Lauren's diagnosis immediately quashed my plans to pack everything up and go back to QLD. Even though we'd decided against moving in with each other not long before, I knew in my heart that I had to be with her during treatment. It was an easy decision to make. We also shelved our plans to travel in Thailand together after Christmas (which reminds me hon, we still haven't made our insurance claims...). My stomach mourned the loss of its ticket to cheap, delicious street food and cocktails that come in buckets (handy if purging previous cocktails is required).
A cancer diagnosis means one thing in the short term: a bucketload of medical appointments for scans, tests, checkups and any other excuses to be poked and prodded by doctors. This all happens while you swill around in medical limbo, wondering, "How bad is it?", "What are LT's chances?" and "Will she ever have a normal life again?"
It's a scary place. While we were going through it, I wrote this in my journal:
2259, Sun 29 Nov 2009
Sitting up in bed while Lauren enjoys a late night snack of biscuits and cheese, a copy of Twilight and a pick at her neck wound. She seems a bit edgy at the moment, which could be down to the fact she'll be radioactive for at least 6 hours tomorrow. That's right kids: I'm going to have a girlfriend with a Geiger reading (fingers crossed for supernatural powers, preferably in the fields of engine tuning or intercourse).
It's called a PET (Positron Emission Tomography, I think, without the assistance of Wikipedia) and it means they get to inject her with extremely expensive radioactive sugar, before putting her in a machine that will spew fundamental particles at her in an effort to take delightful snapshots of her interior. Given the freakish and amazing array of bits of muscle, fluid and bone that were photographed during her MRI, I can hardly imagine what new perspectives this procedure might offer. Then again, my medical qualifications extend to buying throat lozenges and knowing when I have piles.
I've got a date with a bloke selling a 1983 GSX250 tomorrow. I'm considering the tactic of carrying a large amount of cash on me a seeing how low I can get his price on the promise of taking it away then and there. I'll let you know how that goes, but first I need to see whether or not it's a complete piece of shite. It is, after all, only a year younger than me, and I haven't aged well.
1930, Mon 30 Nov 2009
1930, Mon 30 Nov 2009
Well, Lauren is currently reading a Coles magazine, scanning recipes and subtle marketing mechanisms, quietly irradiating the loungeroom. Apparently the scan went pretty well compared to the MRI; no loud noises this time, though they had the usual trouble finding a vein to pump the plutonium into her.
I checked out the GSX 250 today and was half impressed and half disappointed. I think it fits its price point pretty well, but I'm not sure if I can be bothered doing the work to fix the broken stuff, like most of the instrument cluster. I sounded fantastic and was just the right size, but I'm not going to jump on it unless I'm more disappointed by the next couple I look at. I have a date with a black 2008 CBR125R tomorrow and I'm quite excited about that :-). It's a little jigger I've looked at a lot over the last couple of years and if I have the chance to get a nearly new one without taking the first depreciation hit, I'll be well pleased. Of course, I'll be subscribing to another couple of years of riding a 'poofter bike', but I frankly couldn't give a damn.
LT has another appointment tomorrow. It's with the plastic surgeon, who will hopefully give us some kind of roadmap for treatment. If he doesn't, I hope the next appointment, the following day, will. It's a bit of a roundabout of treatment and sleeping in at the moment, mixed with wide awake moments at 4am and lustful interludes dreaming of riding again.
LT's in good spirits today, which is good to see. I'm grumpy and sore, still fighting a cold, but hey, at least I'm not working.
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