Here I am, in Vegas

The first day of the conference is over. I met Nick at the bar, he waiting for a double Jack with a splash of Diet Coke (to avoid looking like an alcoholic) me drinking a screwdriver but later switching to Jack on ice, sans soda of any kind, because any labels that could be made about my drinking should have already be made by this point in my life.

The funny things about these conferences is that you’re always told that you are going to meet people who really get it, but I don’t, not really, because I am still the motherfucking cancer patient who other cancer patients cluck over because of my terrible situation. (I say this witheringly, not in a woe-is-me way).

Nick though, he and I are anti-establishment, anti-positivity, anti-cheerleader-for-a-disease-that-frankly-sucks-in-more-ways-than-you-will-hopefully-ever-know. We bonded over our vanity too, and being on the prowl for hot gentlemen to figuratively hold our hair back while we non-figuratively vomit from treatment. They really ought to run these conferences the way the Santa Cruz parties were run back in the day. Remember? You could get a black or green badge depending on if you were single or not, and if you were, you had a little note box where people could leave you messages. Cancer conferences should totally have that.

It’s hard to say how I feel here yet. I guess I will know more after I attend some sessions, though I am anticipating skipping tomorrow afternoon sessions to sit by the pool. All I want is to sit beside the pool. Is that too much to ask? It’s the right thing to do in Vegas, right?

The greatest thing about being in Vegas is that I don’t have to think about upcoming CT scans and check ups that I have to jump straight into when I come back to Toronto. The less great but more important thing is networking with other cancer organizations who could do some cross-promotional work with the book, should that be something we see ourselves as wanting to do.

My sleeping pills are kicking in and it feels like the molecules of my body are mixing with the molecules of the bed and I can’t tell where things are beginning and ending so I should stop right here before I write something I a) forget about and b) regret upon its discovery. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.

Oh, one final observation about Vegas that’s a little TMI, so mom and dad and aunties and uncles, stop reading (cousins, you are exempt).

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There, they should be gone now. I recently talked or maybe demonically demanded I get an estring, basically a flexible rubber ring that you insert in your vagina to deal with post-menopausal issues, and I think it is starting to kick in because I can’t stop checking all men out as though I’m some creepy bro, and thinking, I’d fuck you, I’d fuck you, I’d fuck you and you and you and you, Yeah, I’d even fuck you. The wonders of hormone replacement.

Well, I can see that this will be the forgotten bit of my post tomorrow. Let’s hope my parents didn’t read this and that, if they did, they have the decency to never bring it up. I don’t think I’ll regret this. Who am I kidding, I regret nothing. I lack the shame gene or something. So from Las Vegas, I bid you adieu.

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About Alicia Louise

I'm a writer, editor, fact checker, storyteller, events organizer, chronically busy yet endlessly lazy, mildly neurotic (though I keep the neuroses well-hidden, one hopes) 32-year-old with recurrent ovarian cancer. I like people and good writing and straight talk. I have a hard time feeling sorry for people, including myself, but the people that I love, I love passionately; one may even say creepily. I try to keep that mostly to myself. I'd like to be charming, but I'm usually just a mess. I'm like a gull slamming into your windshield.
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One Response to Here I am, in Vegas

  1. Dad says:

    Alicia, you had to know I couldn’t resist reading…I still have a silly grin on my face!

    Enjoy all Vegas has to offer.

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