two more infusions of herceptin on the wall, two more infusions of herceptin...

ok ok, it does not scan at all and would be very difficult to sing while drunk. however, it is more true than 99 bottles of beer on the wall, because, face it: how does all that beer get on the wall? I mean it is syntactically and grammatically perplexing. If it's on a shelf, why not say "on the shelf?" It scans the same for the love of pete. If it is indeed "on the wall" how does it stay up there? come ON people. It's not that difficult. Please, for me, invent songs that make sense. Especially drinking songs. The french do a good job of the drinking song that makes sense, in general. Usually about adultery, cuckoldry, and various acts of unpleasant, yet humorous, revenge. But, it all hangs together and makes sense. None of this "beer on the wall" crapola. my jeez.


Anyway. My version does make sense, and further, it is true. I only have two more herceptin infusions to go. Then, I get a variety of scans to make sure the herceptin pac men and ms. pac men ate all the bad cancer ghosts. Then, i get bloodwork done every 3 months. I'm told that although the old protocol was to do scans every 3 months, they are finding out that scans and bloodwork are equally as (in)effective in determining recurrance of breast cancer, and scans subject you to all that very bad radioactive juju. I am no fan of the scan, being both claustrophobic, and, slightly allergic to the iodine used in CT scans. Thus, I am glad I won't have to undergo them that often. I do not mind bloodwork. I mean, what's to mind? I am just masochistic enough to enjoy being jabbed regularly with needles. Seems a lot cleaner than lying in the hole of some damned toroid that has embraced and applied sneaky, snaky doses of radiation to a million ungirded and undignified human bodies...

I remember, as a child, when my mother told me that cosmic rays and gamma rays were going through me all the time, I was terribly uneasy, and could not stop fretting about it. It was an odd thing for her to tell me anyway, since she knew full well that I was completely unable to sit near electrical outlets, because I claimed that I could hear them and that fire was going to shoot out of them at any moment's notice.

What is my point? Well you tell me. I seem to have lost it. Point? Point? Are you there, point? I guess it goes to show why i prefer bloodwork to scans.

Anyway, I have nothing to blog about. So I am blogging about it. At least I'm not blogging about work, which would be unwise. Therefore, although this post is lame, it shall not be lost....