Look, I'm not sick, okay? I have cancer.

Week 3 and I'm catching everyone up at the same time because my phone bill is already starting to reach into triple digits. Time to get a cellphone with a "plan"? I just don't know.

I meet the oncologist Thursday. Nothing happens until then. This means that physically today is no different from yesterday or a week ago or a month ago. Although a month ago I had a cold, so maybe it's a little different, but cancer-wise, honestly, I don't feel it. Well, there's the lump, but I've grown close to that over the past few months. I call it Bitey.

Mentally things have changed. I've read through all my chemo guides and bought my first head scarf just in case because you don't want to wait until you lose your hair, although some people don't lose their hair, but you want to be prepared if you do. I checked out my life insurance policies and realized both are only payable in an accidental death, so, sorry guys. Better hope science is working because my credit card debt is about to go through the roof. You don't want to face that hassle.

Which brings me to health care reform. I'm not going to tell you that this bill is perfect or that I support everything the president does. I still think he's got the right idea, but in a country ripped in half by a bias media (left and right) Obama doesn't stand a chance to get a damn thing done right. He's a socialist. Bush was a moron. Label, label, label and nothing will ever happen because there's always a reason not to do it or a reason not to trust the people who were voted into office to do it. Everything amounts to "this doesn't help me so it's no good for the country." Live a few years in Eugene; I swear we're a mini version of congress. It's why we still have a concrete hole in the ground downtown across from our library.

But I have to somehow schedule chemotherapy and surgery into one week of vacation time, because I still have to pay my rent, and I can't switch to part-time because I need to keep my health insurance. So that means working through it all. Why not? I came back to the office the day after the biopsy with a Ziplock bag of ice stuck in my bra. If Baldy needs to step away from the desk and vomit in the sink, too bad for everyone else.

I'm just saying this isn't my fault. It's not like I took a bunch of drugs or stood under power lines until I was sure there was a tumor. But whatever happens after Thursday, whether I get sick or lose my hair or my platelets drop below 20 and I have to go to the emergency room for a cat scratch, I'm still going to be responsible for paying this off until I'm 102 because the health care system in this country, like everything else, is for rich people.

The internet as rant forum 'though = free.