Friday, February 25, 2011
Brian calling. Don't hang up.
You know who this is, don’t you? Yes, it's me, Brian. That’s right. Brian, your friendly brain tumour. Your tenant up in the attic. I hope you like my name. It’s a bit of a joke really – sort of, reverse of ‘brain’.
Oh, you got it already. I wasn’t sure. I’m not too smart you see, though you have to give me full marks for persistence, don’t you? Top marks in fact. You better. I have ways of reminding you, don’t I?
That was fun this morning, wasn’t it? Well, I kinda enjoyed it. There you were, sleeping like a baby, at 6.15 AM, and I thought, it’s about time I reminded my pathetic little host just who’s the boss around here.
So, I gave you a wake-up call, didn’t I? Got the old neural sledge hammer and slammed your fingers and wrist around for a couple of minutes, yes? Not all that long and not all that hard, I know. I went easy on you, but I might not next time.
You’ve been so smug lately, after that last shot of that blasted Avastin stuff nearly three weeks ago. No seizures since you had the last hit, right? You had two friends over yesterday afternoon and finally got round to skiting to them about it. You got quite excited talking about Christchurch and the uprisings in Africa, and you practically ignored me.
Respect! That’s what I want, get it? I want to dominate your whole existence and be the subject of your every pathetic thought.
Admit it, you started to think, seeing as things were so hunky dory in the last couple of weeks, that maybe, just maybe, I was in retreat, just a little. Oh yes you did. You dared hope Brian was backing off, did you not?
Well, that’s disrespect, old pal, and we can’t have that. Brian runs the real estate market up here, though you think you’re the host. The landlord. I’ve got squatter’s rights here and you don’t get away with the idea of being in control of anything.
Respect, OK? And I might go easy on you.
What I really like is that you are now in a bit of a quandary. A dilemma. A jam, a predicament, a fix, a sticky situation.... you expected to wake this morning and do all those stupid exercises that were starting to allow Brain to triumph over Brian just a little bit, weren’t you?
Now you don’t know whether doing them will cause more seizures before Wednesday when you’re scheduled to have that next hit. You generally get a couple in a row once you start, and look even now at those right hand fingers you’ve been so laboriously straightening out over past weeks. Two minutes with me and they’re mine again, I guess you noticed. They’re curling back up just the way I like them. It’s my public branding so there’s no way you can hide from any one of your little mates just who’s boss round here.
But you now don’t know whether to go on with the physical stuff and risk a more damaging seizure, or pretend that this warning I gave you when you were beddy-byes earlier today didn’t happen. Don’t forget I messed with your mind and body with seizure after seizure for three hours last time, down your whole right side, just a couple of weeks or so ago.... so what are you going to do? Hah hah, I’m having fun here.
Listen. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy is you just give up this Avastin nonsense right now and let me fulfil my purpose as quickly as possible. You know my purpose. It’s just to replicate my cells until... well, I don’t have to spell it out for you – you have some squeamish friends and we don’t want to upset them, do we?
That’s all I ask. And then we’ve done with it. My job is finished. And you can rest in peace after fifteen months of life-sucking fighting.
Be careful how you say that. Ha ha.... Just a little joke. You have to have a sense of humour, right? You've said so enough times. Oh, it's all right to laugh at Brian just so long as things are going your way.... but not when I'm calling the shots.
You don't seem to be laughing. Come on now, don't be like that. You've made enough fun of me in the past fifteen months. My turn. Smile.
Oh, I know you have some grand thoughts that your reason for existence might be loftier than mine, but get over it. The little ripple on the state of human existence you made or make will disappear after a bit of hoo-hah.... why don’t we just do it like that? The easy way. You hate them sticking that needle thing into your collapsing veins, don’t you? You don’t have to do that, you know. Give it up. Go easy on yourself.
Or, we can do this the hard way. I know this is the way you’re going to choose, because you’re just like the rest of them, and want to stick around, messing with your pals. You’re going to have another hit of that stuff, aren’t you? And I will have to stick around a bit longer until I get some extra strength to beat it. Brian has time on his side.
Can’t you see you’re interfering seriously with my quality of life while you fill your body with that Avastin junk? Give it away, save yourself and everyone else the bother of being a blight on their existence. They need to get on with their lives. They have things they can do a lot better without a millstone around their neck. And you, with your Sword of Damocles poised up there above us all this time.
Let it fall. It’s me, little old Brian, telling you like it is, or should be. Trust me.
Whoo hoo, all those clichéd metaphors I’m using this morning. Not as dumb as you think, am I?
What’s this? You’re demanding equal time? A right of reply? Up to you, sunshine. Try to convince yourself to stick around. You’ll have some smartarse thing to say, I’ll bet. But just remember, I have till Wednesday at least to have a bit more fun with you this time round. And there's always next time. For a while.
I am boss. Don’t forget it again. I own you.