Fighting Cancer and Crime!

I woke up this morning in pain.

The bottle of vicodin was on my night table, but I needed to eat something before I took it so it didn't make me nauseous. I usually have a tin of cookies next to my bed because my chemo medicine does the same thing, but I hadn't stocked it lately.

I glanced at my clock and saw that it was 9:45. Luis was already downstairs. I could hear the shower running, which meant mom was up, but busy.

I was in too much pain to get up, and too lazy to yell downstairs for Luis to come up, so I decided that I would just wait until mom was out of the shower, ask her to bring me a graham cracker, lay in bed until the meds kicked in, then get up and start my day with an episode of 24 (so ambitious, I know).

So I was lying there, trying not to think about how it felt like someone had hacked into my side with a meat cleaver, when I heart a "BANG" from downstairs.

I stopped breathing so I could listen. It sounded like Luis had dropped a large metal vase (which incidentally, we don't own), or taken a cookie sheet and slammed it up against the wall as hard as he could.

Another WHAM, and this time I felt it reverberate through the house. What the fuck was he doing? I was lying here, in pain, and Luis was messing around downstairs making as much noise as humanly possible!

At the third SMASH, which the pain amplified enormously, I thew my feet to the floor, stretching the stereostrips that were holding my wound together causing a ripping sensation up my side that made my forehead break out in a sweat, and muttering every swear word I could as I hobbled my way to the bedroom door.

As I opened it, another BANG filled the house, the sound unimpeded by the door. Christ, it was really really loud. What the hell was he doing? I was getting very angry at my husband now.

I looked down at my feet. Cosi, a 20 lb cat who is all brawn and no brains, was cowering on the top step, his place of refuge from Neecy, Chomksy, the vacuum cleaner, the blender, or the garbage truck, or whatever scares him into shakes next. I started down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing because the pain was making me dizzy.

Another CRASH from the kitchen, and this time, I heard glass shatter and hit the floor. I wasn't down the stairs yet, but I yelled, "Baby, what are you doing?!"

The noise stopped.

And then I heard a man's voice, completely garbled, like he was talking with this mouth stuffed with grapes, "Blarg Blarg ARg, da Stairs."

Huh? What was Luis talking about? Was he telling me to stay on the stairs?

So I ran down as fast as I could, into the kitchen, and saw the mess.

The door had been kicked in. The frame had held, but the structure of the door had gone to pieces. Glass and wood were all over the floor, and the door was wide open. Someone had tried to break into the house.

Shit. Had Luis gone to chase them? He knows not to do that . . . but when I looked past the porch to our cars, I saw that Luis had taken mine. Luis wasn't even here.

Shit.

Okay, quick assessment needed. The guys could still be in the house, but I knew they weren't upstairs.

But Mom was.

In the shower.

A quick scene from Psycho flashed in my head, and I pulled open our knife drawer. I scrambled around for our largest sharp carving knife. I hobbled back up the stairs and burst into her bathroom.

"Mom! The house was broken into! Lock yourself in, here is a knife!"

I know she had no clue what I was talking about, but I hope that she would figure it out. I slammed the bethroom door, and ran back downstairs.

Okay, Mom was safe, now what was the next step? Police! Or wait, my husband! Which do I call?

Luis won out. I called Luis, told him what happened, and he was on his way. Then I dialed 911. Which, now reflecting, I don't think I have ever done before. Kind of exciting!

While I was on with 911, Mom came down the stairs and into the kitchen in a towel, trying to figure out what was going on. Doesn't she watch the scary movies! The people in the towels ALWAYS DIE FIRST!

"Mom! The police are on their way, go back upstairs, and get some clothes on!"

She went back upstairs, and 911 told me that a patrol car was on its way, so I hung up, rummaged around for the next sharpest, scariest knife we owned, and searched the house.

In retrospect, I know, that wasn't the safest thing to do. I don't know why my thoughts were so clear on what stupid people that get murdered in movies are wearing, but not on what they are doing when they get murdered. So yes, I went to investigate the house, hobbling from room to room, dragging along all my stupid tubing that I still have coming out of my body from the surgery.

As I rounded the corner back into the kitchen with my knife held out in front of me threateningly, I stopped. There, in the doorway, crouched two men with big black guns, which were trained on my head.

I breathed a sigh of relief. They had uniforms on. The police were here.

"Hi! I live here!" I waved at them and them and smiled. "I am supposed to be here!"

Mom, now with clothes on, walked into the kitchen at that moment. I pulled her to me. "And she is my mom!"

They lowered their guns.

"Will you please step outside while we secure the house," said the hot one.

Sure, Officer Hot Stuff. Whatever you want.

Remember, at this time I have not entered the bathroom since I woke up. I have not brushed my teeth, I have dried boogers rimming my nostrils, and I have dried drool on my chin. I also have no hair, and a really big, ugly teeshirt on. But I flash him my most winning smile anyway, and mom and I go outside.

At this moment, Luis ran up the driveway (the police cruiser had blocked him from pulling up next to the house) and gives my right side a big hug. "Are you guys okay?"

I nod, and my mom says we're fine, and I start explaining what happened when the officers came back out.

"No one is inside. As far as you know, was anything taken?" said the not-so-cute one.

I shook my head, "Our purses were right by the door, but I don't think they had time to grab anything. I think they heard my voice as soon as they broke the door, I guess they just ran."

So the officers explained that about 6 streets away there are a lot of people on Columbia St that are homeless, and if they need a fix, they just walk around these houses and see if anyone is home.

"But their were two cars in the driveway! And it's a Sunday!" I exclaimed.

"Well," said Officer Sidekick to Officer Hottie, "it was a pretty ballsy break-in. But when you are an addict, you aren't that logical."

I mean, considering NO ONE had been home for the last four days, it was pretty coincidental that they picked the first day we were home to break in. My husband had used my car while I was at the hospital, so there had always been his car in the driveway behind the house. We always draw our shades so no one can see our computers and TV, but, I guess some people are desperate!

After Officer Babe-alicious and Office Sidekick left, we cleaned up, called our landlord who is installing a new door today, and drank some tea.

The adrenaline, which had masked the pain, wore off, and the vidocin, which is just kicking in, is making it a little hard to concentrate enough to finish this post with a cute conclusion. However, we are all safe and sound, going to curl up on the couch with some more tea.

I couldn't help but remind Luis that if Chomsky had been here, he would have scared the breaker-iners away! And I am proud to say, I did get a concession there. Score one for getting a dog!

First day of Chemo was a tornado.

First day home from hospital was a break in.

Wanna place bets on what happens next?