I'm not going to lie or say it pretty--
anal cancer is really shitty.

For a week or two I was unable to speak without turning everything into a rhyming limerick. I'm over it. If I'd started blogging then, it would have been more entertaining, but now, with the anti-psychotic drug working its magic, I am ordinary again.

I'm ordinary, except that I have no anus and no rectum, and I will be pooping into a bag on my belly for the rest of my natural life.

Anally Raped by a Jackhammer

I suspect the cancer was here a long time ago. I had ten to twelve bloody stools a day, but my doctor missed the cancer in the fall 2007 colonoscopy.

But when I moved to L.A., leaving my car behind me, I started to ride city buses and trains to work and back. Every bus ride made me feel I was being anally raped by a jackhammer. I didn't realize the problem was not with the bus... until later.