Throwing sandwiches

It has been a phenomenal week and I’ve been revelling in the truth that it is my last full week of treatment.  In fact, after tomorrow, I only have two treatments left!  What a whirlwind, I can’t believe how fast the time has passed.  I am living proof that anyone can get through absolutely anything, if you put your mind to it.  Living one day at a time is a very monumental thing, once you master it.  Not worrying about whats coming next or what tomorrow brings.  It is very liberating, and it is one of the most important things that I have taken away from this.  I plan on living the rest of my life in this peaceful respite that I have discovered, and I know every day will be a day in itself, and a sanctuary that I am blessed to exist in.

On to the funny stuff.  Sooooooooo.  Yesterday I was supposed to have my last chemotherapy treatment, ring the damn freedom bell and all that jazz.  I was pretty excited, despite the persistent ringing in my ears that has been plaguing me like a gnat in the summer heat, buzzing and humming, whizzing and whirring.  That, my darlings, is a side effect from the Cistplatin.  Something about platinum based metal treatments has this rare side effect on some, and one of the only that I have endured.  I did my research and these side effects can be PERMANENT!!  Which, mark my words, is pretty fucking scary.   Its like, “Hmmmmmm…. You should choose the lesser of these two evils… Cure your cancer OR keep your hearing!”  I have enough on my plate, this isn’t choose your own adventure here, dammit!!  

Anyway, long story made short, I made an appointment to see my oncologist before chemo.  After radiation, a two hour check in with the doctor, and an MRI (which was fab, with all of that noise on my newly annoyed eardrums) they decided to put my chemo off until Tuesday, to make time for a hearing test, to make sure nothing horrific was happening.  It had been a long ass morning and I was tired, annoyed and mostly…. hangry.  (Webster’s English Dictionary defines hangry as: ‘The state of being so hungry that it has become infuriating. A hybrid of hungry and angry.’)

We make our way to the deli to have a bite to eat before the hearing exam and I am biting my cheeks in defiance of the hangry rage that has built it’s way up like molten lava in my soul.  The deli specializes in smoked meat (of course) but my stomach has been sensitive, so instead of ordering the delicious, fatty, slightly pink marbled, thin shaved fucking awesomeness that is recommended,  I do the right thing and order turkey.  TURKEY.  Saro, of course, isn’t an idiot and gets the smoked meat.

We sit across from each other, both on the edge of insanity.  He bites into his sandwich with great relish and smiles widely with great contentment.  I, on the other hand, am picking the dry crusts off of my shitty whole wheat bread and am rearranging the meagre turkey across the surface area of my embarrassing sandwich, as they obviously shoved it all in the front, to make this AS HORRIBLE of an experience as they could for me.  Imagine the frustration and disappointment I was experiencing with my day, situation, and …. just sandwich-wise… When Saro peers at me with a look of disgust on his face and says;

“Why are you touching your sandwich with, like, every finger you have?  Why?  I don’t get it.  Why can’t you just eat neatly?”

Don’t you judge me.  I recoiled in hanger-induced rage and….. and…… I threw my sandwich at him.  Yes, I threw my god damned sandwich.  Like a grownup.  At my fiancé.  In a public restaurant where cancer patients are eating.  Oh, god, the humility of it all.  I stormed off with my dignity left in a pile of crusts and limp deli meat, on Saro’s crumb ridden lap.

This was also a lesson I took away from this experience.  Don’t get hangry, it is a dangerous place to be.  Don’t hurt those you love with carelessly thrown sandwiches when this could have been easily avoided by keeping some cookies in your fucking purse.

I don’t regret this endeavour, because I enjoy every moment of my life.  Especially that moment when you justifiably throw a sandwich at someone, and walk away like you just threw a grenade at a car and it is blowing up behind you in a brilliant, fiery explosion.  It doesn’t happen very often, and I recommend taking the chance if you get it.  Oh, and also, I threw the pickle at him separately before I stormed off.  Like a BOSS!!

Wish me luck (and patience) this week.  It’s almost over!!


Love, Karmen


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