cancer is a cunt – Page 5 – Woodstock's blog

#42 The cold sore woman

If ya ever feeling a little bit too happy just google How long do people with stage four bowel cancer live and it should have resolve that over happy feeling for you.

There are of course fantastic outcomes and happy endings that even trump those of the back alley massage parlour, but ordinarily, the survival rate ain’t that of a paper cut and nor is it the life expectancy of a tortoise.

On a kinda positive note though, upon being diagnosed with bowel cancer the life expectancy is usually substantially longer than that of person involved in a fatal crash, following actual impact.

I imagine some of you reading this are like what the fuck man, but it is what it is and that’s the reality we live with. Plus there is always faith and hope and love and laughter and of course miracles… and beer and mean as feeds.

I reckon I’m ticking at least a couple of those traits and what I don’t quite achieve my first wife covers off in boundless supply.

I’ve found that sometimes when dealing with this cunt of a disease there are moments when life is all fine and dandy and then there are those other moments when you come home from work feeling happy but drained and end up with seeping eyes.

Enough of this sad shit reading though and back to something I’m much better at, taking the piss.

With the first wife’s brain being a little bit fucked up with her getting dizzy and shit we thought, hey lets go spend a chunk of money by seeing a neurologist sheila… so yeah, we did that.

She performed some funky moves but not like 1970s disco moves. Nah these were more like a cheating Springbok tactics against All Blacks in the dark hidden areas of a ruck, but just without the kicking and eye gouging aspects.

The neurologist sheila works out of the same flash high end rooms as our oncologist. You know the one that I’m not allowed to call a gnome, even though he looks like one but it did lead to our quote of the day though.

Oncologist that I’m not allowed to call a gnome, even though he looks like one: I see you’ve seen the neurologist?

Me: Fuck man, your office is flash as. You must be real rich cunt. I thought I was in a resort it was so flash.

My first wife carried around a cold sore for a week or so and when she gets cold sores, fuck does she get cold sores! Not sure how, but on her they even grow bigger than her whole head. Ok, maybe I am taking the piss a little but she does laugh like fuck when I do this little impersonation of her cold sore scab flapping in the wind. She even said she could be one of those squid faced pirates in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Anyway the cold sore woman and I were walking hand in hand and she asked me if I’m embarrassed to be seen with her like this. Fuck man, I actually thought she was talking about her cancer, wearing a beanie and hobbling around like a sore footed penguin on hot coals but apparently she was talking about her massive deformed growth of a cold sore.

Me: Oh that? Your cold sore? Nah man, I’m all good. Fuck, I invented the cold sore (well my ol’ lady did when she used to use the dirty soggy germ infected dishcloth to clean our faces when we were too young to fight back).

A few little every day life updates to show our life is still somewhat normal…

The first wife and I helped Kodi move home. His wings continue to grow with him now living in his second flat. He might have the freedom he doesn’t get at home but he doesn’t get the mean as feeds he gets at home… or the cuddles from his Mama.

We’re pretty sure parents have bred uglier offspring

Had a mate bring three good cunts around to help extend our deck into a decent sized balcony. All for a carton of piss and a decent feed on my smoker. Jakesy and his chippie mates didn’t quite get the job finished but their efforts were massively appreciated. Every little thing that makes my first wife happy is a beautiful thing.

These boys worked hard but didn’t leave hungry or thirsty

We attended a formal mass for Dilan becoming a school prefect at his school, Iona. Such a proud moment and worth it if only for the smiles it brought to my fist wife’s face.

Dilan feeding the masses and making his Mama happy

He’s still looking for a 4×4 so if anyone has one for sale or knows of one can you give us a heads up please.

Headed to Straddie a couple weeks back for a bit of a catch up to bag out a piece of shit cunt. Always a good time on Minjerribah and nice to reconnect with a few peeps.

White sands, clear waters and maybe some beers along the way

Also, being old cunts now a lot or our celebratory events are due to funerals, 50ths, 60ths, divorces etc rather than 21sts or weddings. Last week however, we attended a ripper of an event where a couple of sheilas hooked up after walking down an aisle.

Marjana absolutely loved this day because she got to catch up with a bunch of workmates and also witnessed two of ’em get married. I loved it too in case ya wondering. Was heaps of free piss. Here’s to you two sheilas who obviously have good taste because they’re the ones who gave my first wife this cool blanket as a gift.

The first wife hates the cold but secretly uses it as an excuse to cuddle up to me via a blanket

We continue our lives with fortnightly Chernobyl day visits including yesterday. Last week’s session though was postponed because we both had colds. Well the first wife had a cold. I had man-flu and that shit fucks up humans with cocks and balls big time.

These last few weeks have also seen a drastic change in the ol’ girls ability to walk without pain. We don’t exactly know why but it seems like all of a sudden and very much out of the blue Marjana’s body has taken a little bit of a beating of late because when she’s cold she seriously walks like a little old lady full of arthritis. We hope this is only a temporary thing because it’s a bit of a cunt, and not of the good cunt variety. Watch this spot I guess.

Just because my old Silverdale rugby mates were on the piss together

#40 Return of the spew bucket

Hard to believe we have reached 40 Cancer Chronicle blogs really.

I remember when I turned 40 I was so pissed off. Seriously man, I wasn’t very happy at all. When I turned 50 though, I was actually happy it. Not really sure what the difference was but in all reality, they’re just numbers anyway.

Whether it’s a number relating to how many times you’ve been around the sun or how many times you’ve clicked ‘publish’ on a blog it still really is just a number… it’s what happens between those numbers that matter.

And in this instance, those 40 posts hopefully have kept y’all updated on the happenings of someone we know and love together and in doing so given you a few laughs in between. It’s certainly done that for us.

Don’t get me wrong though in thinking it’s all fun and games in reliving the comedic reality show in print because as you groupie readers know all too well, there’s been plenty of fucked times too.

Fucked times aint dead times though so even they need to be celebrated. But enough of this philosophical shit and back to real stuff like my first wife’s massive green projectile vomit a couple nights ago. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, man.

Pudding the pissing cat looking after her Mama

It was almost like a back to the future thing with Marjana talking in a monotone robot like voice saying ‘Get me a bucket quick!’. Now I’m a dumb cunt alright but dumb cunt or not, I still got a memory and recalled the times of old when she says those words in that tone.

Like a treasure hunt expert in an olympic sprint I found a large enough spew vessel in the nick of time and the ol’ girl played her part in not making my giving it to her a waste of time.

She’d had her Chernobyl Day dose of chemo the day prior on Wednesday and woke up on Kodi’s birthday day feeling pretty good. By the time I returned from an ultrasound on our other son Dilan’s ankle she had stomach cramps and has since had had the chemo bottle removed on Friday and now three days later, she still got em.

Kinda sucks and unsure what they’re from. I reckon it’s a bug and she reckons its from looking at my ugly head so the jury’s is still out on that.

But she’s still getting nausea and shouldn’t be and with vertigo coming back as often as aphids on my plants the little cunts, we’re now booked in to see a Neurologist.

Even had an MRI on my first wife’s head for good measure and when we told Dilan, the conversation went something like this…

Me – Ya ol’ lady had an MRI scan on her brain today to check if there was a brain in there.

Dilan – Maybe they should do one on your head, Dad.

Me – You little cunt.

Marjana and Dilan laughed like fuck and I begrudgingly told Dilan he may have just made the quote of the day.

Anyway, the scan results showed she does have a brain and it’s alive and in her head. It’s the small things in life, right.

Small things like road trip days to places we never been before.

We been taking Bella to the dog beach a few times a week and the walk there and back can be six or seven kilometres so we might be unfit fat cunts but that ain’t too bad for, well… unfit fat cunts, I suppose.

We’ve also been making a concerted effort to do shit even when the cook ain’t feeling too flash.

We’ve visited some good mates at Sunny Coast and even got to catch up with one of the loudest proudest Aussies I know from way back. We ate food, drank piss and told old rugby war stories from our California days following another mate dying.

San Francisco Rugby Club memory lane

Cuzzie Jase the Ace took the cook on a Harley ride for the day and she dug it. Thanks to Lisa for sharing her man, his bike and her riding gears but fuck did she make me pay by drinking heaps and heaps of my plonk.

That afternoon flowed into the evening in Fortitude Valley where we watched Kodi’s band Victor Bravo perform live for the first time in way too long. It was a primo show with heaps of hot young scantily clad chicks, hip looking muso dudes with finely trimmed moustaches and a couple of beat up old cunts going as hard out as the performing band. These Victor Bravo kids are still finding their feet in both the musical and the real world but they got the goods musically and hoping they manage to find their way through the eye of the needle and make it.

But it’s nice to see ya kids doing what they love. With one it’s music and the other it’s rugby. Except for injuries of course. Injuries suck. Dilan’s a tough little cunt though, I’ll give him that. Played a full game of school rugby for Iona College and another 15 minutes for the 2nd 15 and rolled his ankle during the second game. Even played the last seven or so minutes hobbling around.

As mentioned before, Kodi had his birthday and the first wife wasn’t feeling real flash but I cooked us a few mean as feeds including my own aptly named butbut style chicken on my new smoker, some American style pork ribs and the following day I smoked some fish (mullet) that I fucked up because mouthfuls of salt ain’t a cuisine I’d like to return to.

This will be one of those ‘I guess you had to be there’ stories but was driving Dilan to school and had Marjana next to me. She might seem nice to y’all but I tell ya what, you do not want to be some old rich cunt living his midlife crises in a small expensive convertible in front of us and not taking off immediately when the light turns green or otherwise you gunna be getting a bit of this (sorry I stopped the recording before she finished her snorting)…

‘Fuck off you little cunt’

Not really a funny quote of the day but worth the mention when talking about Marjana getting repeated nausea…

Our Oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one – I guess the best thing we could do is stop the nausea.

Me – I’m thinkin’ probably the best thing could be to cure cancer, maybe.’

Here’s a positive I guess… these blogs have changed from daily updates about staying alive and the intricate moments involved to an almost journal like retelling on us living life. A boring life even. But that has to be a good thing, aye.

Like a couple of Deadheads at a Victor Bravo concert

#39 Marjana and her beard

As far as first wives go, mine ain’t too bad actually.

Yeah she growls like a crusty old lion with a sore tooth, she snorts like a hungry pig when I’m trying to watch tv, she snores like a gold medallist at the snoring Olympics, she always leaves the vacuum cleaner out as a trip hazard and yeah she does have that cunty bowel cancer shit going on, but I kinda dig her aye.

Wanna know what I reckon? Everyone’s fighting their own battles with some struggling with hard core shit and others struggling with over irrelevant shit but it’s how people perceive whatever’s happening in their lives that affects how we respond.

So when my first wife asked me to use my clippers to trim fluffy bits of her now no longer bald head, I asked if she wanted me to continue onto her face and trim her beard. She laughed like a snorting spastic.

Snorting spastics are some of my favourite spastics by the way.

Well actually, we both laughed because yeah she’s got a fluffy face that could easily be mistaken for ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons but it’s actually quite calming to run my fingers through it, much like stroking the soft coat of our pissing cat or patting our gannet of a dog.

But jokes aside, even though I’m a great believer in ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’ both my cook and I often need to remind ourselves of exactly that.

Does what we’re worrying about really affect the things that really matter and often the answer is no. On the occasions when the answer is actually yes then maybe drink more piss and eat more primo feeds or alternatively try something else that’s probably better for your health.

Basically though, this cunty cancer has cleared our vision somewhat to try and enjoy life without worrying about the small things.

The ol’ girl’s vertigo has come back a couple times over the last month and it’s a real cunt so we put in some strategies to sort that like going to see that brainy vertigo physio sheila and doing some funky exercises. It’s good to note though that one of Marjana’s super powers (eating apple cores) hasn’t been affected.

But we also managed to take some of our inner circle on a sailing excursion on Sunday where we all basically lived life and had one of the best days ever. Fuck it was an awesome day, man. Good for all and thanks needs to go out to Marjana’s work mates who gave her the voucher for her 50th birthday present from funds raised in a cake sale. Fucken good cunts I reckon.

The first wife had another CT scan on Monday and of course yesterday (Wednesday) was Chernobyl Day with the chemo juice now flowing through her veins till lunchtime tomorrow. With every scan comes a heap of trepidation as to what will the result be. Like, you know, is the chemo and all the sickness that comes with it working and actually worth it?

We’re thinking a big fat yes because there’s nothing I love more than having my first wife around to annoy the fuck out of me (see paragraph two) – except for maybe when she does stuff that doesn’t annoy me or I do stuff that annoys the fuck out of her.

If it wasn’t for chemotherapy she would be dead. And that would suck big time because I dig my first wife heaps. She gets pissed off but I often remind her that she’s the winner as she’s the only sheila in the world I ever chose to be my wife and she’s still around. So fucken yeehaa for that revolting chemo shit that makes her go real yellow. Yellow is a colour of alive as far as I’m concerned.

She’s actually a bit upset of late because she’s been putting on a kilo per week and I know ya ain’t supposed to talk about a sheila’s age or weight but I’m a cunt so this 50-year-old first wife of mine now weighs 69kg and is worried about how she looks. Your quote of the day is our real life conversation about it…

Marjana: I’m getting fat Brendon. I keep putting on weight, like a kilo every single week. Will you still love me when I’m fat like an Oompa Loompa, ljubavi?

Me: What do you mean when? Oompa Loompas are actually orange ya know and you’re already heaps yellow so you’re kinda already like one and I still love you now.

But anyway, we laughed and went for a 6km walk together with our old fat dog Bella so basically we were like a small gang of old fat cunts walking the street. One black, one yellow and one just a bald fat guts type colour.

Previously, Marjana would talk to her Mama as often as she could and when her brother Slobo was at home they would Facetime. Well with the help of our nephew Ivan, we scored Mama a tablet so she and my first wife can Facetime each other every day.

It’s getting better now but talk about laugh, man. Watching an old school Croatian woman try to use a device when she deaf and blind as fuck and I’m just talking about Marjana, so imagine both her and her ol’ lady in action.

Nah, it’s great to see the smile on both their faces when they yell at each other really loudly. Not yelling as in angry yelling. Just yelling because they’re Dalmatian and that’s how they talk.

Dalmatians also love to talk with their hands too so I often have a little snigger to myself when they’re yelling at each other and trying to use their hands at the same time and realise they’re restricted because they need their hands to hold the tablet to see each other.

I love the joy these conversations bring to my first wife every single day.

Chatting with Mama and Marjana’s two brothers Slobo and Nebo

We aint real brainy out these ways but we’ve just worked out why my back is rooted. It’s from giving the first wife too many cuddle because seriously man, check out these action shot pics with and without the model…

Finally the results from the first wife’s latest scan… It’s basically status quo with the cancer still very much there and mostly remaining the same size, bar one lymph node that’s grown. We would’ve loved for our Oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, to say a miracle has happened and it’s all gone or even that it’s shrunk but hasn’t happened yet. I was once let into a Grateful Dead concert for free by cops in the States, so I for one believe in miracles.

On a positive note though, you, me, my first wife, our kids and hopefully nobody else you know woke up dead this morning so fuck yeah.

Easter in church showing thanks and appreciation and also asking for many things including a certain cunty cancer to fuck off

These words of wisdom were brought to you by making the most out of a cunt of a situation and of course the result of fine hops.

Apple core training video

# 37 The reaching of a milestone

Far out man, so much can happen in a month and heaps has since I last blogged. Hate doing these long catch ups as tend to struggle finding rhythm to make them flow from trying to fit heaps in. But that ain’t your fault; I’m the lazy cunt here, not you.

So what’s happened of late? A couple of Chernobyl days and the inevitable grossness that comes with it (including a chunder or two), I pissed off the first wife even more than normal and made her sad (not one of my finer moments I admit but I’ll cook you a mean as feed of scallops in exchange for your mercy, ljubavi), had us some doctor visits, some church visits and seen a man in a white cloak (a priest not a fucken straitjacket dude ya spastics), one child gained employment and another gained a title called ‘House Captain’ at school, a work visit and a little something called Marjana’s half century birthday celebration.

Anthony House Captain and his proud Mama

Wont go into all things but first up I’ll touch on the Chernobyl Days. As I pen this the first wife is catching Zs with both her drip feeding chemo bottle and our cunthead cat Pudding snuggled up to her.

Nobody knows better than a cat the positive effects on humans that cat cuddles, the soothing sound of their purring and that little kneading foot massage thing they do, has. And our pissing cat knows her mamma is a little bit sick right now.

Whilst on that note, not sure if any of you fellas heard of this thing called a cat litter box? Yeah, it has like sand and shit and does wonders for people dealing with cunty cats that piss inside on ones clothes. Quite and amazing invention really 😉

The chemo effects were knocking the ol’ girl around more than Jake the Muss so our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, has tweaked his warlock brew and taken out one of the key players; the cunty spew one apparently.

It’s a double edged sword though because although she’s no longer spewing like an unfit front rower at pre season training, we’re hoping the removal of such a key ingredient also wont inhibit her recovery.

On a negative note, that chemo piece of the puzzle usually takes a good 90 minutes to shoot up and with that now gone I’ve lost my blogging mojo. Along with the odd eyelid flutter and pat directed at my first wife I’ve lost a good chunk of genuine blog dedicated time. Might have to have a whisper to our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, about reinstating it. Hmmm…

Ol mate also allowed her to take an extra week off for her 50th birthday celebration. He’s a good cunt like that.

Took a little bit of effort to pull it all together but it turned into a fucking primo night. Was awesome to see those that turned up and the joy y’all brought the birthday girl by being there. Even if she didn’t get to spend much time with each of you, she seriously had a primo time and was on cloud nine for days after.

Woke up to a 50-year-old sheila this morning

Turning 50-years-old is a bloody good reason for a piss up I reckon and in this case even more so, ‘cos when this cunty cancer thing invaded our lives there was a time when we weren’t sure if my little Dalmatinka would live to be 50 years old.

But she did and like I told her this morning she’s so fucking spoilt because she’s still living, even though she’s now already past that goalpost. Might have to do what wives do to their husbands once they get ’em and change them, (move the goalposts that is 😉)

Apart from smashing out two bottle skulls and being reigning champion of our pee tree, my main party trick is feeding hungry cunts and I’d like to think that was accomplished quite nicely.

It’d be rude to not to mention certain people and specific gifts but I’m gunna be rude and not mention names because will leave people that matter out. But please take peace in knowing that each and every gift Marjana received was appreciated but not as much as your company on the night. Y’all deserve a ‘fuck yeah’!

For those that couldn’t make it, y’all just a bunch of cunts… but ya not really as we know you would’ve been there if ya could, if it wasn’t for things like work, international Covid travel restrictions and also attendee numbers also being restricted by Covid.

Heaps of thanks to all who helped before, during and after the party. Could not have pulled this together without y’all input. Anyone that helped is welcome to come around and drink some piss with me. My shout. Actually, fucken anyone is welcome to come around and drink piss with me whether ya helped or not.

How we felt for a few days after the party, deflated

A week before my cook’s birthday we tee’d up a visit to her work. Although she’s had untold contact with heaps of her workmates via messages, calls or visits, she hadn’t been to work since she was diagnosed with that cunty cancer. She was so looking forward to it and absolutely loved the visit and catching up with everyone. I ain’t never seen anyone so happy to go to prison.

Although I’ve been to prisons in my line of work I hadn’t actually been to Brisbane Women’s which is where my favourite vacumer worked, and the little tour was very much appreciated. Not only did I get to meet a bunch of Marjana’s workmates and guests of the Queen in their natural habitat but I now know what it feels like to walk the catwalk naked at a hens party.

One of my first wife’s mates asked how I felt about seeing inside the prison and your quote of the day comes from that conversation…

Colleague (asked via Marjana): How did Brendon enjoy his visit to the women’s prison?

Me: Felt like a chunk of meat.

Colleague: Hope it was a chunk of fillet steak he felt like and not chuck steak.

Me: A very soft tender piece of succulent meat that anyone without teeth could eat (you may have to visit to appreciate this reply).

Finally, if ever my Mrs needed evidence to prove I’m a dumb cunt, here it is. I made a couple more shelves, one that fit perfectly at the end of our hall and the other larger one was a left over piece to use elsewhere… Guess which one I [ut the legs on? #dumbcunt 😒

A somewhat handy but very much a dumb cunt

#35 The first husband returns to work

At some stage I hope to cover off more about both our work colleagues and employers but not yet.

The ol’ girl ain’t in any state to return to work but I’m a little bit different. Yeah we may both be bald cunts but I don’t have that cunt of a disease and there in lies the difference.

So after a few months off work, I managed to find my uniform (appears to have shrunk around the guts area somewhat) and went back to work. At this stage only a couple days per week though.

Something in the universe was off centre though because it really was a cunt of a morning!

4:30am: Deep sleep interrupted by our internal fire alarm screaming hard out. Talk about freak out, man!

In that weird place between sleep and awake I jumped up out of bed almost as quick as that time our cunt of a cat pissed on my clothes.

With cock and balls and a big fat guts swinging and jiggling I ran around the house like a spastic trying to hold in a shit.

I didn’t need a shit though. Was trying to find a fucken fire, man.

The first wife had also jumped out of bed and if I looked like a spastic trying to hold in a shit, she was way worse. She’s blind as fuck and still had some of her hair then and looked very much like the love child of some fucked up orgy involving the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz, Worzel Gumidge, Einstein and that Boris Johnson cunt.

I’m running around trying to smell smoke and look for flames while she’s just prancing around like a spastic and yelling shit.

Search downstairs for flames and smoke. Nothing…

Search upstairs for flames and smoke. Nothing…

Kodi was elsewhere but Dilan was home. Open his door and he’s still crashed out big time dreaming 16-year -old dreams.

Our fire alarms are all interconnected and are loud as fuck including the one in Dilan’s room going off. Obviously not loud enough to wake a teenager though.

For some reason out of the blue the alarm stops and I’m like ‘What the fuck, man!?’

Because we’re still half asleep I’m thinking if I go back to bed I can maybe sneak another hour sleep before getting ready for work.

Talk about being a dumb cunt alright.

Yeah I’m continually sniffing for smoke but my brain’s trying to relax and three minutes later just as my first wife calms enough to stop talking, well it all starts up again.

Repeat as above but this time I’m also looking in wardrobes and cupboards and even went outside naked as fuck, grabbed a ladder and climbed up into the ceiling for a gander.

And again it stops, then starts, then stops, then starts…

I spent the next hour pressing the reset button on the fire alarms trying to work out which one was causing it.

Keep freaking out thinking fire engines are gunna pull up outside our house with lights and sirens.

Those cunts looove their sirens but silly me I forgot they were firies and not cops so would be sleeping their nightshift away at that time.

Remove the battery from what I think was the main alarm going off and by this stage it’s time to start getting ready for work, fuck it.

I’m massively on edge trying to make me and the cook a coffee and expecting another screaming alarm at any moment.

Because I hadn’t been to work for fucking ages I had to find uniform apparel like epaulettes, work socks and belt and throw ’em all on our bed

The first wife sipped enough coffee to decide it was weak and complain about it.

Oh, I forgot to mention we’d changed the sheets the night before too.

So about this stage the coffee complaining first wife decided to spill her entire cup of weak coffee all over our bed.

There are actually better ways to deal with a weak coffee, wife

That screaming fire alarm had nothing on an angry first wife who found a number of most inappropriate words for a supposed lady to use, yelled at me blaming it on me because I made her weak coffee and put hundreds of belts on the bed.

Cancer may have taken most of her bowel but it ain’t taken her vocal chords, I tell ya.

When I left work for the cook and her cunty cancer I was acting sergeant but returning as a senior conny. Acting sergeant epaulettes are everywhere but senior conny epaulettes are as hard to find as strong coffee nowadays.

Head upstairs to escape my coffee cleaning wife, put on my socks and repair my hearing.

I got a million pairs of socks in the drawers and only one of those pairs has a hole in ’em. I don’t need to tell you which pair I’d grabbed.

Kiss the first wife and go to work.

Good times man, good times.

and this is why I really write these blogs

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