Tag: bowel cancer

#31 The slave snuck off to his laptop

So I thought I was woken up this morning by someone pouring a bucket of water over my head, but instead of water it was my first wife’s spit. Apparently I made her laugh as she was in the process of kissing me and when I told her that her spit is yum as fuck, she snorted and spat snot or spit on me again. Fuck it’s good to be loved aye.

She’d actually woken me up earlier to be honest because although she (allegedly) let me sleep in she failed to mention the fine print that while I slept she was going to leave our bedroom door open and use as many of our loudest appliances as she could. If she could’ve moved the washing machine and dishwasher closer I’m sure she would’ve but it didn’t really matter anyway because during any real quiet periods she’d do things like drop a cricket bat on her foot and scream loudly in pain.

In case that hadn’t done the trick to wake me up she then came back to bed and sat next to me while I slept. She then did her good Catholic girl thing and prayed to her God who, until then I wasn’t aware was actually deaf because why else would a nice Catholic girl pray so loudly right next to me. I’m sure God knows sign language so kinda hoping the cook can pick it up too which may help with my sleep somewhat.

  • ‘You’re an idiot’, she reckons
  • ‘A funny idiot though’

But anyway, it ain’t about me so back to this recovering sick sheila blog update…

Apologies that it’s been over a month since I last updated y’all but as far as slaves go, I reckon I’m amongst the most rooted in the history of the world. Rooted from doing renos and shit; not rooted like slaves were back in the olden days.

While on the subject of slaves I would like to mention that as far as slave masters go my first wife would be classed as ‘Level Expert’ if ya go by how much work I’ve done.

I’ll gunna have to do a few catch up blogs but first up a positive to report. The ol’ girl had a CT scan a couple weeks ago that showed the cancer has shrunk somewhat so that gets a full on ‘Fuck yeah!’ from us.

Cancer’s a cunt, man and this has without doubt been the worst thing that’s happened to us as a family since she hunted and collected me way back in 1996. But she ain’t dead yet and neither am I, and nor are our kids or any of you reading this so here’s another ‘Fuck yeah!’. Not that she’s gunna die any time soon but when good people die that sucks big time (thinking of you right now Keiley).

As I write this, my first wife is sitting next to me pinging up her Chernobyl poison and giggling at some messages she’s reading from her friends.

Best chemo companion blanket the nurse sheilas have ever seen

I think for everyone’s sake though, I need to reiterate the fact that English is her second language and all the times she’s replied to messages saying she’s getting ‘bold’ she actually meant ‘bald’. All you mates of hers who read those ‘bold’ messages must’ve thought ‘Onya girl!’ when really it’s more of a plucked chicken meme.

Two of the main reasons I married this sheila way back when, is because she had really good hair and bloody good knees too. My head’s pretty fucked up with my shit hair and with seven arthroscopies to date, my knees were always my rugby nemesis. So if I was ever gunna breed it’d be good for my kids to have good hair (for pulling chicks) and good knees (for rugby) because they got plenty of spastic whether they liked it or not.

It’s lucky for Marjana she had heaps of hair to start with because she’s loosing it quicker than those sheilas from the Hibiscus Coast lose their virginity. It’s actually a little selfish in a way (not the Coasty sheilas giving up the virginity quick as – nah you keep that tradition well and truly going I reckon) because so many other good people fucked up on cancer lose their entire head of hair quick as fuck due to the chemo they’re on, where as my cook’s chemo is only supposed to thin the hair out. To the untrained eye, it may not even look like she’s lost any but you can certainly find bold, I mean bald patches if ya scratch the surface and her puffy eyes from crying add weight to it being fact. If she didn’t have a complex before I think I just gave her one when she reads this. Sorry wife 😉

  • The result after every shower
  • One first wife’s loss is one first husband’s gain

Untold has happened since I last wrote but our lives have pretty much gone like this…

I wake up and do renos and shit, and cook and eat and drink piss and crawl into bed at the end of the day like some beat up old cunt who can hardly walk; pretty much because that’s what I am anyway.

  • Remove old kitchen and still installing new one
  • Part of new kitchen with built in wall
  • Remove window and build in wall
  • Removed old kitchen window and install new one
  • Remove sliding door and install new window on deck
  • Remove sliding door and install new one
  • Remove old window and install new
  • Who doesn’t love a trooper wife still wiling to be squashed into a car full of timber
Might not look like much but these renos fucked me big time and still ain’t finished

The ol’ first wife though will get all these lovely visits from her work mate sheilas who actually seem to be really nice and care and shit. She used to tell me they were a bunch of pain in the ass cunts at work who were feral and lazy as fuck liars and… oh actually, maybe that was the prisoners, sorry.

Work mate sheilas who most definitely aren’t feral lazy liars but are very much appreciated

Seriously though man, my first wife’s had heaps of visits lately and she digs ’em almost as much as she digs seeing me work like I’ve never worked before (except for maybe back in my ol’ man-whore days).

Most days over the last month have gone like this…

I work like an old decrepit slave.

Marjana socialises like a princess on a social dating competition.

I work like an old decrepit slave.

Marjana socialises like a princess on a social dating competition.

I work like an old decrepit slave.

Marjana socialises like a princess on a social dating competition.

Etcetera…

Another lovely gift

Your quote of the day comes from a chemo session…

Oncologist: Sometimes I can make it sound a bit worse than what it is.

Me: Oh, like a wife does when a husband leaves his clothes on the floor.

Check out her chemo affected veins, man

How can ya not love a hot Argentinean rugby fan who’s tit half falls out when she cheers. Need more of it I reckon.

#30 A traitor and a life saver walked into a bar

I would like it noted please that although the latest All Black loss to the Wallabies at Suncorp was a direct result of my attendance, unlike when the French government sent secret agents to blow up Greenpeace’s Rainbow Warrior ship in Auckland, New Zealand, I did not have intent to carry out the act. It’s true, I do feel dirty and ashamed like a traitor found out but although there are similarities between that 1985 espionage attack I make full admissions from the outset, so there is no need for a fully fledged investigation to prove my guilt.

For what it’s worth New Zealand, I whole heartedly apologise for the role I played in that Bledisloe loss and for my actions bringing the All Blacks into disrepute by attending that test match and the subsequent result *bows head in shame.

With that admission of guilt out of the way, I can now touch on the fact that apart from the outcome, it was a fucking good night out with our family and some good mates.

Even though cunty cancer has changed our lives, it’s nice to still do normal shit together.

My first wife even did better than a couple of the players red carded because unlike them she survived the entire encounter, and then some.

It was a massive day with visitors coming earlier including a local good samaritan I know through work called Alix from Night Ninjas. She came around with a home cooked feed to share with us.

My first wife ain’t drinking piss yet but I’ve got her back and am supporting the both of us in that task. For the record, I’m going great guns at it too. Level expert, even.

Too much yellow for my liking but at least Team WInslow are all in black

With COVID-19 as it is, social distancing at bars has changed the scene massively. So instead of drinking piss before the game in a bar outside the stadium where we talk rugby in such close confinement like locks in a scrum, we had to and drink piss and talk rugby in such close confinement like locks in a scrum, inside the stadium.

One of those people we did that with though was a real good good cunt who’d starred in a number of these blogs earlier on. Reintroducing our favourite surgeon, Peter Yuide. He’s got a weird as fuck last name that’s pronounced like ‘eyed’ (as in one eyed Aussie ref) but with a ‘y’ in front… well kinda.

Can’t wait to show you my scar, Peter

He doesn’t tend to catch up for beers with all his victims, or patients as he prefers to call them but I think there’s something about us being a spastic cunts that he likes (or at least my spastic-ness). So fuck yeah; we’re keen as to drink piss together at Suncorp.

Creating topics for the next blog

It was especially nice for my first wife who got to show off her scar again. In front of 30,000 people she done her equivalent of a bikie rootbag responding to a ‘show us ya tits’ chant from a bunch of pissed cunts. Only differences being nobody was chanting it and it wasn’t her tits she pulled her top up to display but the now famous scar on her guts.

In her ever innocent manner though, she did look at me and ask ‘Can I show my wound to Peter? Can I?’. Fuck yeah, of course you can honey!

Peter did tell my first wife that both her and her scar are looking really well and that was before he started drinking piss, too.

Unlike us in the cheap seats though, Peter being a fully qualified surgeon was in a corporate box with some other big wig surgeons. For the couple of you who told me ya missing my quotes in these blogs, I’m bringing a couple back in this one.

Quote of the Day:

Me: Where you sitting mate?

Peter: Mater Hospital have a corporate box and I’m in there with some other doctors.

Me: Oh that’s nice. I think we’ve probably paid for the whole thing ourselves with the bills we’ve paid so far. You’re welcome.

Suncorp team minus the two boys

Marjana just had her fortnightly blood test done yesterday and as I write this we’re in the middle of Chernobyl Day as she’s getting her chemo fill.

She’ll be having another CT scan next week to see how her cunty cancer is reacting to the chemo.

Some visitors over the last week (sorry forgot to take some other visitor pics)

If I didn’t already know my first wife was half deaf I’d think the chemo had affected her hearing. The other day she was singing along to that new AC/DC song ‘Shot in the Dark’ and with that comes your next quote of the day…

Marjana (singing): I shot the dog…

Me: What?

Marjana: I shot the dog.

Me: What the fuck, man. No, it’s Shot in the Dark.

Marjana: I wondered why they wanted to shoot a dog.

Talking about animals, we had a massive storm about a week ago and both our cat and dog were scared as fuck. Bella hates thunder like I hate political correctness and we found out Pudding does too as she literally shit herself, the little cunt.

It was in our ensuite and for those who recall my cat whispering ways when she pissed on my clothes and are now reading to see if I did the equivalent and shat on my cat…

No, I did not shit on my cat.

She made the effort to shit on our mat and not on my clothes and I kinda appreciated the effort she went to. It’s the little things in life, aye.

Actually, Pudding is going to star in another story very shortly but going back to this one under The Cancer Chronicles topic, I imagine these posts appear less and less about the dealing with cancer in the first person than previously. For us, that’s actually a fucken good thing ya know… and believe me, it ain’t all rosey and perfect and shit like these posts portray.

But we have to be as positive as we can and try to live a bit normal even if my first wife’s husband isn’t.

I wonder who this cat shit belongs to?
Unlike other mates and cuzzies our hail was normal size