cancer is a cunt – Page 4 – Woodstock's blog

#47 Radiation and doing shit

Been a while since I last blogged and this one’s probably a little overdue. But fuck man, it’s kinda hard finding the time to get these updates down on paper and that’s with me still only working a couple days per week. You’d think I’d have heaps of time on my hands but nah, not even. A slave’s work is never done. You’ll probably need about 15 minutes to read this so depending where you are and what you’re doing, ya might wanna grab a coffee or beer and settle in for a bit.

It’s the small things in life like finding a heart when eating chips at chemo

We can’t start this chapter without first mentioning one of Marjana’s workmates, Michelle. She absolutely loves her dog but it’s Michelle we call a naughty little bitch and not her dog but for good reason. Firstly, her dog is actually a boy, so technically he can’t be a bitch but also because it was Michelle who set up another GoFundMe page. Both of us (especially Marjana) felt like paupers putting our hands out when it really wasn’t that at all. Not that we didn’t or don’t appreciate it because we definitely do, as we appreciate every single donation sent our way. We’ve done our best to personally thank every single person and apart from a couple we couldn’t work out who they were, we did pretty well considering. Check it out here.

Y’all must be rich as wanting to throw money at us like that. Reminds me of my ol’ man-whore days but a lot easier on my body. Don’t get me wrong though because there’s still plenty of pain. Just a different concentrated kind of pain with longer lasting effects than that caused from standing under a dimly lit streetlight on a cold stormy night. That pain is of course cancer which is not contagious at all, unless of course you’re talking of the emotional pain in which case it spreads far and wide like an ol’ westy sheila’s legs back in the day.

As evidenced by the lack of long haired ringlets, this is very much a *post* man-whore days pic

As embarrassing as it is, the targeted total of $30,000 has well and truly been achieved and then some. As I write, the amount sits at $27,688 but so many have donated personally rather than going under the GoFundMe page, which leaves us richer than we’ve ever been in our lives. By richer, I don’t actually mean monetary wise. I’m talking about having so many good cunts in our lives that try and help anyway they can.

Our life would be heaps better without cunty cancer coming a knocking but it could seriously be heaps worse too. We are surrounded by people who genuinely give a fuck, want to help and do actually help. The love and support we feel is so so so humbling and makes us tear up whenever we try to disect it.

Remember too that this is actually the second GoFundMe page that was set up for us.

🙏 Thank you 🙏 Hvala 🙏 Thank you 🙏 Hvala 🙏 Thank you 🙏 Hvala 🙏

Moving right along though, I now need to let y’all know how bitterly disappointed I was when ‘No Bra Day’ came and went with what I would call, a very piss poor effort by many of you on this great day for all mankind. October 13 isn’t just about admiring the cheeky little jiggle of licentious tits or the teasing of perky erect nipples under a t-shirt. Oh no, it’s way more than that as it’s also a sneaky little reminder for you sheilas to go get ya checks and balances done. If you’re due for a mammogram, smear test, skin cancer check, bowel cancer test or even if ya just like the old school prostate cancer check for fun, the go sort that shit out man, please. Since drafting this a good mate has since been diagnosed with breast cancer, another has had a heart attack and yet another was admitted to hospital for some other fucked up shit, so very topical.

You know what else we did on No Bra Day? We went to visit our surgeon Peter for a bit of a catch up, chat and laugh. Took him a roll of sandpaper to top up his tissue tray for any new unsuspecting clients.

After that we went to see some radiation oncologist dude about options there and have since started and completed a radiation treatment plan consisting of five daily sessions and a few grand outlaid for the privilege of having Marjana’s life saved again.

For those who don’t know (and we didn’t really know either) radiation targets a specific area and is precise within a millimetre where as chemo shrouds the whole body with poison to combat cancer. This is probably better for metastised cancer like Marjana’s but the radiation was definitely needed because that cunt of an alien inside her bowel came back a bit angry and was bleeding and shit, so like a Wallabies scrum, it had to be stunted. That’s why the first wife was a little bit rooted for a few months, needing continual blood transfusions to top up what she was losing.

The ol’ laser beam treatment was pretty cool for what it achieved and how the process worked. Each treatment only lasted about five minutes before she was released back into my custody, usually for a sleep as it fatigued the fuck out of the poor ol’ battler. She felt heaps better than she did following her Chernobyl sessions but still slept like a… very loud train.

Adding her print to a tree of much hope and life

Here’s to hoping that radiation helped a bit sometimes experts with cool words in front of their names like Surgeon, Specialist and Bald Fat Cunt don’t always agree, but on this point we do.

When you ring a finishing radiation bell but freak out at how loud it is

The Mrs was really enjoying having time out from chemo though and after a six week break she was feeling flash as. Not too dissimilar to how she felt when she was initially diagnosed with cancer. Good, but could die any moment from her fucked up guts.

In other breaking news some fucked up shit went down recently that I’m not particularly proud of (said the spastic who has a mankini pic in this blog). I’d hung out a load of washing and the satisfaction felt when I stepped back was, to put it plainly, revolting. The strategic placement of each garment made for a perfectly filled clothesline without even one space left to spare. It really was a thing of beauty and moral corruption, for I should not be slaved so abusively. There is slavery and then there is slavery. Unfortunately, I’ve realised I’ve been moulded into the later.

A dogfish, an improved cat and a first wife

Death is inevitable but when faced with it occurring sooner rather than later, the inevitability can be very confronting. Need to sort shit out that is a cunt to sort out. Things like finding a funeral director, purchasing expensive real estate in the form of a grave, modifying wills and a whole lot of other fuckety fuck fuck shit.

Looks like we found a suitable piece of real estate for when the time comes. Mind you it did come with a prerequisite that I share the space with her. I’m always up for a deal and a two for the price of one makes me feel good in all things beer, food and graves. Gotta be a good deal, right.

As usual we’ve been busy as fuck and as much as the first wife could use a bit of a slow down, it’s not really our style doing the living life approach to life. Made a point of catching up with our inner circle as much as possible and to that I say ‘Fuck yeah!’.

Spent a primo weekend down the Gold Coast thanks to our angel of an aunty Karen who offered up their apartment for a weekend. When we were kids, the ol’ lady would take us to Karen for haircuts and this one time she used a bladed weapon (scissors) and cut my fuckin ear real bad. But with the use of their apartment and the fact she has a genuine superpower of always remembering birthdays, she can sleep contently tonight knowing she’s now forgiven.

But anyway, back to the Gold Coast, one of us drank piss and ate decent tucker and one of us closed her eyes for half an hour that turned into a 12 hour sleep. I actually blame the Mrs work mates for that as we all caught up for a feed earlier that day. It ain’t the eating though, that makes one tired but a heap of sheilas doing catch up talking certainly does. It was a primo little lunch the Mrs loved that flowed into a relaxed weekend.

Dilan finally had his (Catholic) confirmation which my first wife wasn’t gunna miss for anything and proved that by turning up feeling a little bit shit with her chemo bottle attached. Was a nice little event and if anyone deserves to go to heaven it’s him ‘cos he’s a pretty good cunt.

A lot of that is thanks to Iona College where he spent his high school years. They’ve been the perfect fit for him and have been so good to us, not only with cancer but from day one. Iona College Rector, Father Michael came around for a visit, blessed our home. gave Marjana the Sacrament of Annointing of the Sick and of course we shared a mean as feed of lamb rack.

To the other spectrum, for some reason (called Kym) we ended up at a chicks with dicks show at Redland Performing Arts Centre (RPAC). The show called Dirty Laundry gave us a few laughs including the Samoan and Tongan fa’afafine built like front row forwards but after seeing their getups I’m kinda glad I left my mankini hanging up in the closet.

Then came Melbourne Cup day and again, Kym figured she’d take my cook along to a table full of sheilas and she covered the cost of the ticket. I’m not sure where my first wife found the shoelace she put on her head but she never fails to surprise me as she somehow managed to even tie the shoelace as if it was still on a shoe. Talented to the max, I reckon. Anyway, she went with no money and came home with some, thanks to their table winning the sweepstake. As me ol’ mate Scotty says, ‘Easy money’.

I drafted this blog a few weeks ago but yesterday we returned to visit to our surgeon Peter Yuide and lucky we did because a little look around his office identified something I could use to take the piss. A piece of art work that I believe was in fact a painting, which upon closer inspection revealed the coarse grit not too dissimilar to his tissues. Of course I raised my concerns with him.

Close up pic of either a painting or a tissue

Today we went to Chernobyl Day again and were almost sent away as my first wife had a fever last night that hadn’t dissolved. Apparently she’s supposed to go to hospital whenever she gets a fever because she can get all fucked up real quick, so we’re a little bit naughty apparently.

But she got her dose of a new concoction which unfortunately comes with bad pins and needles in her fingers, thanks to the make up of that brew. Our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one can stake claim to the first of a few quotes of the day.

Oncologist: I’ll give you some antibiotics. You’re not allergic to anything are you?

Marjana: Just bees.

Oncologist: Ok, I’ll make sure they’re not bee based.

Next up was our surgeon Peter who mentioned something about someone being too scared to fart.

Me: Probably for good reason as I’m scared of Marjana’s farts.

We went to visit a good friend in hospital and used google maps with the generic sheila voice. Admittedly, I was a bit stressed from some other shit going on and got a bit pissed off because her directions were shit.

Me: Should have a fucken bloke talking, not this sheila. He’d probably ask me why I even need directions, don’t stop for instructions and just do whatever I want.

Part of a slave’s job, or at least this one’s, is to massage my first wife’s feet while sitting on the couch watching tv. This in itself most definitely crosses over with flow on effect of me also having to give her a back massage. Apparently I keep getting up for beer or moving to reach for a beer causing my dear ol’ first wife to become annoyed…

Marjana: Brendon, stop moving. You’re not a very good pillow.

Rather than taking a heap of tablets and pain killers, both of which are inevitable with modern day cancer treatments, the Mrs is keen on trying the more natural approach of CBD oil. In the old days we used to just call this hash oil but apparently I’m out of touch and it’s not quite the same. There are a couple of varieties including one with THC and one without. The THC one also treats anxiety but then ya can’t drive a vehicle. My dishwasher sheila doesn’t want the hooch version and neither do I because then she can’t be my sober driver. But either way, she needs to partake in a two week trial which has quite a bit involved in being accepted. One such thing is a memory test where a short story is told to her and questions are asked about it.

Me: You’re giving her a memory test? Just ask her anything to do with any date that I’ve pissed her off over the years, she’ll nail it big time, man.

The first wife has been in a bit of pain lately as feeling more and more of the effects of cunty cancer throughout her body. Yeah, fuck you (again) cancer. You suck.

Marjana: My back hurts.

Me: Why?

Marjana (gave me her knowing look of contempt): I have cancer ljubavi.

That moment made me cry.

Candles go with prayers even if they do have devilish looking angels in the centre

Not wanting to finish on a sad note and for me the following quote is by far my favourite.

In her defence, Marjana didn’t want me to throw it in here because some might think she was being mean and I’m like ‘Fuck the cunts. Having stage four metastised bowel cancer is mean,’ so here it is.

For those that watch ABC news, you’ve probably identified that some of the presenters look or sound a little funky. Marjana was watching it and told me to come quickly to check out the spunky looking sheila reporting on something out in the field somewhere. I don’t need to be invited twice to perve on a good looking chick and not wanting to upset my first wife I did as requested and rushed to check her out.

Marjana: She looks way too pretty for ABC.

Me: Oh yeah. She’s spunky as.

Marjana: Maybe she’s missing a leg.

Fuck I laughed at that one!

For anyone even remotely interested, Bird’s still very much a cunt.

Bird admiring his handy work and watching me drink piss

A first wife’s reaction to her youngest child getting his ears pierced

Cheers y’all and feel free to spam my window cleaner with messages of whatever.

#46 Hearing facts sometimes sucks

To put it simply, yesterday was a cunt of a day.

We met with our surgeon Peter who made both me and the first wife cry.

He’s quite a brainy dude actually. Thinkin’ he picked up that I may have been lying when I said I’m still just sad about Saturday’s All Black loss to the Springboks. Full credit to the Boks and congrats heaps for your deserved victory.

At 29 – 28 with penalty kick to come this is not a laughing matter Marjana

A couple of key points taken out of our conversation were…

‘Marjana, your specific cancer is a very very nasty one and you will not win this battle. This cancer is going to kill you.

The kicker though was…

‘I can’t tell you how long you will live but I can tell you this will be your last Christmas.’

Like you reading this right now, those are powerful words that hit home with a fucking bang saying ‘cop that ya cunts’. Well that’s what it felt like for me.

Arguably, one of the worst parts of the day was Marjana putting on her nice undies for Peter and he never even gave her the chance to jump up on the bed and show him. They are Nana undies but apparently they’re quite flash ones because they’re still new.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, an operation is an option but have now heard it’s not actually a very good option, at least in the interim. Firstly, her Chernobyl poison contains Avastin which slows down blood vessel growth and is great for stemming cancer growth but it also prevents healing which she’d need after another serious operation. It’s the difference between a week in hospital or potentially months in a hospital bed. So it’s not even really an available option for another six to eight weeks anyway.

Peter also said that everything he’s done so far has been to make to improve Marjana’s life and if he were to operate, there’s a very good chance I would make her life worse, rather than better.

There is also consideration for quality of life versus quantity of life.

Without even going into post op details like definitely needing a permanent stoma bag, the main issue is the cunt of a tumour and where it is inside her bowel.

So we left Peter’s office and made it back to our car feeling (uncomfortably) numb with faces as wet as a fish’s. Had some cuddles and painful howls and I said ‘Fuck you Marjana’, and she then apologised for making me sad. Gunna need a little more than a verbal apology wife.

A little advice for anyone going to see Peter for bad news… bring your own soft tissues because I think he has 80 grit sandpaper camouflaged in his tissue boxes.

Popped over to see our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one.

He gave my first wife the rest of the week off chemo and will be back into it on Wednesday but with a different potion of poison.

Y’all know I take the piss out of him a little with his name but he’s actually a good little cunt and no doubt rich as fuck but good on him because the power he wields with his knowledge is without doubt life changing.

His tissues I think are 120 grit so softer that Peter’s but not as soft as a few of the All Blacks unfortunately were in last Saturday’s test match. I did sent Peter a text saying the Gnome’s tissues are way softer than his though and in his defence he did say he couldn’t compete with that.

Although the ol’ girl didn’t have her Chernobyl session they still wanted a blood sample so we popped over looking like a couple of real sad depressed cunts.

Marjana had her purse on the chair next to her and I moved it so I could sit down but fuck did I jump or what. Yeah, I moved her purse alright but didn’t see her 600ml bottle of water and when I sat down on it I pretty much took a full on length, or at least a good 400ml worth of and was even with my shorts on. Oh man, it was an extremely accurate entry and I can tell you from experience that those bottles have quite a large girth. But this made my poor little cancer suffering first wife laugh her head off and the tears that then flowed from her were tears of laughter and not pain. Not mine though. My tears were very much pain induced. In fact, those few seconds almost reminded me of my man-whore days back in San Francisco.

We’d had our inner circle mates down for a couple of days and the poor bastards decided to stay another night so they could be sad and shit with us. Sick puppies or what. Nah, cheers Biggles and Lexi for hanging around and making me drink piss with y’all.

We took a little visit to our local dog beach and spent the day and night telling family back in Croatia and New Zealand of our shitty status update. Every single conversation involved tears so rather than keep doing the same, I’m flicking this blog out to anyone who wants to read it.

Our hearts ripped apart when we told both our boys though. Hadn’t had a Winslow family hug for a while so about due for one anyway, I guess. For those that know them, please check in on them.

Just as I got to this part of the blog, Marjana received a call to book in for an appointment today with some radiation doctor fella. Here I was thinking they were phoning to check on my welfare after I took a length of that large girthed water bottle but nup, it’s all about the Mrs apparently.

Basically though, this is still an ongoing changing situation and we still have options available including the key one of not giving up and continuing to fight like a hard core streetfighter fighting for their life, because that’s exactly what’s happening here.

Also very aware that others have lived longer than times given so there’s comfort in that as there is in Marjana’s faith.

We ain’t the first people to be fucked over by COVID but it sure would be nice for Marjana to fly back to Croatia for a family visit or even have our New Zealand family be able to pop over but fuck you COVID and yeah, fuck you too cancer. You are a cunt.

These very real conversations make ya think about shitty things like sorting funerals, gravestones and even financial situations so if any of y’all have tips, wisdom or experience with these then let us know please.

Any and all are welcome to message Marjana.

A sneaky little quote of the day…

Peter the surgeon: With bowel cancer sometimes there can be so much blood in your stool you’d think you were attacked by a shark.

This vid may just bring a smile to your face. It did ours.

Who says laughing isn’t contagious

#45 First PET scan

Marjana had her first PET scan last Friday. She’d had a bunch of CT scans but this was her very first PET scan. For normal people who have no need to know the difference, a PET scan basically shows things in more detail than a CT so we were a little anxious to say the least.

Now would be an ideal time to give y’all some good news about recovery and shit but real life ain’t always perfect. I mean even the All Blacks don’t always win.

In fact, life can sometimes be a real cunt!

Colours are cool including all those rainbow colours the gay community proudly wear (not sure if there’s a crossover to my tie-dyed clothed Deadhead days at Grateful Dead concerts) but… we don’t definitely didn’t like all the bright colours that glowed in this PET scan. Nup, they’re a little bit fucked actually.

This Grateful Dead ts actually shows colours and a skeleton not too disimilar to Marjana’s PET scan

Basically, the guts of the matter is that these Chernobyl sessions have kept the cancer mostly at bay for a year except for a lesion in her liver and some ugly Chernobyl-ish looking bright colours at the same spot she had the operation in her bowel to remove some tumours.

Our surgeon Peter Yuide said from the start that they couldn’t get all the cancer out in the operation so we knew it was still there to be managed with the likes of chemo, prayers and taking the piss. The fact it didn’t just give up like I’d like teams to do when playing the All Blacks really sucked.

For you regular readers, you may recall me saying the ol’ girl has been a bit rooted over the last couple months with fatigue, well it looks like this may be a result of internal bleeding and the cancer growing.

Oh, another term for a little bit rooted is anaemic.

Marjana gets blood tests done every fortnight just before chemo and for the last couple/few months they’ve come back with numbers lower than an Aussie cricketer’s batting score. Her haemoglobin in her last blood test for example was 72 and although I think 100 is sufficient, ideal is above 120 (I think).

Plus her iron count was only nine and (again, I think) it’s supposed to be around 40. Fuck, I need to stop this thinking shit.

If I was writing a blog about other shit I’d like to write about then it would make for very different reading. But these are The Cancer Chronicles and we tend to call it how it is even if it’s an ugly cunt of a thing because that’s exactly what it is (bowel cancer) and anyone grossed out can go read Karen on Facebook.

No cancer is cool but bowel cancer certainly ain’t the most romantic of cancers because it inevitably involves shit.

This may or may not be a response to Pudding’s response to a loud fart

Some of my very best times in my life ever have involved shit though. A myriad of you have already heard a few of my real life stories about faeces (both mine and that fucken Slovenian cunt) but there is nothing worse than being in public knowing you’re about to shit your pants, unless you’re not wearing pants. Don’t try and deny it either as I know y’all been there at some stage.

To the contrary though, there’s nothing better than successfully sucking that grogan and it’s turtlehead back up inside as far as you can and making it to a toilet just in time for that pressure release. Not sure about you fellas but personally I always hope that they people watching me beeline to the toilet doing some spastic squeezy kind of walk have left when I come out. But that’s just me.

Sorry, I got a little excited and side-tracked there but tend to do that when telling tales about shits.

Where was I… oh yeah, the first wife and her war with bowel cancer has got a few of her own shit stories. Her relationship with various versions of blood infused diarrhoea aint exactly what she likes to call a good time, especially after chemo when it feels like it’s ripping her insides out. As much as it hurts me to see how that affects her, it’s nothing compared to her living it in the first person.

So following a combo of black blooded diarrhoea, low iron, vitamin D and an extraordinary low haemoglobin count Wednesday’s Chernobyl day was kind of cancelled, but not really. Our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one gave her a week off chemo but ordered my first wife a couple more pints of blood and a pint of iron. Lately, she’s been going through blood bags like I go through piss (for you Americans, I mean beer, not urine). If ol mate’s gunna order pints I could do with a few of my own. Beer though, not blood.

A look of guilt upon being spotted by a chemo nurse with nice smelling Pad Thai to chomp on

A few hours later my first wife came out feeling a bit more energetic… not energetic enough to vacuum though but energetic enough to compete with our dog Bella about who gives me the most kisses.

Although she felt better from her blood transfusions and the iron infusion, this was actually a cunt of a day. We’ve had a few of them and they don’t certainly don’t get any easier.

The PET scan shows heaps but they still need to check internally and rather than just do a colonoscopy (up the ass), they need to do an endoscopy (down the throat) as well. Sounds a lot more erotic than what this one is, believe me. I think my first wife is hoping they use different equipment or at least do the endoscopy before the colonoscopy. With the amount of kisses she gives me, I’m actually hoping that too.

She’s booked in for both procedures this afternoon.

She may piss on my clothes on occasion but Pudding loves her Mama so much and makes her feel heaps better

Now I know what you’re thinking right. She just loves operations and shit like suffering the pre op diets, the pain, the inconvenience to life and the financial cost of being a as crook as a dog but nah man. She’s gotta have these procedures because quite simple, cancer is a cunt.

Following our Wednesday day came our Wednesday night when our surgeon Peter Yuide phoned to have a very real conversation. Just because we both reckon he’s a good cunt, doesn’t mean we have to enjoy what he says and what was said during that phone call didn’t exactly fill us with elation.

I know he follows these blogs because even great surgeons deserve to see their name and laugh at the same time. He, more than most fully appreciates our situation and by situation, I mean the cards we’ve been dealt and how we’ve tried to deal with them.

Haven’t taken many photos lately so here’s a few small feeds I did on my smoker

Although not the full conversation, your first quote of the day goes against the norm as isn’t funny but gets a mention because it is what it is.

Peter the surgeon: This is not the first time you’ve received news like this and you must be almost used to it by now. We’ll know more after your procedures on Friday but another operation isn’t off the table. Ideally we do not want to go back in to that part of the bowel and will look at options after reviewing Friday’s procedures. But over this last year Marjana, you haven’t dwelt upon the bad parts or given up and just died. Instead, you’ve rolled with the punches and basically lived life to the fullest, which I’m sure you will continue to do thanks to that crazy husband of yours.

Think she’s either praying a rosary for good health or for a normal husband

Those that have had colonoscopies can appreciate the prep involved. You have to drink heaps of gross shit that makes you shit out absolutely everything inside you and believe me it ain’t fun. Actually, when I put it like that it reminds me of my partying days pre first wife.

My first wife made me have a colonoscopy because she was scared for me after she was diagnosed. Either that, or she wanted me to suffer like she does. As gross as the prep drink shit is, I just open throat skulled most of it so the pain from the taste is short and sharp. But my first wife wasn’t born a Winslow and doesn’t have those skulling genes from birth like I had and our boys have. She married into it and therein lies the difference.

It’s hard not to laugh. Too hard in fact so I overtly laughed at her when she tried to drink that shit. She actually tortures herself by making the pain last longer and sipping ever so daintily, even with pinky in the air.

Me: It’s not a fine wine wife. Just skull that shit, man!

She didn’t but she did make me laugh again when she started gagging and coughing and spluttering. My laughing made her laugh which in turn made her gag, cough, splutter and laugh at the same time. This snowballed making me laugh even harder. Now that’s living right.

And your last quote of the day…

Marjana (immediately after she sneezed in bed after drinking prep drink): Oh good, I didn’t shit the bed.

Today is a crucial day for us as to where we go forward from here so if you’re the praying kind, do your thing please.

#44 Milestone reached

Milestones are nice aye. Well at least the good ones are.

But even fucked ones can be worth celebrating. You know, like being diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer but still being alive after one full cycle around the sun.

A whole year later and she ain’t even a little bit dead.

Fuck yeah!

Obviously it hasn’t all been what we’d call a shit hot time though. Marjana’s changed heaps but the key point being she’s still alive to actually change.

There’s been some extreme hairstyle makeovers, heaps of spews and gallons of diarrhoea to compliment the constipation along the way and fuck man, those snorts she now makes when she laughs would shame a wild boar.

This cancer life we now live has changed us all as none of us are the same people we were a year ago. Fact!

Although my first wife is still kinda growly (it’s a wife thing I believe), I have to admit she doesn’t sweat the small stuff like our pre cancer days. It’s really puts things into perspective and that’s actually a positive.

life hack #101 – when ya cat spews up a feed let ya dog eat the spew – two feeds for the price of one

But as I sit here typing away my first wife is laying beside me in pain. She’s got her chemo bottle attached and is crying in agony from stomach cramps thanks to chemo.

This particular blog has taken me fucking ages to write as I know for a fact some of you come here for a laugh as well as an update and no cunt reads these aspiring to get depressed. To be honest though, sometimes I do struggle to find the words to cover off both elements. By that I mean, giving a status update without leaving you, the reader feeling like that Mona Lisa sheila looks in that painting.

I’m trying to write this and wipe away my first wife’s tears at the same time. Being the considerate poor li’l wifey though, she helped me by grabbing a tissue to wipe tears from two pairs of eyes and then whispered how romantic it is to share tear tissues. Fuck man, I’m just happy we’re finally saving money on tissue usage but seriously though, that shit can not not change anyone.

Fuck you cancer! You’re a cunt and can fuck right off if ya don’t mind.

Ya haven’t killed us yet. Came pretty close; but close don’t count for shit.

The ol’ girl has struggled a bit of late with her last few Chernobyl sessions affecting her quite badly. She’s been in heaps of pain and continually fatigued as fuck so even her good weeks ain’t like the good weeks of old.

We recently went to see our surgeon. You know the one… Peter the good cunt. Sounds a bit like one of Jesus’s disciples aye. The first wife even put on her nice perfume and a semi decent pair of undies… Nana undies can be semi decent if they are new and don’t have holes apparently.

We were trying to find out why she’s been in so much pain of late. Still not 100% sure but our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome, even though he looks like one, gave the ol’ girl an extra week off chemo which, along with a couple more blood transfusions helped our cause.

In fact the day after that decision she surprisingly woke up feeling pretty bloody good and stayed like that for almost a whole week… Sometimes we’ll take what we can get.

It’s fair to say though, we’ve probably been a tad dehydrated of late as too much eye sweat can leave one feeling not very flash at all.

For those who’ve followed these blogs since day one, you’ve no doubt shared a ride with bumps as big as an erect nipple on a lovely perky tit and lows almost as bad as food poisoning the All Blacks in rugby world cup finals. But I’d also like to think that along the way you’ve snuck in a few laughs… and maybe the odd bewildered comment along the lines of ‘Did he really just say that?’. That actually leads nicely into your our quote of the day…

Oncologist: (talking about chemo options) Hopefully we can get that all mopped up.

Me: Oooh yippeee, Marjana just loves mopping and she’s real good at it too.

we don’t always get a menu at hospital but when we do we try and get beer

Going back though to that milestone of surviving an entire year, there are actually a few significant dates we wont forget and we ain’t even sure which one/s to celebrate.

It was back on August 12, 2020 when Marjana woke up with swollen glands, called in sick to work and went to the doctor.

The next few days were an absolute cunt of a time to be honest with the worst being August 19, 2020 when she was officially diagnosed with cancer – stage four metastised bowel cancer to be precise. That’s one mean as memory scar right there.

A few days later came hospital admissions for chemo portal insertion, colonoscopy and ultimately the all important life saving ‘subtotal colectomy’ surgery, which for normal people translates to cutting her guts open, ripping out some cancer tumours followed by a little bit of realignment plumbing and sewing the guts back up.

None of the above were happy times but they are milestones that do deserve to be celebrated. Milestones (at least for me) usually involve drinking a bunch of piss so tend to end up as a good time. I’m sure I read somewhere that this month Virgos gunna luck upon some beer skulls and jager shots but in all honesty it could’ve just been my own fortune telling.

Ideally, I should compile a list of all the people who have helped us through this last year but I refuse because I’ll inevitably leave some cunt off, only to remember after posting the blog. Y’all know who ya are anyway.

People often ask how I’m going and to be honest it’s a cunt of a feeling seeing ya loved one in absolute agony and crying uncontrollably because of it.

It’s also a cunt of a feeling seeing the extreme physical change in ya first wife and not that I give a fuck if she’s getting fat or has fuck all hair or whatever but seeing how it’s affected her with a body aging many years in a single year is what’s sad. It’s not just the body but the emotion and mental state that’s affected her because of it.

To see, hear and experience that is quite simply just a cunt. But it ain’t nothing compared to her living it in the first person.

This particular blog wasn’t meant to read like an All Blacks Rugby World Cup loss but real life cancer stories more often than not are unfortunately not usually of the fluffy feel good genre.

Not sure if you’ve heard but there’s this little thing called COVID-19 that also came into the mix around cancer diagnoses time so there’s also that freaky element. Not that we’re the only ones affected by lockdowns and spastics stockpiling toilet paper but one can’t reflect upon the last year without at least mentioning Corona.

If ya are looking for a good time, I do recommend not getting cancer. If, for some reason you did fall victim to it then I personally recommend fighting that mongrel cunt of a thing like their ain’t no tomorrow because one day that may just be the case.

As this particular blog took a few weeks to write, it’s only right that I finish by adding that right now my first wife is actually feeling good this week. So good that we were even able to go on a dump run date together…

… and go to see this really cool band called Victor Bravo live.

Victor Bravo are (left to right) Ben Cutting (guitar/vocals), Jakeb Brown (drums/vocals), Jack Flack (lead vocals/guitar) and Kodi Winslow (bass/vocals)

Victor Bravo live at The Zoo

#43 On your Marks, get set, Laser Eyes

Been a while since I last blogged but I got me a good excuse for at least a couple of those weeks that felt very much like a dream.

This blog ain’t exactly a Cancer Chronicles post but it does cross over so bear with me please while I try paint you a picture of some strange times of late.

With cunty cancer having played a massive part in our lives over the last year, one of my oldest best mates I don’t see often enough offered to fly over from New Zealand and shout me to State of Origin II. With the Australia/New Zealand bubble recently open that was now a real possibility.

I’m like ‘Fuck yeah! Keen as!’ and my first wife is like ‘Yes, of course you can go and enjoy, you handsome young devil you,’ and I’m like ‘Fuck yeah!’ again and louder.

I don’t like spending too much time away from my cook nowadays but figured a night, or even two at a stretch could be accommodated.

Now, I call my mate Scotty but his actual name is Michael, Michael Scott. He’s got a couple of bucks this fella; or at least enough to shout me to a footy game with the inevitable gallons of grog that come with it. He’s a good cunt like that. A bald good cunt.

For confusion’s sake I’m gunna call Scotty, Michael. You’ll see why soon.

The plan was Michael pops over for a few days, we drink some piss, watch some footy and he heads home leaving me with a slight hangover.

This was the first wife’s good week with chemo not till the Wednesday after Sunday’s game. Fucken beauty plan, I reckon!

These blogs are now read in many countries around the world so very quickly, for those outside of Australia and New Zealand, State of Origin is an annual three match rugby league competition between Queensland (QLD) and New South Wales (NSW). This year’s second game was a Sunday evening event at Suncorp Stadium in Brisbane, Queensland.

Now let me briefly take you back a little further to help put what comes later into perspective.

About 18 years ago both my first wife and I played a part in Michael’s wedding when he married some spunky young sheila called Marie. Marjana being the very best beauty therapist the whole wide world did the bridal party’s makeup and me with my skill-set, well not only was I Michael’s best man but I also got locked in a pub the night before the wedding with a couple other innocent fellas. We had to drink heaps of piss till we managed to escape sometime before sun up on the wedding day. That shit tends to happen in New Zealand, but anyway that’s another story all together.

Michael and Marie Scott lived happily ever after and had a couple of sprogs along the way. Sometimes though the ever after isn’t a forever after and they split the sheets going their separate ways. Without going into their personal lives too much (yeah right), Michael is currently sheila-less but Marie gone got herself a new man. Now I ain’t never been one to judge but it needs to be noted that her new fella is also called Michael. You know how hard it is to find a new man with the same name as ya old man? Well, I don’t but I imagine it really cuts down on the selection pool so well played Marie.

My mate Michael and his vein arrived in Brisbane and called me into the city a day earlier to get on the piss. Not wanting to let my good mate down I did as requested and met both him and some other cunt called Tappy that he was drinking with.

Now Tappy ain’t exactly an ugly cunt. He’s one of those dudes that’s got real good hair which basically means he’s got more than me. He seemed like a bloody good bastard too but amongst these fellas we tend not to highlight one’s finer traits. So a few sips into my first beer I looked him in the eye and told him ‘Fuck mate, you’re a bit of a fat cunt aye.’

We all laughed like fuck. Well, two of us did.

But this set the tone and I although I thought it impossible, Tappy’s guts grew larger with every beer we drank.

Michael’s a fit looking cunt but unlike Tappy, he’s as bald as I am but without my fat guts. He ain’t the ugliest cunt I’ve seen but he sure ain’t the prettiest and that’s a positive when ya need to take the piss out of ya mates.

After a dozen or so beers Michael mentioned that his ex-wife Marie was also going to Origin. She was shouting her (not so) new man Michael for his 40^th birthday and that they were gunna be in and out of Australia for less than two full days… like 46 hours or some shit.

I phoned the first wife to come meet us for dinner and Michael, Tappy, Marjana and I met Marie and Michael (the new improved model) for a choice as Asian feed in Southbank with the inevitable flow ons involving hops and grapes in liquid form. Was a primo night.

The following day was Origin. My first wife dropped me into town, kissed me, wished me luck told me to eat often and drink heaps of water.

I met Michael and Tappy at a pub and a little later in came Marie and Michael #2. By this stage we’ve got a few beers under our belts and we’d yell out ‘Hi Tappy’ whenever we saw a fat cunt with hair that walked past, we’d yell out ‘Hi Scotty’ when we saw a bald ugly cunt walking past and of course I often heard ‘Hi Woodstock’ being yelled loudly whenever a fat bald cunt walked past.

I started to realise that Michael #2 is a pretty good cunt actually. The fact that he also has a fat guts is a bonus in my eyes because it’s good ammo. Fuck yeah!

Made it to Origin and watched Queensland get a hiding. They sucked actually.

Couldn’t help them at all from where we were sitting but could help some poor security guard that was getting a hiding from some New South Wales fan that refused to be evicted for being a fuckhead.

I stayed with Michael at his hotel in the city and woke up not feeling too flash.

Now I can’t remember if it was Sunday night after the game or first thing Monday morning but New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern closed the travel bubble between New Zealand and Australia. Basically a few COVID cases were popping up here in Queensland but more so with the Mexicans south of the border in New South Wales who were racking up quite a few cases.

This wouldn’t have been an issue if it was after Marie and her new prototype version of Michael… and my mate Michael had already departed back for New Zealand, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Parts of Queensland went into lockdown and pretty much sorted it but New South Wales didn’t stamp it out and for whatever reason Queensland was included in the bubble closure until at least Wednesday or Thursday.

So, now we had three pissed cunts stuck here in Brisbane without a place to stay. Two of ‘em are a divorced couple and the third is the take two version of the divorced ex-husband, Michael.

Michael (first model) and Marie share their kids week about and Michael (second version) has a similar set up with his ex and their kids so they had to call in favours from family and friends to babysit and also sort out other life happenings as they genuinely couldn’t get home. None of ‘em could. They were stuck.

With the greater Brisbane now in lockdown, Marie and Michael (prototype 2) hired a car for three days to explore north to the Sunshine (Sunny) Coast, but before leaving they drove Michael (old worn-out version) and I back to my pad.

‘Hey I know what,’ said I.

You cunts all seem to love drinking piss.

I definitely love drinking piss.

It just so happens I got me some kegs full of beer at home and also a couple other fridges that excel at keeping piss cold.

Why don’t y’all come stay with us till the bubble opens?

Fuck, it’ll be so much fun, man… You can all share the same bed but you guys gunna have to decide amongst yourselves whose sleeping in the middle. You can even top and tail for all I care.’

The response was pretty much a three-person choir in unison saying ‘You’re a cunt Woodstock,’ but they do know I come attached with the first wife and that she’s nicer.

Marie and Michael #2 decided to stay the night and head to the Sunny Coast the following day.

Now this may or may not come as a surprise but we ended up drinking some piss and Tappy and his fat guts even came out to add weight to it. After 84 beers he left and I haven’t seen the poor cunt since.

I cooked us a couple of feeds over the fire, one of which I fucked up big time and will forever be known for that you bunch of mongrel cunts, but the other shit turned out primo.

From memory I think the following morning the Sunny Coast was added to the lockdown which severely inhibited their exploration plans as technically they weren’t really allowed to travel even outside of Brisbane.

Rather than waste money on hotels and restaurant food every night, all three of them decided to stay with us until they were able to head back to New Zealand in a couple days.

The lockdowns and the travel bubble closure were extended and a couple days turned into a few more days and ultimately a couple weeks.

I made a point of making them always sit together when travelling… because I’m a cunt, that’s why

But do you think our homeless houseguests would take time out to not drink piss? Nah, bunch of drunken piss drinking cunts they are but no cunt has ever left our home saying ‘Geez that Woodstock cunt is a shit host and didn’t feed us well and nor did he drink much piss,’ so of course I had to play my host part.

Even the first wife was in on it managing to fulfil her wine drinking ritual of smashing a full glass of wine all over our stairs.

She was as much a part of the piss drinking, piss taking scrum at our place as the rest of ‘em. Well she was right up until she had chemo on the Wednesday. Things changed somewhat after that. Well for us they did (mostly the first wife actually) but for every other cunt, nothing changed at all.

There were endless days and nights of fun and laughter, always with heaps of piss that was only really interrupted once and it was by my first wife calling for help.

It was Thursday night (the day after chemo but still with chemo bottle attached) and I thought I heard soft whimpering. When I didn’t hear it again, I figured it was the tv… until she phoned me from downstairs barely able to talk but managing to vocalise the word ‘Help.’

The others had already gone to bed and didn’t hear shit. I rushed downstairs and find poor lil ol’ wifey lying on the floor unable to move and covered in spew. The spew wasn’t just on her either. Nah man, it was everywhere, all through our bedroom and ensuite and fuck did I feel like a cunt.

She’s even trying to apologise for making a mess and I’m trying to tell her don’t be sorry and that it ain’t your fault and I’m sorry etc.

Fuck you cancer, you cunt of a piece of shit cunty disease. I hate you, man!

But managed to sort out Marjana the best we could and get through the night with only one more vomit.

Talk about a reality check, man. Switch off and have a good time Woodstock but not so much that ya actually switch off and not there when needed, ya dumb cunt!

We can’t tell how each chemo session will affect her as it’s often different but this time she got stomach cramps and it fucked her up for quite a few days. But she’s a trooper and tough as fuck, I tell ya.

Now I need to clarify here because I don’t want y’all thinking our homeless houseguests had overstayed their welcome, because they did not.

They’d all genuinely offered to move out but the first wife wasn’t gunna have a bar of it. She made it clear that if she needed time, she would just chill out in our room and although she can’t drink piss during this stage, they were to continue being the drunkards they/we are.

We all went through a few name changes over the period they stayed including variations such as Bald Ugly Cunt, Fit Bald Cunt, Fat Bald Cunt amongst others but and we ultimately settled on both Michaels being Mark I and Mark II and Marie being Laser Eyes.

Mark I and II are self-explanatory but Laser Eyes came about when Mark II hinted to his Mrs that maybe she should not open and drink that third bottle of wine and that maybe, just maybe she should go to bed. Everyone present was very happy that we weren’t Mark II at that moment because if her eyes were in fact real life lasers, he’d be the deadest cunt I ever met.

Resting those Laser Eyes between dirty looks

Mark I and Mark II got on okay before but they ended up spooning here in Queensland but they seriously bonded big time during this forced live in predicament.

Mark I loves the geegees and the TAB and took Mark II under his wing to teach him all his gambling bad habits and his spastic dance moves whenever he managed a win. Mark II fucking loved it. All of it.

Twinkle Toes

Mark I would smile knowingly at Mark II with a tag you’re it, bro, look when Laser Eyes would get all sheila-like and tell him to do something. It was a beautiful thing to see.

And whenever Mark I or I needed a place to shelter from the rain, we’d jump under Mark II’s guts and feel safe. Disclaimer: we couldn’t at the start of the stay because his guts was normal size but by the end of their stay there was room a plenty.

We went out for heaps for restaurant feeds and some may have got a little freaky as ol’ Laser Eyes’ surname is still Scott. So imagine the weird as looks when Mr Scott and Mrs Scott are being seated but Mrs Scott is all lovey dovey with Mark II who ain’t even a Scott.

Once things opened up slightly with COVID lockdowns we went on a few excursions including a great day at Mt Tambourine where it felt like my first wife and I were taking our kids on a cool little outing.

We all even managed to attend the Wallabies v France rugby test match. With it being rugby and not rugby league not even one of us got into a scrap.

After a few false starts and a couple of COVID tests each, both Mark I and Mark II; along with the sheila they have in common, ol Laser Eyes, all managed to make it back to New Zealand alive and much much heavier for their efforts.

I’m not sure what the airline thought when the seating would’ve been for two Scotts, one of which was called Michael but the other Scott spent the flight snuggled up to another Michael who wasn’t a Scott at all.

Laser Eyes feeding her two Marks

Our homeless houseguests are now back in their real world and I miss them dreadfully. They cooked and cleaned and paid for us every time we went out or had to grab more piss and it’s expensive for us to now have to live without them. Come back you deserting cunts! We both miss y’all.

Mark II walking off his KFC

Apart from Marjana having chemo and her spewy, crampy reaction to it, this was an awesome couple of weeks that we both absolutely loved. It was kind of an escape from our bowel cancer reality whilst still very much living it in the first person.

The Marks bonding over dishes and cooking

I’m pretty sure they enjoyed their stay too as by the time they left Mark II had changed the group chat name to The Very Best Tour EVER.

Finally, to finish on a couple of positives, the first wife is feeling all good right now. This one could be taken either way but Marjana had another CT scan before her last chemo and the result of that was status quo. It showed the cancer was pretty much the same size so although it hasn’t shrunk, it also hasn’t grown and when looking through these eyes people, that is indeed a positive.

And lastly, after returning to New Zealand Mark II proposed to ol’ Laser Eyes.

Therein lies the power and effect of living under the roof of Woodstock and his First Wife. All this while living a real life bowel cancer affected life.

Congratulations team!

Fuck yeah!

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