Amanda from Confessions from HouseholdSix has given me this:

I think. There were a few awards up there but I am lifting this one because I haven't gotten it yet so it will look shiny in my sidebar.  Amanda grew up in my hometown and is my sister in all things fibromyalgia and doom and gloom and sunshine.  I love doom and gloom as it pertains to neural issues.  And sunshine as it pertains to everything else.

And Leah Rubin at Funny is the New Young has given me the Honest Scrap award.  Leah is hilarious.  You know how some people are funny and some people are truly funny?  Leah is truly funny.  No effort required.  Funny enough to win Real Awards.  I'm more than jealous. 

I love the HonestsCrap award best of all because it lets me talk about me in a selfish and unadulterated way.

And I need a little bit of that right now, at the risk of sounding like a total asshole.

Ready?

Go...

So, there is a Cancer Support group next week at the Starbucks on 10th and Chestnut.  It's for people ages 18-45 who are currently undergoing cancer treatment or have a history of any type of cancer diagnosis.

Starbucks is such a douche.

What would I say?  How do those things work?  Is the coffee free?  Is the cafe area closed for privacy?  Is it like AA?

"Hi my name is Lora and I was told at age 27 that I have cervical cancer but no one would treat me because if they treated me properly I'd never be able to give birth even though I've never had a desire to be a mom so they just monitored it and patted me on the shoulder and said 'everything looks the same as it did so we are just going to hang on and see if you change your mind about being a mommy' because our healthcare system is run by Conservatives who find more worth in a sick woman who can risk her own life by pumping out babies4jesus than they do in a well one who isn't fertile anymore. 
Put your hand down please.  Of course I saw more than one doctor.  I'm not retarded. 
So they just monitored it and periodically cut out the nasty chunks at these in-office procedures that would leave me bleeding and cramping for weeks and then when they finally decided to properly treat me I accidentally got drunk pregnant the week before so they let it go for two more years through the pregnancy and when they lost my test results in the shuffle of my doctor leaving and the practice getting a new office space and -
Put Your Hand Down, Please.  My doctors were at Pennsy.  You know, the best effing GYN hospital in like the free world?  Yeah, that one.-
and so they let it go and it got so bad that someone had the sense to give me a proper gouging  and even though it didn't magically disappear it seems that now, two years after the Big Real Surgery I might be all better."

breathe.

"Yes I have cancer in my vagina, but stop looking at me like you think I got it from a virus.  I don't look at you funny when you talk about where your cancer is.  It doesn't always have to come from a virus you know.  It's not fucking sympathetic when I say 'I have cervical cancer' and you say 'oh, my sister had that too, the one with the warts and stuff, right? She was so embarrassed.'.  Wrong.  But so what if it was anyway?  Icky stuff can happen to your crotch when you get laid.  Big deal.  It can happen to anyone, I'm just lucky it didn't happen to me.  And you are so. fucking. fat. from the crap you shove in your mouth every ten minutes because it's the only way you can deal with the fact that your mommy never hugged you enough when the other kids called you out on being a geek.  Stop judging people for repercussions of shoving something in their crotch.  At least they can hide their scabby genitals.  You can't hide your level of disgusting gluttonous gelatinous self hatingness self indulgent-ed-ness...
Moving on.
Cervical cancer turns you into a fucking pariah.  Herpes gets more respect than cervical cancer.  Sometimes I wish I had herpes.  It's more normal and less stigmatized.
I'm so tired of people.

"And breast cancer campaigns.
I'm so tired of breast cancer campaigns.
You have no idea how tired of breast cancer campaigns I am.
Like society is doing us girls a favor that it finally recognizes that we can actually be physically sick and not just mentally hysterical.
Girls score a point! 
Girls 1
Boys 18098
Cute, though, that we can talk about tits, finally.

"Breasts breasts breasts breasts breast breasts breasts.  Pink pink ribbons ribbons donations pink fuck.
"Save the ta-tas"
"Fight like a girl"
"Save second base"
"Real men wear pink"
I could puke.

"When can we finally talk about vaginas?  And cervixes and uteruseses.  Maybe when we can start acknowledging vaginas people will finally start getting treated fairly and completely and with respect.
Six years of maintenence is five years too many.

breathe.

"So here I am, maybe hopefully fingers crossed that I'm at the end of all this and you know what?
It's scary to be done.
Getting cancer cut out of you removes a lot more than scabby lumps of cancer.

"If I don't have cancer, what do I have?
If I'm not a cancer patient, does that make me a cancer survivor?
Do I have to be?
Can't I just forget about it altogether?
Pretend like I'm just me, and always was and always will be, and that I didn't just go through that?
If I don't have doctor's appointments six times a year, who will make sure I'm still okay?
Where do I channel the anxiety?  The hope?

"Without the cancer to concentrate on, I notice the arthritis more.  What used to be a dull and constant ache now meddles in my daily life.  'I'm still here', it knocks.  'I will not be ignored", it whispers.
'Fuck you', I say.  'You aren't the boss of me'.
'What about me?' screams the migraines. 'You didn't think I was gone for good, did you?  You blamed me on the stress of your rotting lady parts for the past few years, but I have another cause.  I've been here longer than the cancer.  Remember the scans and the x-rays and the poking around the doctors did when you were in kindergarten?  I've been here for a long long time.  Let me remind you of how your grandmother died of a brain tumor 25 some years ago.'
'Fuck you too', I say.  I've been dealing with you for 30 years and I've decided to seek some professional advice and professional advice has come a long way since 1980".

"And me?', asks the rest of the world.
'You I can deal with, in small doses', I say as I step up my work ethic a few notches.  'I've been neglecting you a bit while I hid out in myself for awhile but I'm back'.

"And me?', says Jake.
"I don't know what the hell to do with you, so let's for funsies just run each other into the ground for the time being.  It's really nice to know that I'm healthy enough to watch you grow up."

breathe.

"Thank you."

breathe.

And then I would probably just leave because I don't want to/can't handle to hear anyone else's sob story and heartache and I just really needed to get all that off my chest to people who would listen and understand.