1962, 1963, 1964 are very vivid to me. I can remember the days of Barbie Dolls and the glamorous outfits. I had one Barbie Doll evening gown that was a black mermaid bustier with long black gloves and black dress shoes. Wow, I thought that outfit was the Cat’s Meow. I can remember many days of taking my little red Barbie Doll suitcase and walking to a friend’s house for a play date. It was basically going over to Juile’s house to play, but now they are called play dates. LOL Her older sister had a job and bought her a new Barbie outfit every payday. Wow! I only received a new Barbie outfit for Christmas or my birthday. Sometimes when I get the smell of plastic as an adult it reminds me of Christmas and receiving a new doll.
I also remember those days in elementary school where we actually made a habit of going outdoors and having fun. I can remember the teacher bringing in cookies and treats for special occasions like Christmas, Valentines, Easter and Hallowe’en ... now the food police have moved into our lives and they have even banned what kids are allowed to eat in schools and are only allowed to serve healthy food. Basically, when I was growing up that’s what treat’s were...special occasion goodies.
It must be the rebellion in me to resent the food police. I am so tired of being dictated to regarding what is best for me.
I have too much time to think while on this treatment. I can’t wait to have a life back. LOL
The days are pretty well much the same on this treatment. I am so exhausted, sick, mentally wrecked and angry all at the same time.
I am getting no ease up from the interferon. I used to be upright by the next weekend following my Sunday night injection. However, those days are gone and I am going nowhere and doing very little.
My Mom won’t let me out of hosting Christmas dinner because she insists that she will do the work. It doesn’t happen that way. I get the arse run off me “getting this or getting that”. I can barely stand following the event. It took me four days to clean up after the last dinner because I could only do things in small amounts. Of course, she doesn’t know I’m on chemotherapy. She nearly kills me with these family dinners and I am still smarting from the last one I didn’t have because everyone else was invited out for Thanksgiving dinner and we sat home and stared at the walls. I had hoped that someone would have invited us, but they didn’t. My boys understood what was happening, but they were shocked that I couldn’t do it.
This is not a pity party...just a pissed off party. Thanks Riba!
Food is tasteless, to the point it tastes raw, uncooked, rancid, stale. I just eat to take the pills and to keep my blood sugar in check. Imagine having the opportunity in your life to eat anything, everything and as much as you wanted only to be cursed with it all tasting like crap. “It’s like a black fly in your Chardonnay...”