emergency, where they inserted an NG tube, whilst I was awake, with no local, that would have been my third or fourth, they put an 11ml tube up your nostril and feed it down your oesophagus until it hits your stomach (I've had one go into my lung by mistake before, that wasn't fun), the problem is, when they're feeding this plastic tube down your nose, you have a bunch of food that hasn't been digested sitting in your stomach, so it makes you sick at the same time as the nurses are telling you to swallow the tube, you're trying to get rid of the vomit, definitely not pleasurable, but I've become really good at them over the years, I don't even gag anymore, I know such an achievement. The NG tube is inserted so you can receive liquid food, rather than eating it. When I came out of the mammoth eight or nine hour surgery, my colorectal surgeon, whom they called in mid surgery as it was more detailed than they thought, told me I had days if I was lucky, there were tumours throughout just about to cause major blockages and without that surgery, I probably wouldn't have been alive the following week.
Here we are again, in the same pain, the same discomfort as that February back in 2014, but this time, I have no back up plan, no contingency, so not only am I shit scared I'm going to have a major blockage and die, I'm also scared I'm going to die gaunt and swollen, just give me a break.
My poor niece Ava had to once again witness her Aunty collapse to the ground in pain, writhing, trying to catch my breath to scream for someone to inject me with my pain Med. I was upstairs and Mum, Dad and Ava were outside in the backyard. Mum heard me after what felt like an eternity, but would only have been a minute. Mum was yelling trying to locate where in the house I was, Ava, likely watching on in horror, Mum found me and injected my meds, in the meantime I could hear Ava sort of sobbing behind Mum, pretend sobbing I think, Ava went downstairs and told my Dad, Lisa needs you, but Mum had already found me. It's not right that a 3 year old should have to witness her Aunty, so feeble and weak. Shortly after Ava came over to me and asked if I was fine, as I normally soothe her telling her it's fine bubba when I'm having a painful episode, but I didn't soothe her this time, so I think she needed reassurance. I told her I was fine and Ava promptly went to the backyard and told Mum in a stern authoritative voice "Lisa is NOT fine Nanna".
As I sit here and type and bitch and moan at 1am in the morning, I'm reminded of a beautiful message I received from a work colleague from way back when. I won't name names as she may not want to, but she mentioned that a person had come into her workplace and was going through cancer. My workmate mentioned myself and the blog and to her surprise the person said she reads my blog and it keeps her focused. Such a very small thing, in such a very big world. It just shows you that you can touch a person's life without even knowing, you can give them a source of comfort and help in their healing, all without meeting. This made my heart sing, to know that this interaction had happened at the opposite end of the country, whilst I was probably brushing my teeth or watching housewives of something somewhere.
Such a small interaction, in such a big world and it has made my week........still doesn't change the fact that I'm pissed off I can't keep a sip of water down, but it's something nice to think about when my head is in the loo.
To random person, with this horribly random disease, thank-you, I can't promise things will get better or worse, but know that you certainly made me smile and "workmate", you know who you are, thank-you for being the messenger.
I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend, filled with tinsel and Christmas inspired coffees and cocktails and of course Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤️🤘🏼🎄