About three days ago I met Alan. What a prick. It seems that the little fucker had been hanging out in my bowel, covert as fuck, draining me of blood and energy for what seems like quite a while. I had no idea.
It seems Alan wasn’t happy with his less than fragrant digs and decided to subdivide the land and construct another larger dwelling in my liver complete with pool, cinema screen, four bedrooms and ensuites in every room.
Not content to occupy just one of the residences, Alan brought the whole family and visits both homes for regular gatherings and get togethers. This prick ignored all COVID restrictions.
So how did I learn of Alan’s unwelcome tenancy I hear you ask??
Having been sent directly to Emergency by my very bossy GP – do not pass go, do not collect $200 (in fact pay $400 into the bank for choosing the private door); it took more blood tests, an abdominal scan, a very clever doctor and about four hours for my world to be tilted in the most terrifying of ways.
If you’re anything of a drama queen like me, you’ve probably played this moment out in your head. “Kristie, we have some bad news. We hate to tell you this, but you have cancer.” In reality, there aren’t too many possible variations on this line. It’s just really bad. It’s the worst moment of your life and there’s no filter.
My version went like this:
Doctor: We’re just going to move you into a private room so we can speak to you and your partner together.
Pause…
Me: I have bowel cancer don’t I?
Doctor: Yes, you do. I’m so sorry.
Me: How bad is it?
Doctor: It’s pretty advanced. It’s in your liver as well.
BAM.
Cue the doctor and the most incredible circle of nurses physically wrapping around me as I scrambled to sit and hold onto the rails on the bed. Cue hysterical sobbing and wailing and yelling stuff like “I’m scared!!! I don’t want to die!!!! OMG!!!” Cue me eventually finding my human anchor in Chris and trying to mentally rip his skin off so I could climb inside it and hide.
Fuck you, Alan. For lurking. For choosing my terribly unreliable bowel as your hiding place. You knew it would take ages for you to be detected down there in that constipated, diarrhoea cycling shitshow. And fuck you, Alan for being bowel cancer. I mean, it’s just one of the grosser cancers. Right now, my farts smell like something nuclear. I’ve had to show my poo to more people than I want to mention in the last few days. Let alone the conversations about it. Poo. Stool. Motion. It’s all just poo.
Why Alan, you ask? Well look. Firstly I should apologise to any lovely Alans out there. I’ve met a few of you and you seem cool. But if I have to give cancer a name it’s going to be a name that I might associate with a white, middle class, middle aged, badly dressed guy wearing pants that are an indescribable shade of tan. Nobody is going to miss Alan if he fucks off early. Nobody is going to be begging Alan to stay at the party and have one last round. Alan is just a drain on the whole vibe.
But a word to the wise, it seems Alan is quite determined to stick around. He has taken up residence, stretched out on his recliner and has opened his first bottle of cheap shiraz.
So I have to start by kicking him in the dick. Hard. With everything.
We all hate Alan’s and will do our best to eradicate any we ever come in contact with. We know you will fight hard as you say – I’m sure you’ve never done anything by halves in your entire life and this will be no different.
Your gift with words is amazing.
As always, Kristie, you manage to eloquently capture things with your spectacular use of language. Fuck you, Alan. Sending love. I know you have a powerhouse support squad on your side. Kirsten x
I’m amazed by your proficiency with words even in the face of adversity. We all want to kick Alan out more than anything. Love Meredith
Alan sounds like an absolute cumstain, but I’m so in awe of your ability to still approach this horrendous situation with trademark Kristie Gibson humour, sarcasm & tenacity. Fingers crossed for a good outcome, and if you ever need nutrition advice please don’t hesitate to get in touch xx
Fuck Alan fuck him the rude prick!!
To the wonderfully gorgeous Kristie – thank you for sharing in such a generous and creative way! You have an amazingly spectacular gift Kristie – not only with words but with being able to constantly shine with your infectious humour, and authentically raw take on everything ! love your spirit, sense of humour and incredible energy which radiates strongly even with that fuckwit Alan lurking. Fuck Alan – love you! Xxxx
Kristie, can’t believe your news! Sending strength and healing vibes. You are a warrior and have overcome more than Alan in the past. Alan has no chance fighting with a woman like you.
Geez, so much admiration for you with the way in which you have approached this battle already – you are one heck of a talented woman! Xox
I would happily kick that wanker Alan in the dick, up the arse and out of your life. What an utter bastard he is. I know you will fight against him with all that you have and we will all fight along with you however we can. Fuck off Alan, you’re not welcome. Huge, enormous love to you Kristie. ❤️
PS Despite the horrendous subject matter, this piece of writing is amazing.
Well holy shit balls – Alan is a dick of epic proportions!
I love how you’ve got a sense of humour and can so eloquently describe your situation – what a legend you are!
If there’s anyone who’s going to show Alan who’s boss – it’s you Kristie Gibson!!!
Give him hell!!!!!
Oh my goodness, what a shit show. I’m so, so, so deeply sorry and please, please, please let me know if I can do anything. Not often I’m lost for words, but thanks you for sharing your words. Take care x
Alan has a rather bruised and battered appendage with all the rage we are all throwing at him right now. What a Bastard!!
You are a beautifully strong and amazing person and we are so privileged to have you in our lives. Thank you! ❤️💕😘❤️💕