You know how you wake up in the afternoon and you can't move your legs? And there's a huge swollen lump of flesh where your legs used to be? And you think, shit, it's a tumour, it's all caught up with me and I've developed massive leg-cancer tumours in the night? And you give the tumour mass a shove, and it moves? And you shove it all the way
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Actually yes. Having had a 45-pound, ovary-devouring tumor ripped from my belly about 10 months ago, I can attest to tumor-naming. (Though, alas! No tumor fucking for me. ;_;)
It's name? Evil Fucking Bastard. Not quite as catchy as Jeremy, but a lot more fun to say.
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Imagine the surprise, though. Waking up one morning and going 'oh, hell, maybe there is something wrong with me', hopping over to the clinic to have some doctor go 'oh, shit, WTF happened to your kidneys? Where is your LIVER? Er, that's no good. Come back tomorrow!'
...and waking up 50 pounds lighter or so a few days later. Insult to injury=catheter. ACK.
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More of a "Bob" really.
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And *that* is why you should read my journal.
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