It Gets Better: Why You Shouldn't Despair

Eleven years ago today, I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. I'm amazed at the difference between then and now.

June 2007

June 2018

The funny thing is, though...I almost forgot. You'd think the date would be scarred into my memory like a horrific brand—but for at least the last several years the date sneaks up on me and it isn't until one or two days before (and in a couple instances, the day of) that I remember, "Oh, yeah, cancer...that happened."

It's a good thing, though. A few years ago, this day was a crushing reminder of all I'd lost. The college experiences I'd never had, the physical activities lost to me through the damage caused by both cancer and cure, my freaking gorgeous hair, all of it. I'd hide away and mope and cry and numb myself as best as possible, all to get through one single day.

I'm not sure when that stopped, within the last five years for sure. The question is...why?

There are a couple things I've attributed this to:

1. Adaptation: The human mind is a crazy, weird, wonderful thing. I couldn't even begin to list all the fascinating things about it, there's been countless books written on the topic, but the one that helps dull the pain of remembrance and allows me to forget the day my life was forever changed is our ability to adapt to even the most mind-bending situations.

There's a lot said about desensitization today, particularly when it comes to violence. However, we're constantly desensitized to almost everything. Think about it—to people living 50 years ago, our lives today are almost unrecognizable. The sheer ingenuity and complexity of our technology alone is an absolute marvel and wonder.

We landed people on the Moon! "Yeah, whatever, big whoop, let me look at cat videos." Now, wait, how can you even look at cat videos? Less than thirty years ago, it was next to impossible to easily access the wild and wacky antics of fuzzy felines, now, it's a ubiquitous phenomena that threatens the very fabric of our existence. Or something. Maybe not. But you get my point.

Same thing with cancer. I started off numbed to it, not through desensitization, but through sheer shock. "Surprise! You have cancer. Here's a menagerie of exceedingly toxic chemicals, have fun." Ten years later, that doesn't phase me. I've relived and replayed those memories thousands upon thousands of times—especially when writing my memoir—and over time, my well of tears dried up, my anxiety and trauma of revisiting those nightmarish days of life and death faded, and it all just seems routine.

I've had ten joint replacements since 2010. I'm so used to surgeries I actually look forward to them now! It's my new normal, a known entity—as opposed to normal life which scares the hell out of me because I have so little experience with anything outside being pumped full of drugs, of having pieces of me ripped out and metal shoved in their place. But that's just another thing to get used to, and I'm sure that the more I expose myself to the more mundane, normal experiences most people know, the more my anxiety with regards to that will fade.

2. Time: There's a stupid cliché about time healing all wounds—it's utter BS. Time doesn't heal all wounds, not by a long shot. But it does grant you perspective and distance, and with that, an easing of suffering.

The memories and traumas become fuzzier, less distinct. It begins to feels less and less like something that happened to you—though there are still moments when it comes back clear as day. Of course, the pain never really leaves, but you're able to put it into better context.

While you're dealing with cancer and treatments and the after-effects of both, it's hard to focus on anything but the present. A decade or more later, you can look at where it all led you. Is it likely your life isn't as good as you would have hoped before cancer? Sure. But you get a chance to view your past through whichever lens you chose. Did cancer mess everything up? Or did it set you on a different path?

The key is spinning cancer in a positive light, in reframing your experience so you can find positives to take away from it. "But cancer sucked, how can anything good come from it?" Good question. I can't answer that, because all experiences differ—we're individuals, our paths diverge from the common origin of diagnosis. The only person who can reframe your traumas is you.

So, for those going through cancer now, or having just entered remission, don't give up. It takes time, experience, it takes getting used to, but the mental and emotional anguish of your fight with cancer—if not the physical difficulties—will dull. Let that comfort you in difficult times—for we are only as strong as we think we are.

Takeaways:

• Cancer sucks (shocker)
• Your mind has the ability to adapt to even the most challenging situations
• Distance and perspective help to ease the pain of past experiences
• You're as strong as you believe you are

The Takeaway Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up

The Takeaway: Part Three

My memoir about the challenges of
life after cancer

Last week I went to Warwick's in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience. And now I want to share some of that talk with you.

In this three-part series called The Takeaway, I will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.

In Part One: Support Matters, I addressed the need for cancer survivors to continue to receive support even after they enter remission. While battling cancer, many patients have a great deal of support from their community and medical team, but that support decreases drastically once someone is no longer battling cancer, and yet they continue to face complications as the result of their disease or treatment. It's imperative survivors continue to receive support so they can have the best lives possible.

In Part Two: Mentality and Humor, I discussed the importance of keeping a positive attitude throughout even the toughest times. How you view and deal with life's problems is entirely up to you. Life doesn't dictate how it affects you, you dictate how life affects you.

In this final section, I will reveal that there is only one way to fail: when you stop trying.

You Only Fail When You Give Up

We're so hard on ourselves that whenever we don't meet our expectations, realistic or otherwise, we consider ourselves failures. But is it really?

There were a lot of days I wanted to give up when I was dealing with cancer and all the after-effects of my treatment—especially shortly after I found out I was going to live after being given two weeks to live. Sure, I'd survived, but what kind of life did I have? I was dealing with drug addiction, bone pain, surgeries, lung damage and needing to be on supplemental oxygen, depression, anxiety, weight gain, diabetes, and collapsing joints. It was a miserable existence I wanted nothing to do with. So I'd pop a couple dozen pills and let my thoughts stop working for a few hours to escape.

It was so much easier to zone out on narcotics and barbiturates and tranquilizers than to experience reality. And if that was the rest of my life—floating up in the ionosphere, high on anything I could get my hands on—that was perfectly fine with me. In fact, that was preferable. I stopped caring if I recovered, stopped caring about the handful of people who remained as support, stopped caring if I overdosed and died. I gave up, plain and simple.

Hips, Knees, and Ankles Replacements

But after a year of this, I realized I was healing—losing weight, dealing with less pain, not needing as much oxygen. For the first time in a year and a half, it felt like things were finally starting to head in the right direction. A doped-up existence on the couch wasn't enough for me anymore—I wanted to live. It was hard to admit to myself I was a drug addict, harder still to admit it to anyone else. I felt like a failure for letting myself disappear into that black void of drug-induced semi-consciousness.

Once I was sober, I started to rebuild my life. Things went well—until they didn't. Setbacks are the one constant since I was diagnosed with leukemia ten years ago. I can always count on something to go wrong whenever life begins to improve. Try to go to UC Riverside? Ankle collapses. Try to go to UC San Diego? Knee replacement. Try to move out? Drug relapse. Anything else? Joint replacement surgeries—ten of them since 2010, almost always interrupting some progress I've made.

Those setbacks hit hard, they felt like failures. But they really weren't. Why? Because each time I got back up, dusted myself off, and kept pushing toward a better life. Sometimes it took longer to bounce back than others, but I always got back on my feet. Despite complications and detours, I refused to give up.

As long as you're still trying, you haven't failed. Failure only comes when you throw in the towel and let your problems win—whether it's cancer or side-effects or bullies or even ourselves. The only person who can defeat you is yourself. You choose when you give up, no one else gets to decide that for you. And as long as you keep fighting, you will never fail.

***

Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.

Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.

Thank you,
Andrew Bundy

Ten-Year Diagnosversary

It's hard to fathom, but it's been a decade since my life flipped on its head, to put it mildly. It feels longer, it feels a lot shorter. But this, what I have now, it's all I remember. Here's how it started, and what happened since. If you want to get a really in-depth look at the journey, my book is available on Amazon. Shameless plug out of the way, here's the start of the new me.

Ten years ago today, I woke in the hospital in a state of uncertainty. I'd been admitted to the hospital a week before with a 104.5°F fever and touching tonsils. Days of tests and negative results later, one doctor came in and said he'd found a few free-floating blast cells. "We're not sure, but it might be leukemia."

That was the day before. That morning, I was pretty sure it would come out negative just like all the others. And yet, there was that part of me, the part that's always been there, that told me this was real. So when the doctor came in and asked to speak with my mom outside, I wasn't surprised, just tired. I hadn't really slept the night before, too annoyed at constant nurses' interruptions and a 6am jackhammer to actually approach sleep in any real form. My mom came in, and there was utter devastation on her face. She'd held out hope even when I hadn't. And then she told me. "It's leukemia."

I thought I'd be upset, but I wasn't. Just numb. I thought emotions would pop up, but they didn't. I just sat there, absorbing my new life, and then faded out. I guess I imploded, just stopped existing—it seemed a far better option than being me at that moment.

The rest of the day was spent going over the treatment and a bunch of other stuff, but I couldn't hold onto a thought to save my life—besides, keeping me alive was the doctor's job, gave me plenty of time to tangent my brains out. Everything from wondering how the hospital masks made the air taste like the texture of cardboard to what I'd done in a previous life to deserve this to wondering what it must be like to walk down the hall to one's execution to how white the walls were in every single room.

But I never, ever, ever, ever would have guessed in a septillion years what lay in store for me over the next ten years of my life. Cancer, eh, wasn't too bad. I mean, lots of puking, sure that sucked, and so did the pain, and the hair loss and the emotional trauma of, you know, cancer and stuff—but had I known what was coming, I would have wished I could stay like that for the rest of my life.

See, everyone told me stories about all these other survivors who got cancer, fought the good fight, and then recovered and went on to do great things and their lives were fine. So when I entered remission, I was stoked—no more hospital!

At least, until the treatment that had saved my life turned on me and tried to shut my lungs down. Until I had to be put into a coma. Until I was given two weeks to live. Until I miraculously managed to survive and found myself a hundred pounds heavier, with joints that were starting to deteriorate, with a drug addiction to the opiates used to keep me comfortable when I was supposed to be in my last few days of life, with flashbacks and memories I wanted to shut away and forget but never could.

That's how I found out the truth—cancer was only the beginning. There are side effects of getting to life, and I thought I was alone in that for a long time, that I was some aberrant statistic and every other cancer survivor had a great life. But then I learned I wasn't the only one. In fact, far from it. Really, survivors have a whole slew of physical, mental, and emotional side effects from their treatments.

So I decided to make something of my experience. I spent years writing a book between numerous joint replacement surgeries, telling the story of how life after cancer can be just as difficult as cancer itself, how the battle isn't really ever over, how we need to continue to support survivors long after their cancer is gone. And, finally, I published it.

Two fake hips, one fake knee, one donor knee,
two donor ankles with screws, shoulders not in view

In these last ten years, I've had ten joint replacements, with more to come. I've dealt with drug addiction, chronic pain, trauma, depression, anxiety, a body covered in scars, the realization my super-awesome-beautiful hair was never coming back, a nervous breakdown, and lots of "little" things that would take up pages and pages to list.

Yet, here I am. Alive. Trying my best to make something of all this. Laughing through it as best I can, fighting the pain in my bones and in my head, struggling to create a life I can truly enjoy. So, no, life after cancer isn't all puppies and rainbows and you'll be perfectly fine, but it's not unlivable. Despite it all, there have been things I've enjoyed, and I found a purpose. That's how you survive, that's how you take all this crap and do something with it, you find meaning in it. And how did I find that purpose?

I made my own.

Surgery Update and a Chance to Get a Free Book

Hey all,

Sorry, I lost track of a lot of things over the last few weeks, and so I totally forgot to let you know how the surgery went. There's a lot, so I'll try to summarize it.

Doctor said the surgery went perfectly. For those who don't know, I had my right knee totally replaced, which is joint replacement number ten. I'm now only three away from obtaining the world record. I was surprised at how easy walking was, and was out of bed not long after I woke up from surgery. What sucks are the exercises. Bending was not easy, and for over a month I was struggling with simple range of motion, but with the swelling mostly gone and after a lot of work, I've whittled away a lot of the stiffness. Currently, I'm able to bend the knee to 117°. The other goes to about 130°, so I'm pretty close to returning to a normal range of motion. When I saw the doctor last week, he was pleased with my progress and said everything is coming along well so far. I get to drive again!

I'm happy to say my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard, had a great weekend in book sales. Last weekend, (May 12-14), several hundred copies were downloaded on Amazon. Since the book came out, I've been working hard on all the marketing and publicity myself, and have had some good results so far. There is still a lot to do, but that's pretty much always true when it comes to marketing. I'm also glad to hear so many people have enjoyed the book and the writing, as well as the message of the reality of life after cancer.

Saturday, I went to the San Diego Writing Workshop. It was really informative and helpful, and the speaker, Brian Klems, was hilarious. It was especially helpful with regards to publishing and getting an agent. I'm currently querying agents to find someone to help promote my book and garner more publicity for it. Fingers crossed.

Haven't read the book yet? Then maybe you want to participate in the...

Book Giveaway

Want to receive a free copy of my memoir? I'm currently running a Goodreads giveaway. There are 25 print copies available, all you have to do is click and you're entered to win one of these books!

I'd also like to ask anyone who has already purchased the book to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I'm always curious to see what people think of my writing.

Thanks to everyone who has supported me since my diagnosis, and to all those who have helped me with the book and getting it out there, it has all meant a great deal to me.

Until next time (which isn't going to be nearly as long),
Ciao

Another Joint Closer

Well, tomorrow's #10. Ten joint replacements. I guess I'm a deca-replacer (that's a horrible name, I'll work on it). I'm getting my right knee replaced, again. The first time was a partial replacement that did well for a few years, but pain has cropped up in other parts of the knee, so, time to hack it out. I still have a few surgeries after that, but it's a good step toward being able to live a better life. And also to being a robot. That's the ultimate goal. And getting the world record for most joints replaced. I guess there's a lot of goals.

The other goal is my book. Over the last few weeks I've been putting out a lot of feelers with regards to my memoir, Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard, and it's paying off. I've gotten interest from a couple national cancer magazines about my story and work to educate people about the challenges survivors face after cancer. I'm crossing my fingers about getting it published, so we'll see where it goes.

And, do you want to win free copies of my book and other prizes? I'm running a referral contest on Surviving the Cure's IndieGoGo campaign. You can either donate, yourself, or you can share the campaign and get free prizes based on how much your friends and family donate. All you have to do is go to the campaign page, find the share tools to the right of the "Back It" button, and use that so your referrals can be tracked and rewarded! The money is going to helping me raise awareness for the challenges cancer survivors face in order to improve their support and quality of care, and also to let them know they aren't alone in having to deal with problems.

I'll update you guys after surgery, when I'm coherent enough to update you, anyway.
Well...coherent-ish.

Ciao

PS: If you buy the hard copy of my book and bring it to me, I'll sign it. Even if I'm not that coherent, which might make it really interesting.

A Finished Memoir and Double Digits

Eight months. It feels longer, shorter. My focus hasn't been on time, it's been on productivity. On staying sane. Staying on task. And there's been a lot going on. But really, the big, most important news, is this: After six drafts, four major surgeries, three and a half years, one nervous breakdown, much consternation, (and a partridge in a pear tree)... I finished my memoir!
Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard.

*relatively speaking

That's right. I have done about as much as I can with this thing. It has been written, edited, and formatted to the point continuing to work on it is nitpicking the minutia—borderline OCD. All that remains is to work on the cover, publishing, and marketing, and then that's that. I'll have a book, published (seriously), and one of the most daunting, stressful, hated, agonizing, rewarding projects in my entire life will be no more.

What then?

Well, the marketing will be a continuous process. I'm working with Nick on these things, seeing as he has a better grasp on what to do than me. But I've been researching a lot lately and have found some strategies that might help, so we shall see how that goes.

Of course, this blog wouldn't be about me if something wasn't wrong with my body. So, without further ado, I present...my tenth joint replacement!

That's right, I will soon be into the double digits with replaced joints! That's only two away from tying the world record (which is kinda BS, because although the winners had twelve joints replaced, several were knuckles. I mean, seriously?). My right knee has been harrying me for a while now, and so a retaliatory strike is required in the form of a total knee replacement sometime in the next few months. The left knee will probably also need fixing soon, and replaced joints don't last forever, so I'm highly confident the world record will be mine at some point! I probably shouldn't be too pleased to get it, but if I have to deal with this crap anyway, why not get something out of it?

Before I sign off, I did have a couple quick closing comments.

• I am currently cover-less. If anyone knows, or is, somebody who does graphic design and might be interested in designing a cover for a memoir, I would love to hear from you or the person you know to discuss pricing and ideas.
• Since this is a self-published book (for now), if you or anyone you know might have connections to people/companies/non-profits who would be interested in a book about the difficulties survivors face in life after cancer, or interested in helping to spotlight the rarely discussed aspect of survivorship, I would be pleased to accept any help in this area. 
• I believe my book has the potential to help bring this very important issue into the public eye so cancer patients and survivors can receive help not just in preventative care, cancer treatments, and diagnostic tools, but in the battle to pick up the pieces once their cancer is in remission.

And with that, I bid thee farewell, until the next post. (Which hopefully isn't months and months from now. I'm working on that.)

Ciao
~Andrew

Ethereal

You know the brain is a weird thing? (See above) One minute it's fully comprehending something, and the next that something is completely out of reach and inaccessible. That's how it's felt with this upcoming surgery. I've known about it for a couple months, hell I half-begged the doctor to do it, but it hasn't felt real to me in all that time since then. Ethereal, that's a good word for it. It's like some vague threat that nobody really takes seriously, yet is still very real. Tomorrow that threat is realized, because that's when I'm going in to get my left shoulder replaced. I did have a very short period of realization during my hospital pre-op last week, which resulted in a half-second panic attack, a single smothered sob, and then total composure and the connection to the surgery flitted back off into the ether.

This is kinda what it looks like...
only worse

The surgery is taking place at 7:15...in the morning. Which means I need to be at the hospital at 5:30 am, which means I have to be awake at approximately 4 am. I'm debating not even bothering to go to sleep, because that's about when I go to bed anyway. The surgery itself will be a total shoulder replacement, sawing off the ball joint and replacing it with an artificial head and fixing a plastic cup to the socket area so the fake head has a snug place to sit. The x-rays showed that the shoulder configuration essentially reversed itself, with the head collapsing around the socket...it looked weird. The x-ray tech complimented me on my train wreck of a shoulder. Someday I'll talk about how much I enjoy x-ray techs and their odd, somewhat morbid sense of humor that totally jives with me. But that's a post for another time, space, space-time, and quantum. Maybe some strings and branes for added effect. Look, I had to throw in science somewhere...

The reason you haven't heard from me in the last two weeks is because of all the work I've been doing trying to get ready for the surgery. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up (no I don't work for the Mafia...usually) and things to get put in place so I don't have to worry about anything other than my recovery for the next few weeks. School, paperwork, government stuff, medical things, life, friends, stress, all that needs to be taken care of prior to a surgery. Even if these surgery is completely ethereal to me, the full ramifications just out of reach to my conscious mind, I'm still under an inordinate amount of stress. I've been increasingly anxious without having a concrete reason (even knowing full well a lot of it comes from an unconscious worry about the surgery, I can't connect it on a logical or conscious level), so it's lowered my ability to focus and be able to do things, which requires me to prioritize what needs to be done and neglect certain others. Most of that has come at the cost of my social life and writing, two things that took a major hit in the last month when I semi-dropped off the face of the Earth. I figured that's something that I can pick back up after I'm doing better, whereas making sure my grades remain unaffected and finishing up paperwork on time seemed to be a more pressing issue.

This is the voice in my head for those who remember

I have taken some solace in knowing that this shoulder isn't as bad as the right one (which was replaced in June) and that I'm familiar with the workings of this one. The second joint always seems to be easier than the first one I've found (as evidenced by having both hips and knees replaced separately), so that does alleviate a little of the stress. It's still there, it always is. As blasé as I've been about the surgery and reassuring to everyone that it will be fine, there's always that little voice going "Yea but what if it isn't?" It's a hard voice to ignore. It convinced me I was going to die last year when I had my left knee replaced, although clearly it was wrong. That doesn't mean I can shut it off, but I have been slowly turning down the volume to its rambling statements of doom and hellfire.

I suppose it will be another couple weeks before any meaningful posts come out of this blog again. There might be a quick "I'm fine" post when I feel up to typing, or maybe something written by someone else with a quick explanation of how everything went. Otherwise, I'll be laid up and unable to use one arm and on enough painkillers to make a whale very, very happy. I'll try to get something out at a reasonable time.

Until then,
Andrew Bundy

Chaotic Preparation

Hi blog,

Surprise!

Surprise surprise. No really, surprise. Surprise because although I reported that I was waiting for surgery with the anticipation that it would be near the end of July for the time being. Well, I ended up seeing a new doctor to try and get some more opinions about the surgery, being the big thing that it is, and I ended up really liking both his plan for surgery (he wants to do a total shoulder replacement because it's more reliable and predictable and is better at managing pain, as opposed to the partial replacement the first doctor wanted) and also his attitude altogether. I got a call from his office the next day (this was two Wednesdays ago, twelve days) offering me some surgery dates. The first was on June 24th, already exciting by my standards because it was a full month ahead of the other doctor's planned surgery. Then she told me they had an opening for June 10th. I hesitated only because of how shocked I was that they had a date available so soon, then I swooped in on it, an almost irrational fear settling in that if I waited a second longer, somebody would snatch it out of my grasp.

So...I'm having surgery tomorrow. Surprise.

I'm happy about it because it means a lot of good things: I'll be able to heal over the course of the summer so it won't interfere with my schooling, my brothers will be around to help out so it's not just my parents (although a shoulder surgery allows me a great deal more autonomy than any of my lower joint replacements, since I'll be able to get up and walk around and the only limitation is my use of only one arm), and I won't have to deal with the exponentially worsening pain in my right shoulder (the left is also getting worse, but not as quickly) for two months while I wait on endless days to pass before I can fix the problem. However, there is one very big bad side effect: I've had very little time to prepare mentally for the surgery. Normally I have at least a month when I get something replaced, and even that can prove to be not enough time to fully prepare myself for the stresses I'll face. There's a great deal more anxiety going through my head than I remember with the other surgeries, a lot of barely contained panic and worry about this and that and those and these. I doubt I'll sleep much tonight, which is fine, I'll have a two-and-a-half hour nap around 11:15am tomorrow courtesy of an anesthesiologist and his drugs. I know most of my worries are unfounded, but without much time to convince myself of that, I'm having a difficult time setting aside the constrictor-like anxiety crushing my chest. Once I get into the hospital, it usually alleviates some, but I'm concerned that without enough prep time, I'll still be incredibly nervous beforehand. We'll have to see.

But surgery isn't the only thing going on. A couple days ago was my 7-year diagnosversary, seven years to the day when I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia and propelled at incomprehensible speeds down this path that is now my life. I'm always worried about relapsing on that day, and with good reason. That day, more than any other, brings back flashes of the last seven years and throws them in my face for me to watch, totally subdued and unable to stop it from happening. I simply endure the agonizing memories and remind myself that I beat it, it's in the past, and I won't let some phantom assailant assault me with brutal imagery until I give in and gulp down several handfuls of pills until the pain stops and I drift into that addled narcotic haze for a few hours to escape it all for a bit. I didn't relapse, same as the last four years. It's never easy, almost as soon as midnight came around and it was June 7th I felt an overwhelming sadness smash into me and for the next several hours left me with an unused sob in my throat. I managed to distract myself for most of the day with television and video games, mindless things that dragged my attention away from the date and into a world outside of ours. Whatever it takes to work, that's my opinion. Whatever it takes to avoid using drugs or falling into despair and misery, I'm all for it. Just so long as it's not hurting anyone, it's not to be scoffed at. We must do what we have to in order to keep our lives as pleasant as possible. I'm okay with whatever methods work for me, it's better than the alternative of not having them.

I went up to San Francisco (most of the time was spent in the suburbs, but listing a bunch of towns won't really help) to see my best friend and his fiance and their dog. I only spent a couple days up there because I was concerned about how my health would fare, but it ended up all right and I had a wonderful time seeing all of them (as well as around 40 other assorted reptiles, mammals, and arachnids). We wound up going to a shiba picnic with all sorts of small, adorable mini-husky looking dogs (I'll probably get in trouble with the shiba inu community for the comparison, but that's what they remind me of) for several hours. I also got some sourdough bread in the shape of a turtle, because hell yea!

That's about it for now, a quick update after an extended silence caused by the insanity of the last couple weeks. It's mostly been chaotic preparation for the surgery and sorting out all the little details that need sorting out, I've been frazzled and busy and forgetful due to stress, but I will try to do a much better job at updating on how my surgery went when I get a chance. I'm going to be doing a total shoulder replacement of my right shoulder (see link for surgical details). The surgery last two-and-a-half hours (see above for me mentioning it before) and I'll only be in the hospital for a day or two if everything goes to plan. After a little over a year I'll be 100% recovered (I'm probably at 40% capacity now anyways, so I can wait), although after four months I'll have my left shoulder replaced (when my right shoulder is around 70% recovered). I'll be able to use my right arm a little bit, but it'll be in a sling so typing and doing anything with that arm will be difficult, though I'm not entirely sure just how difficult yet. We'll see. Yea that's about it on the info dump section.

Anyways, I hope the humans reading this have a lovely day, and blog, I apologize for the neglect, but you should probably get semi-used to it for the next month or so, maybe longer depending on the healing. I'll still try to write something, just don't expect long paragraphs and a small novella.

Ciao for now