Thursday was one of the crappiest days of my life.
How's that for a jumping off point, eh?
Please don't get up on a soapbox and rip off a passionate plea that begins with "You're entitled." Trust me. I know I am.
I also know that we've had a great run compared to most people with cancer. Bif Naked is a buddy of mine. She's immersed in the cancer world. She tells stories of husbands leaving wives upon diagnosis, she tells stories of people losing their jobs.
I know the fog in my brain I felt during the day and the searing pain that ripped through my shoulders once I got home that night is completely natural, considering the circumstances.
It doesn't mean that it doesn't suck. It really sucked Thursday. I wanted to slap the whole day in the mouth.
I should have planned the day better. That was a major part of the problem. I had a 3:10 p.m. radiation session. I had gone to the pool on Wednesday, with Carol-Ann's dad, Ron, and felt like I worked my tail off. Ron would have taken me again if I had asked, but rest made more sense.
I figured instead I'd just hang out at the house and wait for my cousin Mike and his wife Lisa to come get me for radiation. (I remember when I used to drive myself places. That was cool.)
I just couldn't get into anything. I've got a pile of books to read, but I couldn't concentrate. There was nothing on TV. I'm tired of video games. Heck, the cell phone went dead every five minutes and the house phone is on the fritz -- the numbers are sticking.
When I did get it work, I figured I'd call Province colleague Gord McIntyre, since he was in an airport somewhere, coming back from a Vancouver Canuck roadtrip. And I figured if I couldn't get him, Iain MacIntyre, of that other daily newspaper in town, was also coming home and undoubtedly trapped in a waiting area, just dying to talk to somebody familiar.
I got Gord on the first ring. Sure enough, he was sitting with Iain. They didn't need anyone to talk to.
Just my luck.
I had Mike and Lisa pick me up early for radiation, since we had gotten in ahead of the schedule on Wednesday. Sure enough, we had to go at the slotted time this time around, and then we got caught in rush hour on the way back. (I don't do rush hour. That's one of the joys of being a sports reporter. If I wanted a real job, I would have gotten one years ago.)
The day did pick up by the end, though. My dad came over and made dinner, BBQing up some salmon to go with potato wedges. Bif stopped by, too, to check in.
She was in a mellow mood. Seems she had a mediocre day, too, as did my dad and Carol-Ann. In a strange way, it worked for us. We were all good with staying low key.
And that's really all I have to say.