A new scrip for Klonopin, a day with Dana and Jim at the hospital, early dinner at Joe's Stone Crab and two cocktails later, I'm feeling better. Don't get me wrong, I'm still dying inside, and this situation is completely out of control. Control freak not in control at all.

Anyway, I went ballistic at Sinai today, after the cunt at the front desk stopped me from going upstairs. I was screaming at the top of my lungs: "I HATE THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT HOSPITAL. FUCKING LOSERS! AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH! WHY THE FUCK AM I PUTTING MY LIFE IN THESE IDIOTS' HANDS?"

"Well, it's not too late," Dana says.

"WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? RENT AN APARTMENT AND GO TO SLOAN?"

"Why not?"

"CAUSE I DON'T HAVE $20,000 TO THROW AWAY!"

This went on for a few minutes; Dana got some of it on camera. I was nearly arrested for disturbing the peace. But the plastic surgeon was cool. He threw in some Botox too, and was so meticulous with the application that it gave me confidence in his surgical skills.

Doc says that after the surgery I will be about an A cup and then the skin stretches over time. They put the implants in after chemo. I didn't show him Playboy. He knows what he's doing.

This week could not have started out worse. But these photos speak volumes and remind me that I experienced pure happiness if only for two months. Some people never experience pure happiness, so I know I have to be thankful for these past weeks.

(The shirts are courtesy of Sabrina Cohen. Please check out her web site. If you guys think my pathetic story is inspiring, then you'll be blown away by her.)

Today I head to my first solo doctor's appointment; the plastic surgeon, where I will have to choose new breasts. I have a Playboy, my only companion today. I don't know how this week will end. I am still hoping for the best, but it's getting more difficult to have faith each day. And I'm not even referring to the surgery. I wish the surgeons could cut out the part of my brain responsible for emotions so that I have no feeling there anymore as I won't with my fake tits. Just when you thought life was good—despite CANCER—God throws you another curveball. I will get through this because I know I have to for my friends and family.

But the raw truth is that now I'm half hoping I will die during surgery. Thank God I have two shrinks. Though I've run out of Xanax. Sunday morning and yesterday were 2 mg days.