1st Journ.. Short for journal journey. (Not happy right now btw)

I hope this is public but yet you can’t tell who I am. It will make more sense further in the story. So I start this entry as a flashback, I’m a 17 y/o high school student that is an ass. Plain and simple, I skipped school, did drugs and drank too much. I did have some sense of self preservation, I did my best as a young boy to treat women nicely, say thank you and ma’am and sir, I even tried to do “daily deeds”. Fact of the matter, I was still an ass, a dumb ass more specifically but all that said fast forward two years, I’m 19 and was diagnosed with testicular cancer.

    BMind you, just about the shottiest cancer, NO, not because I was going to die, NO, not because I expected sympathy, simply the shittiest because 99.9% chance I was surviving, but family and friends regard you as a terminal patient. Mind you, I have respect for any and everybody that may or may not be terminal or even diagnosed with any type of cancer. It is nothing to joke about but… But… If i took steroids and rode a bike, I could be internationally famous. Think about it. I didn’t get a double mastectomy or any kind of prostate exam, I had a cancer that is under the umbrella of “cancer” but when you really think about it, I wasn’t going to go anywhere. The problem I really have with this whole situation though is the aftermath of the surgery and treatments.  Judge me, I smoked a bit of weed through my shit, hey I had cancer, and I did it because the chemo gives you nausea, and the drugs for the nausea, at least for me, gave me more nausea, and inhibited all of my food intake. I am being honest with you when I say nothing, and I mean nothing sounded, tasted or even went down good. I mean everything when I say this. I hope that I can portray the dislike of anything in my stomach. All because of the drugs they have to pump into you for defense against the disease they’re trying to beat inside of you. Chicken soup, like a cold, nope. Saltines, like you might be pregnant, nope. Water, like your thirsty, saline injections are the most hydration I got thru it all.

     So back to the point that I started this entry on, my doctors as a group kept me alive. It was a curable cancer by any standards, again 99.9% or close to it. The problem is, I was a big drinker before. I like alcohol. Alcohol likes me. The problem is, when my surgeon was cutting on me, he cut muscles that haven’t recovered or repaired. I can’t control some of my bodily functions. For instance, when it comes time to pee, it’s time to pee. I’m 27 and I feel like a 97 y/o. I have a scar on my pelvis that is indebted because the muscles have never reconnected.

 

As a man, an adult, a human being, I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I did to deserve this, how in the fuck I can fix this. Who to blame? Myself? God? Society for their havoc on nature? 

 

I failed to mention that when I said bodily control, specifically urinary tract (I.e. Pelvis muscle), that I’ve wet the bed like a g@$ damn 5 y/o because of the fact that my shits not the same. I survived a perfectly survivable cancer to only be haunted by this embarrassing ass conflict.

again, that’s why I try and not take any sort of respect from people saying that I beat cancer when I know that my shit was pretty much gauranteed but I hold a grudge against my cancer for making me a bitch. A couple of beers and you probably don’t want to sleep with me. (And that’s just in the same bed, no sexual connotation intended) 

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