cancer is a cunt – Page 2 – Woodstock's blog

#57 A somewhat nicer bed

Bit of a quick turnaround compared to some previous blogs but things have changed a bit around here since #56.

You know what’s a good thing about a hospice? It’s quicker to write than hospital.

Hospice has been on the cards for a while now and although my first wife said she was keen on that option rather than staying home till the end, she didn’t exactly want to hurry it up. Wanted to keep some normality in our lives I think, like still being at home and listening to me say cunt a lot while I drink piss.

There’s heaps of obvious positives about being at home but there’s also some negatives as well. The main couple that spring to mind are there’s always noise and distractions like Pudding pissing, shitting or spewing on my clothes and side of the bed, as well as family living noises that are both comforting, but now more so annoying when it’s peace, quiet and calm she seeks.

Fuck man, even the pressure caused by airflow from doing the sign of the cross on her can upset her, that’s how sensitive she’s become to pain.

Pudding looking over her Mama knowing something ain’t right

But there’s also pros and cons about hospice too. She can still hear me say cunt, for one but secondly they got a dedicated team of carers who aren’t just some dude letting down his Westy natives with his unskilled and inexperienced ability in coordinating and supplying drugs to his first wife. Admittedly these are legit drugs for pain and not some backyard crack whore scene.

Yeah, we got a tree in our backyard for pissing competitions with some mates but we’re still pretty much a crack whore free zone to be honest. For the record, I’m the Pee Tree reigning champion.

Back to the story though. Some days and night’s we’d get through not too bad with pain control from various forms of painkillers but not always. My little Dalmatinka’s body and her pain levels change daily so it’s a battle combating the grief of constipation caused by painkillers versus the pain they prevent.

After another less than average night’s sleep, my first wife woke up yesterday to tell me she thinks it’s time to go to hospice.

By far the main con about hospice though, is that it’s usually a one way street. So watching her being taken away in an ambulance wasn’t exactly one of life’s greatest pleasures for either of us, but especially her.

The problem with hospice right now though is that there’s too many people dying so there’s no room for her. That kinda sucked but there’s a work around which we’re happy with after living it for a day. The palliative care team rent rooms from both Redland’s Public Hospital and Mater Private Redlands. We were gifted a very large private room at Mater Private and as I write this my little squirrel sheila is finally getting some deep (mostly) uninterrupted sleep.

I think everyone including moja mala Hrvatska zena, myself and medical staff all agree being here is the better option, as I can concentrate on being her first husband and not trying to play doctors and nurses… although, I gotta admit it ain’t as much fun as I thought it’d be in my teenage years. Tricked me, I’m thinkin’.

So yeah, we’re now at the hospice scene and although it’s only been a day, we can’t speak highly enough of Marjana’s treatment or the medical staff. They’ve been absolutely brilliant. I think it helped that one of our awesome oncologist nurses was also there in the ward and thinkin’ she may have let slip that we’re not mongrels, or at least the first wife ain’t.

I was even gunna try jump in on one of the first wife’s sponge baths under a two for one deal until I saw her main nurse was some big muscly as dude. Nice as dude too.

I’ve been reading all ya messages sent to my first wife and she loves ’em and very much appreciates the love.

We also both love the fact people seem to quite like us and I guess, how we come across in these blogs. That’s all cool and shit but just don’t want y’all thinking our lives have always been filled with trauma and grief from fucked things like cancer, or even that our life together has been plain sailing without dramas and shit.

For sure, me and the first wife have had a great life together and considering everything, we still do right now. But we’ve had our fair share of rough times even back before my former elitist beauty therapist put a spell on me with her little battering of her eyelids trick… and beer, wine, Croatian cured meats and a rope to lure me into entwining our lives.

No surprise here really but the same goes for these married years due to me stumbling – sometimes from Jagermeister but also because she was always wrong and I was always right and she was deaf and I wasn’t and she was blind and I wasn’t and she snored and I didn’t and she did annoying things like leaving the vacuum cleaner as a trip hazard and I didn’t. I think I got the fault blame around the right way but maybe not (wifey laughed most at this paragraph).

It hasn’t taken me until these final hard yards to understand this but I do now see it in 4K compared to hearing it through AM radio. Long term marriages, de facto and partnership relationships are a team game and by surviving not only the good times but also the bad together is important as fuck. There’s no place on earth I’d rather be right now than where I currently am, next to her as she whispers her squirrel snores to me. I know she’d be sitting in the same chair I’m in, if we swapped health places.

But we ain’t done just yet though.

This blog wasn’t gunna have a quote of the day until, when reading it to her, I got to the last couple of paragraphs and she grabbed my hand, looked up at me and said “Don’t cry ljubavi. I’m not dead yet.”

I guess what I was trying to say in this long winded way is that Marjana is now in a hospice.

#56 The first wife of 24 years

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.

Thank you Liz for bringing a smile to her face

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.

Father Michael came for a much appreciated Anointing of the Sick visit

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.

Mum’s a half decent clothes folder and putter awayer too

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.

Slightly out of focus but clearly shows some of her tablets are the size of a 600ml water bottle

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.

When your falling tears make a Micky Mouse design on your sheets

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.

Of course the spew was on my side of the bed

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…

Dilan showing his Nona the remarkable resemblance between real life her and book character her

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.

This clip was her proof reading the last blog a couple weeks ago

#55 Feeling ok

Time for an update. I know it’s time for an update when y’all start inundating me with messages asking for updates on the cook. So yeah, guess it’s time.

First up and quite importantly, nobody dead around here. Life is good.

Marjana’s latest hospital visit was heaps different to all others though. Mostly ’cause she was in that negative pressure room where I wasn’t allowed to visit. Just to clarify why though, she had some funky infection that needed sorting and even when that was done and dusted, they wanted her to finish a full week in isolation for being deemed a close contact.

Think I already mentioned that she came back COVID negative but hadn’t touched on the infection. There’s this thing called Escherichia coli which I think they shorten to call E. coli. If I understood correctly, it’s a bacteria that’s usually in the guts (small intestine) and my first wife’s defensive mechanisms were a bit like some recent All Black defence giving up soft points unfortunately. That E. coli shit snuck through a gap and all the way into the ol’ girl’s blood. But, all sorted now though… hopefully.

Our squirrel was released from custody on Tuesday evening and came home to slow cooked lamb shanks for dinner. She loves her comfort food aye, even if she does eat like a fantail now. Like a good Croatian mama I need to try and fatten up my good Croatian wife.

Quite possibly a squirrel’s secret hoard

In all honesty though, she’s actually feeling pretty good, considering. There’s two main things that are always forefront in every part of our life now and that’s pain management and fatigue. Trepidation too I ‘spose, but we’re going ok.

On that note, she’s laying beside me on the couch and if anyone doesn’t believe the google results if you type in ‘Do squirrels snore’, I can vouch for the fact they do.

The ol’ Brisbane roads did the trick again, as after driving her home from hospital she needed another shit. Although that little crucial action takes heaps of her energy, she found another gear when she saw three gift baskets with heaps of goodies waiting for her. Oh man, it was like watching a kid open early morning Christmas presents. Was nice to see.

On top of that, one of me good mates from way back called Butbut, spent many an hour in her garage painting a gift. Something very cool and unique; a painting of one of my Dalmatinka’s favourite place, our local dog beach. Taken from a photo. If ya gotta have a first wife whose a little bit fucked up from cancer, it’s good to have one that appreciates these things and it’s equally as important to have people in ya life that are just real good cunts.

We got to see our surgeon Peter on Wednesday. He really is a good cunt, man. The three of us have built a pretty good partnership/friendship over the last 18 months that helped get us this far. Just a bloody good bastard who we could rely on from day one and fuck man, did it make a difference. Of all our medical team, it’s he who shines like my bald head in the sun.

He was actually surprised at how good li’l miss squirrel looked. Skinnier than when he last saw her but it was a nice to see his surprise as he last saw her pre liver stent procedure.

He gets a quote of the day but. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s a fucking good point.

Peter: Well, we did manage to get you through to enjoy two Christmases.

Finally managed to get some home improvements done again, although this time I got someone in as been a little bit busy. Just hoping the neighbours do the right thing now.

Shout out to Mel and her team at Stratco Capalaba. Fuck yeah.

After my last blog, I’m sure there’s a few of ya wondering if my first wife is on her deathbed yet. That’d be a big fat no. In fact, in my opinion she’s got a bit to go yet. As touched on before, she’s losing weight but with pain killers and decent comfort food, things could be heaps worse.

Although I’d feel a little bad ’cause I’d feel like a Nigerian scammer, I actually hope she lives heaps more years yet. So much so that y’all start questioning if in fact these blogs are just a modern day unethical scam for mercy, coin and care. Fuck, if only right…

Sleeping Beauty just woke up and is now going through her phone to sort photos. The speed she’s working at though, she’s better pray she lives forever like Elvis as gunna need heaps of time. There’s thousands of ’em.

More enjoyable than sorting photos though, is praying a rosary every morning with our Croatian family. We’d like to think it’s helped with our cause and know it has too. Spare a thought for Marjana’s mama, brothers and their families back in The Old Country as they also try to come to terms with our stark reality in this COVID affected world. Obviously Marjana ain’t alone with us here and also y’all who continually shine the love. Technology is amazing nowadays and times like this, at least for us, are not taken for granted when you can chat live via video. It’s like magic aye. Flash as witchcraft even.

And news on my side of the family is that my ol’ lady (Mum, not wife) flies in from Auckland on Tuesday. Might not be much praying going on with her but when I let her know she can treat our kids like she treated me, Deane and Corey, I envisage there’s gunna be dirty soggy dishcloths used to clean their faces and if they aren’t within reach, she’ll be wiping their faces clean by the ol’ lick the finger and wipe the face trick. That’ll toughen the little cunts up. Hopefully she can even help with some other stuff too.

Kinda random but if anyone needs lawns mowed, give my mate Dave a call. He’s a good cunt, man and really looked after us, as he will you. Came around yesterday with his little business and made our backyard jungle look like a golf course. Not a flash as golf course, but a raggedy rough as guts one where you can drink piss and piss on trees and shit. Just the way I like it. Contact him on 0475 788 289.

Time for a quote of the day, which is a message I sent to some sheila we know who now has breast cancer. Fuck you cancer, you cunt.

Me: Hey lets go with that lumpectomy option then aye as I think you actually have a couple decent tits. No doubt, very saggy nowadays but would still be good to keep ’em attached to ya torso aye. Having said that, if they cut one off, you could then go and get a nice perky young one. Not sure what ya girl’s ones are like but could potentially model a new one off hers. You would then however, have a spunky tit and a saggy tit, both of which will be attached to ya torso, so it does have the potential to look kinda weird. Still, I’m sure there’s a fetish somewhere for that kind of shit so it has potential.

I touch on tattoos below. Here’s the first wife’s equivalent, a pain patch.

Both Kodi and Dilan have been talking to their ol’ lady about getting a tattoo. Since forever, my first wife has always been against it. She’s never been a fan… however, when they mentioned that it would be for her or something she’s like, ‘Oh, yeah that’s alright then.’

Fuck I laughed at her change of heart, which I think played a part in her reaction. She turned directly to me, dipped her head to make sure I got the full on above glasses eye contact with a semi frown and stated, ‘Hmmm, maybe you should get one too.’

If I know her like I know her, I’m thinkin’ she’d want something like this…

On that note peeps, we’ll continue living our life of enjoyment and trepidation as should you, maybe just without the trepidation part.

#54 A battlefront counter attack

Like in heaps of battles throughout the many wars, we’ve had a bit of a counter attack and push back on the battle front.

Chernobyl Day on Wednesday went mostly without incident but my first wife did time the arrival of her fever to coincide with chemo to perfection. Some meds and shit sorted that and some new blood cultures were taken.

A day later she was struggling a bit though and felt a little bit shit, partly because she needed one or two or three of ’em. When you have small bowel syndrome ’cause half ya bowel has been cut out, good frequent shits are kinda the way to go. They’re even more important than for you and I, unless of course it’s me as I know that you know I got me a few worthy shit stories.

We had a cunt of a night’s sleep on Thursday night with the first wife struggling with spews and pain. I really don’t like that part of the game but I’m sure li’l Miss Kastelanka hates it more than me so no more whinging about that aye.

I phoned the Mater Cancer Care Centre to give ’em a heads up for fluids etc and heard that at least one of our key medical staff we interacted with at Chernobyl has now tested positive for COVID.

Also that Marjana’s blood cultures came back all fucked up because she now has an infection, possibly from that stent procedure, or quite possibly a result of cunty cancer because it really is an absolute loathsome cunt of a thing.

On a random side note, when you read the word bit, reckon it’s good to remember the ol’ Mangamuka saying, ‘Even a horse can’t eat a little bit’ because even a little bit can either way can be a game changer.

Couple of comfort foods I cooked for my cook

As my ol’ lady (Mum, not wife) always says before and during long stories, to cut a long story short, our little cancer riddled star has returned to her bach, holiday home and vikendica, Mater Private Hospital.

Having had the best ever beauty therapist in the whole wide world for a Mrs, I know a little bit about various forms of hair removal, so when she asks me to shave her legs for hospital, I can’t even plead potential outs like you normal fullas. Not that I’d want to anyway because it’s the small things in life aye.

She still hadn’t had a crap but for anyone feeling constipated, I’m gunna give a little free advice that may save your life if you’re about to explode from not shitting. All you need to do is be a passenger in a car driving along Brisbane City roads. Our Croatian goat tracks in the mountains are heaps smoother as are our Redland City roads. By the time we arrived my passenger was feeling even worse because she was now in the I need a fucking shit real real bad stage. Nothing for a couple days, throw in a bacterial infection and that little cunty thing called cancer, then bam! Exactly the same situation when coming home from hospital via the same goat track roads with a bowel movement to make any shit maker proud.

Some really nice sheila in a funky hazmat suit came down and took my little first squirrel wife off my hands. She transferred her from our car to a wheelchair without any shit escaping at all, that I’m aware of.

Marjana was taken to some negative pressure room to isolate, which I think is set up to quash infections and diseases. The issue though, is that it’s isolated from everyone including us. Kinda like a game show but without the same prize.

Here’s a positive though, the ol’ girl came back with negative result to The Vid. Unfortunately, it’s probably just a matter of time for us all though as we know heaps who are now infected, as probably most of y’all do. Cue zombies from the park.

But we’re at least hoping that bacterial counter attack is like this year’s All Black’s in the end of year northern hemisphere tour, pretty much non existent. Sorry boys, but fuck man I’m trying to deal with a cunt of a cancer issue and I can’t say those performances helped our cause. Lessons learnt hopefully. On that counter attack subject, sadly I’m starting to appreciate how Wallaby supporters must feel after most tests against the All Blacks.

In the previous blog I mentioned I’d touch on a use by date conversation we had with our palliative care doctor. We were told we’re looking at a matter of weeks, possibly a month or even a couple.

For those that know our boys, don’t be strangers to them too please.

Had a couple conversations with my first wife today and she’s in pretty good spirits considering, so until next time, I bring you your quote of the day:

Me: But I’m glad you got to have a nice shit release.

Marjana: Lol, yeah that is so good.

Me: See that’s the difference between you and me aye. I’d have just shat in the corner haha.

Marjana: Yep, not funny.

But it is.

A perfectly timed gift delivery as about to head into hospital

#53 The squirrel comes home, again

That stent in the liver has worked a treat so the first line of this blog finishes with a, fuck yeah!

I knew before anyone that the endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) was a success because my first wife was getting more growlier by the day.

Hospital this time around was actually quite a pleasant experience. Apart from regular interruptions by doctors, nurses, cleaners and room service, I kinda hogged Marjana for her entire stay. Well, me in person and our Croatian family back home via video, of course.

Was kinda nice hanging with her all day every day over the last week. Nothing we ain’t been doing for the last 25 years, just in a different environment. Kind of a forced holiday so to speak, but in hospital. Lucky we don’t hate each other I s’pose.

So yeah, sorry ’bout not sharing her much lately but she’s improving day by day. By that, I mean her liver not working has changed to working mode. Not that cunty cancer though. Nah she’s still fucked from that big time but with the immediate liver issue sorted, she’s fading back to her more olive coloured skin colour. Dalmatian olive, as in the colour I just made up and not the stone fruit.

Actual real life photo of how yellow my first wife got before liver ERCP

Once we’re home and settled we’re hoping for bit more of an opportunity to share her around with y’all but there’s a couple of issues though.

She’s been so fucked up over the last few months that she hasn’t been able to get vaxed. I mean, she wanted to but hasn’t been healthy enough to actually get it done. That means she’s vulnerable as fuck to COVID and should she become infected, it won’t end well.

We like all kinds of happy endings but when we know an ending ain’t gunna be happy, we’re kinda going with the happy part being the ride towards the end.

That’s all compounded now that our borders are open and COVID positive numbers are growing faster than my nostril hairs (ok, maybe not that fast). The chance of our star character in these stories becoming infected is almost as high as Cheech in that Up in Smoke car scene after picking up Chong.

My sleeping beauty (apparently one can still be a beauty when snoring and doing saxaphone sounding farts when asleep next to me) will be leaving hospital today to return home. Just in time too as the house is a mess and really could do with a vacuum.

Basically, her bilirubin count (liver) is down (that’s good) but her haemoglobin was also down (not good), so she’s waiting on another blood transfusion before custody release papers will be signed.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. It’s taken us 25 years to work out Marjana’s spirit animal is a fucking squirrel of all things. She stores all her hospital room service food like she’s living during WWII food stamp era. A modern day prepper of the stage four metastised bowel cancer prepping homies gang. Seriously man, I turn up to hang for the day and she’s offering her hoarded cheese and cracker snacks to fatten me up. If I didn’t have to drive home every night, I’d be bringing a nice merlot to compliment the cheeses.

Inside a squirrel’s den in the early stages of hoarding

We’re gunna need a bit of a game plan going forward because basically, we’ve been given a use by date. More on that topic in the next blog, hopefully.

We had a very real chat with our palliative care doctor and the last thing we really want is to cut short the already fleeting time we’ve got left because of a COVID infection.

Conversations with the palliative care dude, whose a real good cunt by the way, included confronting topics like whether to die at home or in a hospice. It’s kinda an ugly topic to ponder, as are many others for us right now but fuck man, ya gotta look at it from a positive angle and having the option to choose where ya take ya last breath is very much a blessing compared to an unexpected death.

Since our squirrel’s hospital admission, I’ve been spending the day with her. Leave home about 7.30am and usually get home about 9pm. Sort dinner and all that shit, go to bed and wake up to do it all again. Either the first or second morning though, I freaked out big time.

I was woken by a phone call from my first wife… you know, the squirrel one. She said the doctors had reviewed one of her scans, that she’d been in pain overnight, wasn’t too flash and finished by saying ‘Brendon, I think I’m fucked.’

Oh man, my heart sank and I felt sick. Not angry sick like I get from All Black Rugby World Cup losses but just as sad… maybe even worse. I had a piss, brushed my teeth and drove one of the longest 30 minute drives to find out exactly how fucked with the worst possible scenarios taking centre stage in what ‘fucked’ actually meant. Oh yeah, I also got dressed first too.

We ain’t doctors and not really in the know as to how long some cunt can live when their liver’s rooted but with that and that cunty cancer, Marjana felt she didn’t have long at all. I’d like to say that’s all changed now with the liver stent so a little battle was won that buys us more alive time. We prefer alive times, especially compared to dead times.

We are still losing ground on the cunty cancer front though. The cancer is the war too and not just a battle. At least now though, there are options on the table like getting chemo again. Everyone neds a working liver to process all shit that goes into ya body, including of course, poisons such as chemo. In fact, hopefully even have chemo this Wednesday.

When ya not home to enjoy ya Christmas tree after Christmas, just leave it up till next Christmas and drink a beer because beer is good or just put it in another room with a rubbish bag over it aye Michelle

Just in case anyone’s wondering, sponge baths are a good timing way to break up cheese and cracker picnics in Mater Private’s Ward 8, especially if you’re the recipient. Not quite as much fun when you’re the one giving them but still, better than a punch in the head.

Tell ya what though, this cunty cancer journey is like fighting a whole heap of different battles on different fronts. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Much like our Mother Earth all being connected and intertwined, so is the human body. If a particular organ is a bit rooted it usually affects another part of the body that may need sorting before the primary issue. That means going places and organising shit and that too now tends to be similarly connected with absolutely everything COVID. Pressure builds and with it stress and the subsequent connected flow-on from that.

But all is not lost people because there’s another interconnected piece to the puzzle that helps counter that entire previous paragraph. It’s the love and support from y’all and that right there is medicinal as fuck. It has helped get us this far. You’re a bunch of real good cunts who’ve made our lives better over the last year and a half. Never enough thank yous for this so I do hope y’all are blessed with an unlimited amount of orgasms.

Me and my squirrel didn’t get to be together at the strike of midnight crossing from 2021 to 2022 but she did survive the year so was nice to see her with a beating heart early on January 1, 2022.

No cunt pissed me off on New Years eve as was only me there to argue with

The above I wrote over the last couple days and since then we’ve made it home.

Should’ve seen when the first wife was being wheeled out of hospital though. Anyone watching could’ve been forgiven for thinking she was doing an Olympic victory lap as most of the nurses came out to see her off. She was waving and smiling, as were all the sheilas who’d looked after her. Did everything except sign autographs. Was nice to see her so loved, even by people that only recently met her.

Not sure how many chemos she’s got left in her but game on again tomorrow… actually game on now as didn’t publish this until now and we’re currently doing the Chernobyl thing.

Doing the squirrel move to coincide with sirens

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