Suck It Up, Buttercup

The Lord works in mysterious ways. The universe has a twisted sense of humor. Life has a funny way of working out. Pick whichever one you like. But I’m telling ya, it’s true.

Yesterday was a fairly shitty day. I woke up with a slight hangover from too much celebrating the night before. It was my friend’s birthday, and my motto has always been, go big or go home. Hangover aside, I was just downright depressed and have no real reason why. I take medication for this so you would think that wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe it was that shot of Fireball. Whatever the reason, I woke up feeling sad and blue, and more than a little aggravated. The object of my aggravation was a friend of mine and his um, how shall I say, baby momma drama? And of course, not one to just let things go, I had to have a discussion about it. And guess what, this discussion did absolutely nothing to make me feel better. Instead I felt even worse.

I go the grocery store, still agitated from my conversation. As I’m walking down the aisle, I feel tears threatening to spill. And who the hell wants to start crying while picking out cereal? That’s just awkward. So I suck it up like a big girl (a big, sad, almost crying in the store, girl), get my purchases and drive home. As I’m driving it occurs to me that my frustration goes beyond whether or not the mother of my friend’s child is fit to take care of a small person. And what I’m about to say is probably going to sound horrible, but here it is anyway. I was upset that she was allowed by nature to have a child, and is perhaps one of the most irresponsible people I know, and yet God saw it fitting to make sure I will never have a child of my own. There I said it. I was angry at life’s unfairness. Now I realize that I was once married and had reproductive capabilities for many years. However, in my defense, I was in my mid-twenties when I got married and raising future adults was not high on my agenda. I was pursuing more career oriented goals. By the time the notion of having kids even registered on my radar, my marriage was already on a downward spiral. Having seen firsthand what having children can do to an already unstable marriage, I opted out. I still think it was the right decision. However, this didn’t make it any more comforting when the doctors told me I needed to have a hysterectomy in addition to my colon resection. The radiation had fried my ovaries, there was a better than average chance the cancer had already spread to my female organs, and if it hadn’t yet, it surely would and I would only be prolonging the inevitable and another risky surgery down the road, combined with the fact that it was a threat to my very life by not having them removed, I mean, what damn choice was there... Exactly. There wasn’t one. And having your choice to reproduce taken from you will wreak all kinds of emotional havoc.

And it wasn’t just for my sake I was upset. I thought about my parents and how they would forever be denied a grandchild to love and spoil. So that was my emotional crisis yesterday. But, as fate would have it, a three year old child spent the night with me last night. And she got sick - as in vomiting on my bed and on herself sick. And not just once, but multiple times throughout the night. Which, of course, meant I got no sleep either. If she was up, I was up. And maybe this was my reminder that having children is not always sunshine and rainbows. And maybe for reasons unknown to me right now, there is a perfectly good explanation, to be revealed much later, as to why I am childless. I like to think so.

Oh, and remember last week when I volunteered at the Help Center and questioned whether or not I was doing anything worthwhile? Well, that question was answered today too. One of the volunteers had to leave early and we got crazy busy shortly after they left. At one point, I was running around so feverishly I was starting to sweat. And a small thought came to me. Had I not been there, there would only have been one person back there working in that area, and that poor person would be completely swamped. And whether or not I made a direct impact on any one person’s life, somebody had to be there to bag up clothes, so it might as well be me. So there. A lot can change in one week, most especially your perspective. So remember that the next time you’re having your own emotional crisis. Nothing lasts forever. (Even Cold November Rain) Until then, suck it up, and keep on doing your thing.

Not Forgotten

I had a great holiday week, but I have to be honest and admit that I’m glad it’s over, only because I am exhausted from the going and doing that accompanies it. I got to see a few friends that I rarely get to spend time with, including my high school best friend that I haven’t seen in about seventeen years, and that was beyond wonderful. However, catching up with friends, spending time with family, and good times abounding can wear you out. To start the new week, I went to Florence, AL today and donated my time working at the Help Center. It’s part of my pay it forward mentality I’ve adopted these days. Plus, I feel like for every charitable deed I do, maybe I can atone for past sins.

Typically, after a bout of good-deed-doing, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling all over. Today, I did not. Maybe it was the cold, rainy weather, or perhaps fatigue from the recent week’s activities, but as I drove home after my volunteer shift, I couldn’t help but feel rather melancholy. Perhaps it was knowing that I really didn’t do anything special and that for most of the people that came in today, their problems are much larger than anything I can fix. They leave with groceries and possibly a couple bags of clothes, but not much else. There were stories of those who can’t find work, or a house that recently burnt, or bad health that leaves them unable to keep a steady job. A brown paper bag full of canned food isn’t going to fix that.

Or maybe my depressing mood was because today only served as a reminder that life isn’t easy, and the solutions to everyday problems are often more complicated than anything that can be fixed in one day. Or sometimes even, in one year. This past Thanksgiving, as I was be-bopping up my cousin’s walkway, arms full with a casserole, tea and a few bottles of wine, it occurred to me that the Thanksgiving prior to this one, was a much different story. I wasn’t carrying wine or a casserole. As a matter of fact, I had to have help just getting out of the car. I can remember pulling into the driveway, popping a pain pill, and waiting for the wave to pass before attempting to get of the passenger seat. And throughout dinner, I barely moved. At times it’s easy to forget that. It’s easy to forget how bad things were, during a period in life when things seem better. But I do not want to forget. Ever.

As I stood at the counter of a gas station this afternoon, waiting on my friend to finish pumping gas so we could pay for it, an older gentlemen turned to me and said (as I stood staring out the window) that I had a faraway look fitting for a rainy day. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then, as he was walking out the door, he turned around and smiled at me again. There was something about that smile. It was one of those knowing smiles. A smile that says, “I understand.” “I’ve been there before.” The truth is, we all have been there at one time or another. The trick is to not forget it. When we lose ourselves in the commonality of everyday living, it becomes easy to take these moments for granted. It’s only when we make a conscious effort to remember the pain from our past, that we can embrace our present and make purposeful our future.

Turkey Day Tribute

Okay, so I guess I should apologize for not posting anything in two weeks. In my defense, since the last we met, I’ve been to Colorado and back, had another spot on my liver burnt off, and walked up and down Beale Street listening to some blues. I mean, who has time for writing amongst all that?

Quick thing on Colorado: I freaking loved it!!!! And for one main reason, and that reason, is marijuana is completely legal there. Now, granted you have to be 21 to purchase it, and you can’t just light it up in the middle of a restaurant, but they do have smoke bars and pot friendly areas. And of course, in your own home, you can do whatever you want with it. The hotel we stayed in had a smoking area, which was awesome. I met two different couples there, a young couple from Florida and an older couple from Pennsylvania, who were there for the same reasons; to smoke weed without worrying about cops busting down your door. To be honest, I’ve never understood why it’s not legal everywhere.

But that’s another post for another day. Maybe next week. This week I want to focus on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. It’s a day dedicated to giving thanks for our blessings. Granted, we should do this every single day, but most of us don’t. We forget. We wake up in a hurry to get dressed for work, spend hours responding to texts, calls and emails, get our jobs done, then rush back home for dinner, laundry, and late night television. Then we get up and do it all over again. Except Saturdays. And on Saturdays, in the fall, in the South, we drink beer and watch football. But at Thanksgiving, we gather around the table with our families, and take a minute to appreciate one another before digging into the turkey and dressing, and then promptly fall into a food coma. I have to be honest, one of my favorite things about Thanksgiving are the leftovers. Casseroles just seem to taste better the second time.

I try to remember these days to include a moment of thanks in my daily routine. Not that I have a daily routine anymore. I just commented to a friend today that every day is Saturday for me, but without the beer and football. That’s what happens when you haven’t had a real job in over a year. But I do try to stop and say a prayer at the end of each day thanking God for the blessings in my life, even though I too, sometimes forget. But I have so much to be thankful for. Being alive is quite obviously at the top of that list. My parents being a close second. And my girlfriends, well, I can’t imagine my life without them. But I’m honestly thankful for all the wonderful people in my life. I’m thankful for you all, who are reading this post right now, for supporting me on this journey. I am thankful for every single person who has helped me in any way throughout the last year and a half. Sometimes I catch myself feeling a bit guilty at all of the kindness that has been bestowed upon me. Who am I to deserve it? I have tried in earnest to pay it forward as much as I can by doing things for others in need. And I have no doubt if I lived 100 more years, I would never be able to repay that debt of gratitude. But I can always try. And I will.

And I am thankful for every trial I have gone through and every lesson learned along the way. I am thankful for a second chance at life, God willing. Let’s all try a little harder to acknowledge life’s blessings each and every day, and not just on holidays or Sunday mornings. Tell the people you love, today, that you love them. And thank God for every day you wake up, because one day, you won’t.

So happy Thanksgiving to each and every one of you. May your holidays be filled with love, laughter and leftovers.

For Better or Worse

This time two years ago I was pretty sure life couldn’t get much better. This time one year ago, I was pretty sure it couldn’t get much worse. Nowadays, I hope for better and pray for no worse. The last year and a half has shown me that life can very suddenly take a turn in any direction, and that things can get a helluva lot worse than you ever imagined. And if given the chance, I would not hesitate to change my present circumstance. And if it were in my power, the word cancer would not exist. But it does. And I can’t change that. But not everything in the past year has been without merit.

I can very clearly recall a time period this past fall, when I was so sick I was certain I was knocking on death’s door. And it retrospect, I may have been knocking louder than I thought. It was during this particular time frame, that on one day my ex-husband came to pay me a visit and check on me. I was going through radiation at the time, and battling c-diff. I was completely dehydrated and in utter agony. No, I’m not being dramatic. It literally took all my strength and energy just to get out of bed and go to the bathroom. In fact, I was in bed the day he came to visit. I could barely move. He walks into my bedroom and immediately his face took on the look of someone who has just seen a ghost. He quickly tried to compose himself and recover, but in that one instant, his expression betrayed him. I lived with the man for 12 years. I can read him like a book. In that moment I knew just how terribly close to death I looked. He told me much later that he went home and cried that day. He was certain I was dying.

But I didn’t die. In some of those darkest moments, when every piece of me hurt, and I was so sick that some days it felt easy to just give up, I would pray. I would lay in bed and cry, not just for myself, but for those around me who were affected by my condition, like my parents. Their love for me was one of the things that got me through. I would ask God to spare me for their sake. I knew that if I died, my friends and family would be upset, and certainly mourn my death. But I also knew that they would manage without me. Eventually the pain would ease, and while they might miss me on occasion for the rest of their lives; their lives would continue on. But not my parents. My parents would be devastated. I am their only child. If I died, it would absolutely break their hearts. And I just couldn’t do that to them. So I prayed. I begged and pleaded with God to not take me just yet, for them, if for no other reason at all. And for now, I am still here.

So what good has come from this journey? Well, I have tried in earnest to remove the phrase “I’m too busy” from my vocabulary, because I understand that 99.9% of the time, it’s only a lie we tell ourselves and others. You will always find time in life for what or who is important and meaningful to you. So, instead I prioritize what is important to me, and at the end of the day, I feel as though I have made the most of it. I try to to be more patient and forgiving of others, even though there are times when I still fail. I have come to value my relationships more so than ever before. Our connection with others is perhaps what matters most in our lives. This will be your legacy. The people in your life will be the ones who recall you in death. And my relationship with my parents is one that has indeed become stronger, among a few others. I have challenged myself in new ways since my diagnosis. I was forced to take an introspective look at my life, and decide what changes needed to be made and where I want to go from this point forward. Because of this, I am now looking into an entirely new career path, which is both scary and exciting. I have a new peace with life and death that I didn’t have before, and a newfound confidence and deeper sense of self.

I still pray for healing, not just for my body, but for my mind, heart and soul. There are still hard days. Today is one of them. Last week was pretty tough too. I underwent ablation on my liver to remove one of two lesions. Next week doesn’t look much better, as they will be doing the same thing on the second spot. But I know I can get through it. And I know that with all of the bad days, there will still be good days too.

Public Service Announcement - No Disclaimer Required

There’s a conversation I keep having a lot here lately. It goes something like this:

Me: How are you doing?
Friend: Well, to be honest, not too well. I lost my job, my spouse left me, my dog died, I have a bad case of the clap and I’m going blind. But, I mean, I know it’s nothing like what you’ve been through.
Me: I don’t know, that sounds pretty awful.

Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly the conversation word for word. The thing is, whenever anybody starts telling me about a situation they have had to deal with, whether it’s bad health, financial woes, family problems, or whatever, they almost always follow it up with a disclaimer of how their problems are in no way a comparison to my own battle with cancer. And I honestly don’t know how to respond to that. First of all, I never assume they are making a comparison to begin with. What sort of jackass would do that? But secondly, having cancer doesn’t mean I’m the only person allowed to have problems.

I assure you, nobody is more aware of just how terrible this past year has been for me more than I am. I’m the one who had to go through it. But at no point do I recall ever thinking I have it worse than anyone else on the planet. If anything, I have gained a deeper appreciation for how lucky I have often been. Just last night I was sitting by a campfire talking with a friend about the past year. He said to me that when he has bad days and feels himself getting irritated over life’s unfairness, he thinks of me and it helps him put his trials into perspective. I told him that I do the same thing. There have been many times when I lost myself in self-pity and had to stop and remind myself there are those people who have suffered much more greatly than I have. Over the last year I have met some incredible people and have listened to some truly heart wrenching stories. No matter who you are, there will always be someone who has it better than you. And there is always someone who has it much worse. Each new day that we wake up gives us an opportunity to try to overcome obstacles, improve our situation, and prepare for new challenges. Nobody is immune to difficulties in life. Sometimes the hardest part is remembering that nothing lasts forever, and whatever struggle you are currently facing will eventually be but a brief moment of your past.

I wouldn’t want to be someone who had never experienced hard times. Every rough patch I’ve endured in life has made me a stronger person, and has made me more empathetic to other people’s dilemmas. Quite frankly, I fully believe that a lack of empathy is the root of most of the world’s problems. Without it, it becomes easy to quickly judge a person’s situation without fully understanding it. Not to be confused with sympathy, empathy allows us to appreciate our unique differences and value our sameness; to understand how close we all are to walking in someone else's shoes, had the hands of fate varied even ever so slightly. Perspective. It changes with time and circumstance.

So please, do me a favor and drop the disclaimer. I am still the same person fundamentally as I was over a year ago, only with a new and different perspective. But if I loved you before, I still love you now. I still care about your happiness, and am sympathetic to your problems. Yes, you are allowed to have them too. You do not have to justify your troubles and you do not have to apologize for the need to occasionally talk about them. You’re allowed to vent every now and then - even to someone you think has it worse than you.

The Evolution of My Ass Part 6

Well, I made it through the surgery. Since April 2014, I had lost my corporate job, became increasingly more and more sick, dealt with excruciating pain, radiation, oral chemo, two bouts of c-diff, a total APR (abdominoperineal resection {removal of tumor and portions of my buttocks and a couple abdominal muscles just for kicks}), colostomy surgery, a complete hysterectomy, a second surgery to fix a bowel obstruction, and more tests, exams, needles, and labs than I can even count. But I wasn’t done yet. The first month or so after surgery was spent at home in recovery. After a three week long hospital stay, being at home, in my own bed, was pure heaven.

Next on the “to do” list was to prepare for chemotherapy. I have decent looking veins, but as soon as they see a needle, they become very persnickety and try to run away. They roll like the tide. It was decided it would be best for me (and future medical personnel) that I have a port installed. So, I headed in for yet another surgery. This one was very minor compared to others. I now have a power port located in my upper right chest, allowing access for IV drugs or when I need to have blood drawn. It doesn’t hurt, although if pressure is put against it, it does. I just hug more from the other side now.

After my port was installed, I began the next round of chemo. And oh heaven have mercy; it was PURE HELL. I don’t mean a little hell, I mean full on some of the worst misery imaginable. The type  of chemo I had was called FolFox. It’s administered by starting an IV with anti-nausea meds, steroids, and some other stuff, then the chemo itself is given. The process takes a couple of hours. Then they give me a fanny pack with the chemo drugs inside, and and IV connected to my port. I would wear it home and for the next 48 hours get a continuous drip of poison. The first dose was merciless. I threw up for 24 hours straight. I lost about 8 pounds in three days. I ate nothing but a handful of saltine crackers and tried to drink enhanced water as much as I could. I was taking anti-nausea meds about every two hours.

The next round we adjusted my nausea medicine. I was still sick but didn’t throw up quite as much. All in all, I had 11 total treatments. I was scheduled for 12, but number 11 I thought would be the end of me. Even though the vomiting wasn’t as severe, the other wretched side effects were becoming worse and each treatment was harder than the previous one. I didn’t have one more in me. So I took my final chemo treatment (at least the hard stuff anyway) on August 25th.

During the midst of all this, I was scheduled for another CT and MRI. Thanks to the close eye of the radiologist, he noticed two tiny spots on my liver that had appeared to have changed/grown since the last CT I had. My oncology surgeon reviewed them and we decided the only way to know for sure was to have a liver biopsy. Now, let me say something about that. So, I go in for the biopsy in Memphis and meet with the nurse and the doctor who would be performing the biopsy. He seemed to think it was an easy procedure, they would go in and numb it and I might feel a little “pressure”. Ha! Hahahahahaha! So, what happens is you are put on a flat table, and you get sent in and out of a CT scan (in, out, in, out, in, out, repeat). In the CT they take an image that pops up on the doctor’s computer screen. I come out and he pokes me with a needle. Repeat, repeat, and repeat some more. The thing is, you are not allowed to take deep breaths, only very shallow breaths so as to not move anything in your body even slightly. He starts with the numbing needles. I feel each one, going in deeper and deeper and deeper. Then comes the needle that snips off a piece of liver to be biopsied. Holy shit. A little pressure, my ass. I start crying from the pain. The crying causes my breathing to become heavier. The doctor yells at me because it’s causing his needle to jerk around. I yell back. I hear the nurse mention my blood pressure in a concerned tone. I’m sure it was skyrocketing from the pain and now the whole “I can’t breathe and am about to hyperventilate” thing going on. The doctor instructs her to inject me with something, stat. She does. I immediately feel very, very relaxed and the pain has subsided. Now, why the hell didn’t they just give me this magic medicine BEFORE the procedure and this could all have been easily avoided? Note to medical staff - drugs are good. Always. And before the pain and panic sets in is preferable. But, I made it through. Bad news. It was indeed metastatic cancerous lesions in my liver. I was officially upgraded to stage 4. Previously it was thought I was only a stage 3, even though there were some concerning lymph nodes in my groin they removed in surgery “just in case". It’s amazing how the odds go waaaayyy down from stage 3 to stage 4. The five year survival rate for stage 4 colorectal cancer is around 12%. Now, granted some of those stats may be old, and each case is different. And so far, my cancer has not played by most of the rules anyway, so who knows. I have been told twice by my oncologist at the West Clinic that she doesn’t know just exactly what to do with me, and that I’m a difficult case. I told her this wasn’t the first time in life I’ve been told this.

See, here’s the thing. The spots on my liver didn’t look like cancer. Not to the radiologist, my surgeon or even to the doctor who performed my biopsy. Until the results came back they were convinced they had to be something else. They just didn’t look like your typical cancerous spots. And at my last PET scan, not a single thing in my body lit up. Nothing. Zilch.

My oncologist started me on Avastin. It’s different than chemo, in that it works to cut off the blood supply to the tumor, essentially starving it. It seems to be working. Since starting Avastin, my CEA levels have decreased over 80% and are close to the normal range. So, that’s all good. BUT, there’s always a BUT these days, during my last CT and MRI which was just a few weeks ago, something else showed up. The good news is that it appears that one of the spots on my liver has disappeared entirely and the other spot has shrank (or is it shrunk?) by over 50%. That’s good news. It means the Avastin has been doing a good job of what it’s supposed to do. Bad news, a couple of spots on my lungs have also shrank/shrunk. Wait, I didn’t tell you about those perhaps? Well, that’s because they weren’t supposed to be anything significant. Way back when this all first started and I was initially diagnosed they noticed a couple of tiny spots on my lungs, most likely some type of fungal something or other that most everyone that lives in certain areas get from time to time. However, it appears these spots have also decreased in size along with the spots on my liver. What does that mean? Well, most likely it means they were also cancerous. It means that damn tumor that they declared was very aggressive and quite unusual for someone at my age and my history, was in fact, exactly that - very aggressive. It means this tumor meant to kill me, and rather quickly. The only way to know for sure is to have another biopsy - this time on my lungs. Let me make this clear up front - I want drugs. Lots and lots of happy, happy, la, la, la drugs, before they ever even get close to me with a needle.

As of now, my surgeon is supposed to be presenting my case to the tumor board, and get the opinion and expertise from other members of the council on the best course of action henceforth. My oncologist has postponed any more treatments for the time being, until after the board meets. If I do have a biopsy, or possibly ablation to burn off the remaining lesions in my liver, then I need to be off the Avastin for a month at minimum due to risks of complications and bleeding that occur because of it.

So, here I am. Over a year later. Overall, I feel much better than I did a year ago, and am quite lucky and damn thankful to be alive. For now, I wait. I wait to see what my brilliant medical team determines is the next best step for me. In the meantime, I am trying to stay positive and focused on the present and plan optimistically for the future.

Be careful what you wish for

The following is a true story.

In the year previous to my cancer diagnosis, I was sitting at a bar having a few beers with a friend of mine. Earlier that day somebody had posted a comment on Facebook about how breast cancer got all of the attention when it came to various cancers. I brought this topic up while sipping on a cold brew that evening. Basically what I said, can be summarized like this: “I agree completely. Quite frankly, I’m glad that everyone wearing pink has possibly raised awareness for breast cancer, but there are so many other cancers out there that have higher mortality rates with much less recognition and it’s time people started showing support for those cancers too. I know, how about an ass cancer campaign? We should start one of those!” Then we spent a few minutes coming up with catchy phrases we could use as part of our Save Dat Ass campaign. 

That conversation has haunted me more than once, and my friend as well. Not long after my diagnosis of colorectal cancer, he came up to me one night at that same bar, hugged me, and said, “Child, you don’t think we jinxed you, do you?” I have no idea. Perhaps we did. Maybe God heard me talking and thought to himself, “Well, now, Jennifer, I think that’s a great idea. I will even let you be the poster child for “ass cancer” if you wish.” Or maybe somewhere deep in my subconscious my mind already knew what was coming. I mean, even then, if I look back with 20/20 hindsight, I can see little telltale signs of early symptoms even that far back, but at the time they were so insignificant I didn’t give them much thought. 

However it came about, I got my wish. I did start an ass cancer campaign - just not exactly how I had envisioned. Ever heard the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for”? Yeah, me too. But I am glad something positive has come from all of this. Because in a way, I have started a new campaign. And there are people who now know more about colon cancer and some of the signs and symptoms because of me. I am also a testament to the fact that you are never too young. And that yes, it can happen to you. It’s about time, we, as a people, started talking about such things instead of acting like it’s taboo to discuss problems going on down south. Too many people wait far too long to seek help because they are embarrassed to talk about their symptoms. 

I realize the Susan G. Komen foundation has taken some heat lately. I stopped supporting that particular charity years ago, for many of the reasons that are being talked about on the news currently. Overall, they haven’t had a good rating among charities, especially when it comes to donations coming in vs. money spent on actual cancer research and funding. I like to know when it comes to donations that my money is being used for the cause I am supporting. And while it’s great that so many people wear pink, it’s also sad that there are so few who wear other colors, or that cancers like pancreatic, colorectal, prostate, ovarian, or many others are not being talked about or given the same spotlight. They are all deadly. And while maybe some men (and some women) are fascinated with breasts, they are not essential, other than providing nourishment to newborn babies, to our lives. You CAN live without breasts. You CANNOT live without a colon. And no, this is most certainly not a post meant to diminish the devastating effects or seriousness of breast cancer. I have lost loved ones to that horrible disease. The point is, there are other, just as deadly (and more so in many cases), types of cancer that need the same attention. But for heaven’s sake, just don’t say you would like to start a campaign for any of them!!!! 

And, because of this blog, several people have reached out to me, in private messages or phone calls, asking for my help, or thoughts on treatment options, or how to cope with chemo, or sometimes just because they know I will listen to them when they need an ear. And I will. I will gladly do what I can to help any of you. Please know that. And if I don’t know the answer to a question, I will do my best to find it or point you in the direction of someone else who may know. I still want to start an “Ass Cancer” campaign. I hate that I had to do it this way, but maybe this was the best way. Maybe it was the only way. Maybe God isn’t finished with me yet. I like to think not. I like to think that there will be a silver lining in this cloud, and that my suffering has not been in vain. I am certainly no saint, nor do I even try to be, but I do hope that I have something positive to contribute to this world before I leave it. Save dat ass, people.