Quicker than a ray of light

Radiation day one today. I'm not terribly fussed about it, other than the fact that it's the beginning of my daily schedule not being my own for five weeks. Bummer. But all the boob propping-up procedures are rote by now. It's like before you have a baby you're all, "but they're my private lady bits, for me and Jon Hamm alone!" and by the end of it all you're like, "who else wants to take a look - you? you, sir? Don't worry, Jon's cool with it."

Now I'm desperate to know my surgery date so I can give myself the end point I need to make a decision on one vs. two. I still change my mind every day, with my kids weighing heavily on the two side and my confidence in my newfound alkaline diet on the one side. Now that I write that out it sounds bloody absurd. Kids vs. diet confidence. Hmmm... I mean, it's fucking radical to cut them both off, but it's also not terribly normal to get breast cancer at 37. Shite, man. Let's just drop it for now.

I had lunch with the lovely man who saved my professional arse when I ditched work to get cancer back in June. By all accounts he's doing a bang-up job and I can't say I'm surprised. I know he doesn't read my blog (bastard), so I'll tell you now that boy is one to watch. He's smart, funny, organized, a damn hard-worker and doesn't take much shit around these parts. He's also my bud, so when all this is over for me next year (in a good way), I hope he gets rewarded big time. Thank you, PB, for stepping in and being a true rock star over the past six months. I miss talking to you every day and I'll never have pho without you (okay, maybe I just lied about that last part).

So I'll be off now to get blasted by some deadly rays of light and hope the lasers kill these sucker dog tumours dead. Dead, I tell you!