Wednesday Morning at 3AM

No clue what this is.
Jen snapped the pic on her recent Maine vaca

Don't mind me, I just have an old album playing in my head. Yup, the whole damn thing.

Had a follow up appointment with my neurologist's nurse practitioner yesterday. I'm three weeks into chemo now—they're monitoring how I'm getting along. I've got side effects. Boy howdy, I've got them coming and going. What I don't have, as yet, is results. Sadly, these potentially good bits (i.e. my damn tumors shrinking or, at least, their growth being fucking arrested) don't happen for awhile. I may not see positive action, if I see it at all, for another month or so. Donna haz a sad.

I want results and I want them NOW!

This wait is exactly why I prefer being sliced open. Ya see, when this is done the docs can remove as much of the offending meningioma motherfucker as possible. *BOOM* Tumor (or most of it) is gone, I do the rehab shtick and life goes on. With chemo it's all about wait and see. Will this even work? If so, how long will I be suffering the indignities of these rat bastid side effects? Forever maybe? If chemo doesn't work, how soon will I be back on stage in the OR? Will this brain surgery be significantly more dicey than the last seven? (Yeah, can you believe I've had seven brain surgeries SO FAR!) I know, I know, surgery comes with mondo risks. All of the pros and cons need to weighed out and shit.

If I'd known that I would live this long I would've taken better care of myself. I would've consumed WAY fewer adult bevs and way more water (the full recommended 2.7 liters per day, dammit), fewer cookies/more dark green veg and NO fried food. When I lived in Kenmore Square and then Allston, I would've walked to my gigs in Harvard Square and Back Bay instead of taking the T. But NOOOOOO. Had I been smarter, played the long game I'd, quite possibly, be able to bounce back better from each surgery, procedure, med scheme.

Or not.

Ya see, if time travel or alternate universes existed, I could see how life would play out if I'd made different choices way back then. Fer instance, had I stayed in San Francisco (instead of joining a traveling carnival) would I have discovered I have Nf2 in time to keep my hearing for as long as I did (in the current timeline I lost my hearing at 46)? The only reason I got checked when I was 23 was because my cousin Carmel absolutely begged me to (so I could avoid her fate of deafness while still in her 30s). I'd been completely asymptomatic.

*sigh* I'm just indulging in my, seemingly, favorite game this morning—Self Blame (fun for the whole family!).