I’m high. Killing brains cells. Just from sitting in my apartment after the maintenance guy came to fill, with toxic caulking, the leaky drafts in my 80 year old windows. I want to know just how many points these fumes transfer from my healthy-cancer-girl column into my tumor-burden-hell column.
I wish the effort to shrink my tumors was like being on Weight Watchers; I’m jonsing for a formulaic and sensible approach to killing my cancer. I want to pick and choose my points. I add up in my head the potential cancer causing actions I do through out a day and mull them over as though they may shave a few good points off the score card of my next check up.
But with a Weight Watchers-esque cancer plan, if I want to live in a cheap apartment in Pilsen that is a mile from a coal fire power plant that spews carcinogenic emissions, it wouldn’t much matter because I could just stop eating meat for a few years and it would all even out. And if I haven’t exercised or used toxic free house cleaners for weeks in a row, I could just skip sushi before my six month check-up and the scales would tip in my favor anyway.
Yes, it would suck to have people like Kirstie Alley and Valerie Bertinelli as my role models. But still, I would sign up in a minute if I could trade in the ambiguous, unproven, nail biting swirl of stabbing in the dark otherwise known as “being healthy.”
And P.S., after googling Kirstie and Valerie, I can see I have my diet plans confused swapping Jenny C. for Weight Watchers, which gives me occasion to pause and be thankful that Hollywood and weight loss gimmicks are not my area of expertise.
Do you ever do the math in your head of what could or could not be adding to your tumor load? Do you have any advice for how you find sanity amid the calculations?