Dude, Cancer sucks. I will prove it to you.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Definition of being a fat ass: when you sit on the swing with your 3 year old son, and the swing breaks.

Definition of being old: after falling from a broken swing, your body hurts in places that were not involved in the impact.

Definition of being awesome: drinking the pain away with nice Scotch that you did not buy.

So there are a few possibilities as to why the swing broke.  1: A certain Auntie Julia weakened the structural integrity in response to, and retribution for, a certain unfortunate incident with Little Foot (I make no apologies.  He had the necessary information.  He should have talked.  No reason to take that kind of pain.  Lives were at stake.)  B) A certain Uncle Chris girthy self prematurely aged the support rope; or III. I had to suffer that great indignity in order for the universe to balance itself out when I win the lottery.

I cannot tell you how happy I have been to watch Cole these past few days.  He has great energy, has been eating well, and (other than the bald head and pipes hanging from his chest) looks and acts like any little 6 year old on summer vacation.  The second I get home from work I am attacked by two little dirty bare foot kids begging me to play with them.  Irregardlesslyness of how tired I am from a long day of sitting on my ass at work, the second I am accosted by those imps, I am ready to rock and roll.

The only thing we have noticed with respect to Cole is that his gait is not normal.  He walks and runs like his hips hurt.  We have asked him repeatedly if his legs or hips hurt, and he repeatedly (and exasperatedly) says no.  Now for those of you who know Cole, you know that he will always say that he is fine, but watching him you can tell that he is not in pain. 

The doctors think that it is just that he was in bed for almost a month, and the muscles have kind of forgotten how to move properly.  I had the same problem after my knee surgery. (random memory.  Shari’s shakes in Tucson.  Yum.) 

So homie has an appointment on Friday with the physical therapist.  I am hoping that they make him do awesomely strange exercises to help out, but that is just how I roll.

Seriously, I hope that he is able to get his normal walk back, but we will see.  For now, please raise your glasses and toast Cole, fashion designer.

1 comment:

  1. I will enjoy what you bought me and you enjoy what I bought you