Tough Twinkie

When the Threat is Vertical Details from Chemotherapy Infusion #3: An infomercial parody about standing up and spiraling into chaos. Starring Twinkie, her dog Juney, and her father Papa Mark as the Narrator. OPEN SCENE: [Insert: Thunderous heartbeat: KAW-KAHK-DOOM! ] *Fog rolls back to reveal TWINKIE. She is wearing mismatched socks and a slouchy cardigan. She rises slowly from the couch, swaying like she’s on a ship. TWINKIE   (softly singing): “99 bottles of agua on the wall… take one down…” *She takes three shaky steps toward the kitchen. [Enter: JUNEY bursting into frame and locking eyes with the camera. She lets out an ear-piercing yip.] *Camera snaps back to TWINKIE. She freezes mid-step. Her eyes widen and then spiral into animated vortexes . TWINKIE   (eerily calm): “E-I-E-I-O… oh no.” *She collapses in slow motion. THUNK . Juney fans her with a grease-stained pizza box. [Interject: Narrator voice.] PAPA MARK: “Stand & Spiral™—for those who crave the thrill of surv...

Inside Twinkie’s Chambers Welcome to my collection of horizontal surfaces, where chemotherapy and I deepen our twisted and one-sided relationship. No celebrity mansions here; just raw and unkempt zones I can barely clean thanks to body aches and pains. People ask, “How do you pass the time?” It’s easy — by passing out . So let’s get started before I do just that. Let’s begin with an unconventional spot: the floor. This spot chose me after the third chemotherapy infusion. Standing up became a panic attack. Racing heart? Check. Hot flashes like I’m melting in a sauna? Check. Vision like a blackout curtain? You betcha. So down to the floor I go and it’s flat-out comfortably uncomfortable. Who is the star of this horror film? That’d be Tough Twinkie, but spoiler alert: “Tough isn’t here anymore, Ms. Twinkie.” Since we’re on the horror vibe, let’s slide into the bathtub, half-submerged and half-functioning. I’ve mastered the “half-bath” because I’m too exhausted to sit up straight. My feet...

It Means “Shit Pants” Details from Chemotherapy Infusion #2: Channeling Grandma Elvera again. Lately, that stern, no-nonsense Finnish woman seems to rise up from within me. I catch her reflection in the mirror bundled in a robe and head wrapped tight. Her sharp, unforgettable phrases tumble out of my mouth, like the Finnish paskahousu , (PAH-SKA-HO-SOU) literally, "shit pants." It’s as if time folded in on itself, passing down her habits — equal parts sisu (grit) and grace. I feel her presence with me on this health journey, standing nearby with arms crossed and expression unreadable but her heart quietly full. Much like myself during a recent weekend away. My own arms were crossed protectively over my gut as I half-laughed at the very real threat of becoming a paskahousu on the streets of Denver. Not exactly the title I desired to earn. Still, I was out in the world and deeply grateful to be. Round two of chemotherapy delivered fewer side effects, although the couple that ...