When I was 14, I used to substitute "Tusk!" for one of the more popular 4-letter expletives. I only did this around one friend. We thought it was funny. Private joke.
I hadn't thought about that in YEARS until I shouted it out in frustration today. This afternoon's report from my coordinator gave me a different take than I'd had just hours before about where I sit on the stimmed-up scale. I seem to be losing ground, or at least several potentially viable follicles. Tomorrow's measurements will give a better picture. So I am trying to stay calm, collected, controlled.
After my blast-from-the past outburst, I said "Tusk!" the rest of the day.
"Tusk!" I said at hearing today's drug re-order would cost more than yesterday's.
"Tusk!" I said at grasping that I seem to have just 4 good follies to root for now.
"Tusk, tusk, tusk!" I said at developing a purple bruise, itchy red rash, AND nausea after tonight's 3 injections.
Cussin' around has made me slightly smiley instead of fully frowny.
Meanwhile, look how young the Fleetwood Mac-ers look in this video from 1979!
The even, pulsing beat of the music suits me right now: Hormones coursing; me marching, marching onward.