Not The Ducks Ass

Metastatic. Colon. Cancer.

3 little words.

So. Much. Weight.

Aside from dealing with the grief that comes from losing ones parent to such an aggressive and horrible disease one has to deal with the possibility that the disease swims in their gene pool. After my father died I talked to my family doctor about my own health and how his battle might impact my life in a physical sense...we all know how that played out in the emotional sense. She told me it would be in my best interest to start regular CT scans of the colon. 

Yay me.

The worst part is the prep work for such a scan. Ugh. The oh-so frequent potty trips were actually not quite as horrible as the medicines one needs to ingest to make those potty trips possible.
Oh. My. Dog.

(Can you hear me in my best 1980 something Valley Girl voice: "Like, gag me with a spoon, ya know?")

Some of the liquids stayed down, some didn't. Double Ugh. Have I ever told you how much of a gag reflex I have? Or how much I HATE throwing up?

To take my mind off the whole process and to help pass the day I set myself up at the dining room table (same level and closer proximity to the bathroom) with my wee Kenmore, some sewing tools, a box of Popsicles, my favourite Johnny Cash playlist and The Lunenburg Makery's Row By Row kit...a paper pieced pattern packet full of happy-making Maritime scenery.

I sliced and diced my way thru all the bits & pieces...and ended up with a lovely patchwork row, a giant mess to sweep up and a squeaky clean colon.

 

Anybody wanna sing Ring of Fire with me?