Come one, come all!

Whew! Okay then. I’m going to take a slight break from the whole health care/insurance topic, because it just works me up into more of a rage than I’m normally in on any given day. And I know it’s a topic most people don’t care about, because hey, they got theirs. It IS silly that I get so worked up about it though. I guess it’s just the knowledge that if I have a recurrence and/or mets at some point, I’ll die a horrid painful death, and probably pretty quickly. Not because they don’t have treatments that keep people living a decent length of time, but because BCBS won’t pay for that treatment. Like they didn’t with JenE.

But enough of that gloom and doom! Today I’m here to talk about the upcoming FuCHTYP festivities. What is FuCHTYP (pronounced “fuch-tip”), you ask? Well, it was about a year ago last November when I was being radiated in a cold, dark tube every day, being forced to listen to Huey Lewis and the News in an endless loop. Yes, this is what it takes to get cancer cells running these days. And before that, let’s recall my bike crash and brain injury in August, when I had no clue what was going on around me and was in no shape to take Kona running anymore or pretty much anywhere else. And so for about a month I had Tri Club folks coming by twice a day to take him running, doing a wonderful job of tiring him out while I was sitting on the couch completely out of it, making pretty shapes with string. Of course, they created the IronDog in the process, one who can run for hours and not get tired, not that I’m complaining about that.

And then there were the Team in Bacon events that Kristin, Annette, and Deanna organized, and all the support from a lot of other people, like Susan who helped me find my awesome NW doctors, and Carolyn who helped me sort through all the medical stuff, and, well, too many other people to mention by name.

So my knee-jerk reaction as to how in the world to do something nice for all these friends in return is this: I’ll have a big-ass party! Yeah, that’s it. I haven’t had one in years, but I think I still remember how – with the only key thing being that I remember how to make my dad’s smoked fish. And serve lots of booze.

Hence, we arrive at the FuCHTYP, or Fuck Cancer Holiday Thank You Party. The festivities will include:

- the serving and ingesting of every sort of carcinogenic or cancer-causing food and drink, including charred meats, alcohol, and of course, Tab
- needless yet ironic decorating of cupcakes and everything else with pink or pink ribbons
- lots of soy products – now, me eating that stuff is like putting a loaded gun in my hands, but hey, you all have at it!
- feats of strength
- a group workout, which will include my patented brisk striding, the key to my triathlon success
- lots of bacon-themed food
- my attempt to recreate the insanity of last year by walking around with my arm in a sling, babbling about this or that, gesticulating wildly, making no sense whatsoever
- Ann of the Tomatoettes showing up with bezel nuts for everyone to chew on, as those apparently are highly carcinogenic. Hnuh, who would have thought, that something that turns one’s mouth blood red would have any such adverse effects?
- and finally, the highlight of the evening: the burning of a BCBS executive in effigy. Huzzah!


Yes, I’m inviting all of blogdom. I believe I’m now down to ten of readers, what with my insurance rantings boring everyone else silly, and besides, I figure that those who actually care about me and what’s going on in my life are those who read this blog. Now, just a warning, we might have to work around the swarms of Canadians who I’m sure will be showing up on my doorstep any day now, in order to finally get some adequate health care.

I’m only sad that my Rackotomy isn’t until January, so I won’t be able to show off the new foobage. But I’ll try to make up for that by wearing something appropriately uplifting and pushup-y. Pictures will be taken.