Pain hurts.

I have just been informed that I am going to have to have another angiogram. As anyone who's ever had one knows, that shit hurts like an unholy motherfucker. I really don't mean to sound like a whiney baby, but for god's sake, man. In case the universe hasn't noticed, I am dealing with plenty of health-type problems right now (namely, CANCER), I don't really need any more. I most certainly do not need to hear the words, 'Well, once you're done with your last round of chemo, we'll talk about when to schedule the angiogram'.

For those of you who don't speak medical euphamism, that translates roughly to, 'Once we're done pumping you full of poison that's going to make you puke up enough of your guts to fill the fucking grand canyon and kill whatever brain cells the drugs, alcohol, and last who-the-fuck-remembers-how-many rounds of chemo didn't get, we're going to reserve a room for you so some sadistic bastard can shove a scope into your heart via your leg. Well if your leg has a pulse by then, anyway....if not, we'll just shove it in through your arm and possibly kill you.'

Ehh.....fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, if someone tells you to listen to the song 'Skin Sarabeth' by Rascal Flatts, DO NOT DO IT. Particularly not if you have/had/know someone who has cancer. It will depress you to the deepest depths of depression.

Okay, I'm done now....now back to your regularly scheduled programming.