Drawing the Line at the Leech

I've got good news, and I've got bad news. The bad news is that my husband has cancer and the evil cells have made themselves at home in his pancreas, liver, and lymph nodes. The good news is that we’re about to serve them an eviction notice via a powerful form of chemo called Gemcitabine.

I’d love to be in there to catch the action when the Big G shows up. But since I can’t, and neither can my husband, we’ve decided to visualize our best chance for growing old together and arguing about who’s turn it is to make margaritas: we’re going to close our eyes and imagine the treatment kicking butt, taking names, and showing those dastardly cancer cells the door.

(If that sounds too ladylike you should know I’d much prefer the Big G vaporize the vile bastards and send them straight to the seventh circle of Hell, but I’m trying to be polite. When it’s time to go completely postal, you can bet I will. It’s just one of the many services this Jersey girl offers.)

We’ve also decided to augment the best drugs modern medicine has available with one or more of today’s alternative cancer remedies. Don’t scowl. Some of this stuff actually works. There are people who were told they had a month to live three years ago who firmly believe they’re still here thanks to a combination of chemotherapy and flaxseed infused cottage cheese.

Yes, regular old cottage cheese with a heaping helping of flaxseed mixed in. Who’d a thunk it?

And that’s not the only alternative out there. There are dozens of them. Oxy E, Co-EnzymeQ10, OxyDHQ. The list is endless and we may try a few. But my husband and I agree: under absolutely, positively no circumstances will we ever resort to the lowly leech.

“I’m not going to Mexico for any ‘Man in the Moon’ stuff, Sue,” he says referring to the Jim Carrey movie about comedian Andy Kaufman.

“After all I’ve done for you, you’d deny me the pleasure of watching some witch doctor pretend to pull leeches out of your belly button? You ingrate!”

“I think it’s enough I’ve agreed to eat that cottage cheese concoction.” He pauses and pretends to put his finger down his throat. “Start pushing stuff like leeches, eye of newt, or green eggs and ham, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

Hmm. Green eggs and ham. I hadn’t thought of that. It doesn’t sound too good, but in all honesty, none of this stuff does. Not the chemo. Not the natural supplements. It all screams that my husband is sick. And that simply makes me want to scream.

Any such outburst is going to have to wait, of course, until we’re on the other side of this situation and he’s insisting it’s my turn to fire up the blender. It won’t be, you should know. My husband is a terrible turn taker with a tendency to prefer drinks made by his favorite blonde bartender.

But you can bet I’ll comply. I love my cocktail leech. And that’s where I draw the line.

Susan McCorkindale writes about life on the funny farm on her daily blog, or just buy the book, Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl.
An original DC Metro Moms post.