Trying times, man. The life we’re livin’ right now, I mean.
These blogs are getting harder and harder to write. I need to be in a decent headspace to put pen to paper with as positive a spin possible. We’re well aware y’all sharing this cunty cancer scene with us and know it affects you too.
But it can be difficult trying to be a bit of a funny cunt sometimes.
I know these blogs tend to bring out a rainbow of emotions in not only you, the reader, but also me, the writer. Some have taken hours to write, some days and some weeks and even months, but fuck man, they can be a hard write.
But let’s get down to it.
Things have changed a fair bit around here lately.
Things like, deciding no more Chernobyl sessions. We’re now finished with chemo for good.
That there was a hard decision to make because stopping chemo ultimately allows the inevitable to happen. The disgusting irony of that though, is that the inevitable is gunna happen anyway but this way it allows Marjana a little more enjoyment, rather than suffering.
Besides, the chemo wasn’t doing shit anyway except making her massively sick. It wasn’t killing cancer which if I understand correctly, is what it’s supposed to do.
Blessed are we to be given that privilege of choice though.
That decision did help in giving us your quote of the day though.
Me: Just to clarify mate, it’s just the chemo we’re stopping as I’d still like to come every couple weeks to chill here and eat all your free food, if ya don’t mind.
In what I think is a positive, my ol’ lady (Mum) is now here and I forgot how much she loves her plonk. Mind you, so do I, so can’t really take the piss out of her for that.
She’s doing pretty well earning her $6.00 bottles of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc but it must be very thirsty work by the looks. Oh, and here’s another positive… she quite liked a $3.50 Semillon Sav she came across so looks like I’m gunna save a little coin.
The kitchen’s always clean now and not once yet has she farted in my face, wiped my face with a dirty dishcloth or spat on her finger to clean my face, so feeling a little spoilt.
She was pretty lucky to be granted a compassionate exemption to quarantine next door at our good mates Marty and Sam’s self contained unit. Plus that was cut short to only four days after Queensland’s borders opened up. I’ve actually become very unfit since she’s been in our house and not next door as I no longer have to run back and forwards delivering her plonk, like a personalised Uber Drinks service.
My first wife ain’t going too flash of late. In fact she’s a little bit fucked up unfortunately.
Pain is continual and unless managed properly with painkillers it’s hardcore pain. It’s an absolute cunt of a thing to witness her suffering in agony when we don’t quite get the timing or dosage right because it’s always changing.
I’ve dealt with heaps of fucked up shit in my job as a cop but all pale in comparison to watching her suffer. As much as it sucks for me, I can’t even imagine how it must be for her living it, feeling the physical agony along with the emotional agony we feel. I don’t like that part of our journey very much at all.
I started writing this somehow celebrating the fact today (31 January) was our 24th wedding anniversary and we got to wake up next to each other for it. It’s the small things in life, just like that and they become even more significant in times like these.
As a nickname over the years, I called my first wife ‘moja mala Hrvatska cura’ which roughly translates to ‘my little Croatian girl’, later changing cura to žena‘, meaning woman/wife. Because she now struggles to eat and drink a decent amount, not surprisingly she’s lost heaps of weight. She really is moja mala Hrvatska žena, now.
She might be little but she fights like someone who’s got family and friends she cares about and continues to do so by the minute.
We pray a rosary every morning with her family back in Croatia and fuck man, do I feel for them seeing her and not being in a position to help, cuddle or even just be with her in the flesh.
Still, technology is great and a few years ago we couldn’t even do video chats like Star Trek showed us heaps of years ago. But now look at us almost doing a Maxwell Smart talking shoe trick. We really are blessed.
Marjana has about a billion messages to read and either hasn’t read your messages or been able to reply. Not that she doesn’t want to of course, but just can’t right now (have since read and responded on her behalf).
Obviously, that means heaps of y’all contacting me and that’s all cool and shit including those wanting to visit. Believe me, we get why people want to come visit but please don’t be offended when I say no, like I have to a heap of y’all already. Visits fuck her up big time and as much as it pains to say it, they are a thing of the past.
Even if she’s asleep, she’s still listening. That’s a wife thing though, I reckon. Always watching and listening, all in an effort to remember some random time and date when a husband fucks up so as to knowingly and very confidently bring it up decades later.
I reckon I’m probably better at pissing when standing up than most sheilas are… possibly not as accurate but that specialist skill-set is nothing compared to that time and date stamp y’all have locked away. Evil as fuck, but very much a super power and I dunno how y’all do that shit but should probably stop it, I reckon. Its like witchcraft.
But when people have visited, she’s sucked dry of any energy she had and right now she ain’t got any to spare. Sorry man, but it is what it is.
Sorry, what’s that you’re asking about? What’s Pudding been up to? Pudding’s still very much a cunt.
No mention of All Blacks this time around but I am gunna touch on Ash Barty. What a humble human being and in a world of show ponies and egos, how refreshing is it to see an athlete of her calibre displaying such humbleness and grace in pretty much everything she does, including winning. I’d happily shout you a beer any day, young lady.
Finally, the title of this blog boasts the fact we’ve now been married 24 years, with a couple of warm up years before that. Twenty six years is half my life and more than half the first wife’s. Not too bad considering.
Some of you fellas are aware I’ve been working on a children’s book of late. I actually wrote it about 20 years ago and in all honesty, it’s probably not my greatest work. But it is my most important work as is a dedication book to my little squirrel sheila. It touches on a very small part of our life together two years after we met and shows that even way back in the olden days, people were good to us.
It’s a nice story in a fairy tale format and thanks to a mate’s help, I’ve managed to print 100 copies in a limited edition collector’s edition for close family and friends. I may have even drawn names out of a hat when it came to the likes of Marjana’s workmates as there’s too many beautiful people to gift all.
I very quickly found out that 100 copies is nowhere near enough to appease even the followers of these Cancer Chronicle blogs but that first 100 are now printed and delivered and Marjana got to see the book in print. That’s important for us.
I’ve worked out how to blog of course, but if anyone’s clued up in how to morph this book into an ebook or have publishing contacts who may be interested, I’d love to hear from ya.
I’ll try link it to my blog later under Children’s Stories but don’t want to fuck it up because I worked with a brilliant illustrator called Alex Bennett. His artwork kinda stole the book with the quality of it, and I need to do his work justice as well.
Have I mentioned that this particular kids story doesn’t say cunt even once…
I’d like to think I’ve always been pretty straight up in these blogs even if they’re sometimes sad, like I’m ending this one on. Our life’s changed heaps since this journey began but we’re still travelling those same roads but they’re getting rough like goat tracks.
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