Thursday, November 20, 2003

My birthday this year was another exercise in self-administered chemotherapy. Kevin was out of town and I corralled some female friends into coming out with me. It was supposed to be an early evening--dinner and a comedy club. But that two-drink-minimum is a deal-breaker, at least for me. I'm usually on the two-drink-maximum plan. We ended up at a total dive, the HaRa Club. And I was too hungover last time to even turn the television on for my poor child the next morning when he awoke a few hours after I went to bed. Someone can call Child Protective Services, but unless there was fire or blood, he could play with whatever he could get his hands on. (Yes, I told him that.) I managed to get out of bed when the flower delivery person with a dozen roses from my loving husband rang the bell so many times he scared Conor and made him cry so I had to go down and make it stop.

At least I was realistic enough to tell him that mommy promises not to drink so much when daddy is out of town.

But despite the viciousness of the hangover, I wasn't reminded of chemotherapy side effects, something that made my last one doubly worse. Nothing like feeling physically and mentally miserable at the same time! I was just reminded of what an idiot I was and why I don't drink so much. It's a relief to be able to be that ill, and not drop into a mental funk of fear and loathing.

On a non-cancer note, one of my favorite bloggers recently adopted a nine month old Chinese girl because, as she says, she didn't think she could stay sober for nine months. Now, I'm sure she was kidding in some fashion, but I wanted to email her and point out that it wasn't pregnancy that was the big buzz-kill, it was being responsible for a child the next morning that makes most of us close up the tab and head home. That, and the cost of the babysitter. I have been keeping close tabs on her, and I have to admit it's all Schadenfreude.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?