I Call Shotgun

          Here is something you can be glad about today: I will never post a nude photo of myself.  See? And you thought this would just be a humdrum day without any fantastic things to be grateful for!

          There are many reasons for this decision, of course, but one you may not have considered is that I LOOK LIKE A BLUEBERRY MUFFIN! Okay, maybe not the silhouette, but the spots, for sure.

          And here is why. This whole Cancer Ridiculatem (when you get cancer you get to coin words) has caused me to be punctured quite literally more times than I can count. Nevermind the many biopsies. Nevermind the monthly double shots for the clinical trial. Nevermind the anesthetic in the elbow veins.  I’m talking major harpoonings.

          First, I have the obvious mastectomy. This required repair, so now I have two portholes on my side which still mark where the drains were. THEN another scar for the lymph node dissection, another tube, another surgery for the port placement (that’s two in the chest, actually), and a box on my arm that provides a green laser light show along with timed chemo injections of who-knows-what.

          And, of course, I had the basal cell surgery on my nose last summer which came undone and had to have dermabrasion in December and is still red and lumpy.

          So basically I look like I went before a firing squad but it was a group of people who never thought to first practice at a shooting range. I’m standing there, and I hear this: “I got her neck!” “I got her chest!” “I got her nose!” “I got her armpit!”

          Seriously, I look like modern art done in junior high. By Tim Burton. Hey, I wonder if he’s casting for his next movie.

But while we wait for that call, you can enjoy any number of my books right here! And be sure to subscribe to this weekly blog so you won't miss a moment of Joniopolis excitement.