Then my doctor calls - there is a nodule. "Do I smoke?" Well I tried tobacco for three months just to see what it was like (it's kinda like a cross between poppers and crack that lasts 20 seconds), but then I just stopped.
So I went for a CAT Scan. Girl, did they model those machines on STARGATE or vice-versa? I didn't like it. In fact a catheter up my **** would have been more fun. The tech said he sees nothing bad.
The next day, I get a call from the Doctor [I ditched Dr Pella in Jacksonville - there is a level of assholishness in an HIV clinic you just cannot cope with - the AHF (Magic Johnson) Clinic is much nicer, and the boys/staff are cute.]
Well now the doctor is worried about lymphoma. Suddenly Lung Cancer looks like a breeze ( it can be cut out: as far as I can see Lymphoma wld require Chemo). My friend, D-The Devil's Son, thinks this may be a great way to get opiates (I hate opiates - the make me itch), but, perversely, I think well, some benzos would be nice to calm me down.
I think it's nothing. But we will see. At the very least I now need a living will. I am very Catholic about this: no deprevation of nutrition and food, but dope me to eyeballs with pain killers. I expects it will all be OK. But if its not I am going home to England, where the nice Roman Catholic sisters will give you heroin for pain.
Can anyone tell me why in the land of the free -where you can pursue happiness - some idiot came up with the idea that cancer-patients cannot have heroin in case they become junkies? How does it matter if you are junkie if you are dying.
Dammit, the should be giving speedballs.
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