The One in Which I Ask What You Would Do

I think Steven and I are still ..."adapting' to the news we got that I had a recurrence in my brain cancer. It's "easier" now that we've made a decision about which option of treatment we'll be pursuing. Or I should say have already begun pursuing. On Wednesday, we received a calendar with all my appointments that have already been set up with UCSF for the next few months. It's reassuring in a way - for a Type A personality especially - to know what is expected on our schedule. But we're still in the very beginning and have no idea if this new protocol will have an effect on the progression of my disease at my secondary site. We are on Cycle One of a 28 day cycle. Day 15, I have a fasting blood draw, then a Neuro-oncologist appointment. If the numbers from my blood draw are okay, I have my "infusion. After six cycles like this, I will just be having the Infusion Days and no Chemo Days. (I think that's right. Sometimes it's hard to keep all the details straight.)

I've already joked about this on Facebook, but I'm only partly joking. I didn't know exactly what the Infusion was going to be like, exactly...but now I know that is NOTHING like a spa treatment (and if it's on the menu of any spa you visit, DON'T choose it!), and there are no tropical drinks included with little umbrellas and the scent of pineapple or coconut - or lime, even... <rip off!>

Hey, I thought you said "cocktail"!?!?!

It's basically a drug being "infused" through an I.V. tube into my blood stream. I'm so used to being poked with needles, I know which arm is the better one with the preferred vein. (Anyone who has had/has a condition that requires a lot of blood labs, etc. is nodding his head in understanding right now.) That day, I begin my 5 day chemo cycle - pill form - at bedtime. At first, I thought, "No big deal...no real nausea with the help of Zofran and the magical MM, etc" and the most reported side effect from this other drug is eye irritation. I felt okay. Meh. Not too bad

The next day; however...I've never experienced anything like that. I've been "tired" before - really, really tired before along the way of this 16 months of initial treatment. But with this new "cocktail", I felt like someone had injected some kind of heavy metal into my bloodstream. Maybe it was like Ironman? But truth be told, I've never gotten into that franchise, so I don't think he's as lethargic and lame as I felt at that point. If I'm totally misrepresenting that character....#freepass #braincancer

What I'm trying to describe is that It required tremendous effort just to sit up or lift an arm or leg. And it wasn't like sleepy, like I had experienced before. The usual prescription for my chemo side effects were not helpful - lots of napping and binge watching on Netflix and Amazon Prime. So, I lay there like a lump. I think I was a lump. A lump o' June. Not feeling very Ninja-like at all.

Picture Ironman all rusted and creaking out: "Oil caaaaan....."  like the Tin Man of the Wizard of Oz. NOT like the Ironman triathlon endurance competitors. Does that clear that up?

Let's just say that it was not fun. That pretty much covers it all.

My clinical trial calls for a second infusion on Day 15 - which will be tomorrow, Monday, February 22nd. Without a chemo pill chaser. So....who knows what I await! Like Cracker Jacks! OOOOH, a surprise in every box! Not as tasty, but the prizes in the box now are just stupid. right?

I've not broached this subject on this blog much, but anyone in a situation like this - not just the patient, but the whole family - inevitably has conversations about "quality of life" versus "quantity of life".

Steven have had several deep discussions on our daily walks lately. And it brought me back to something I thought from the beginning with my diagnosis. That was the birth of The #mfbcfnw! Raawwwwrrrr! I don't remember much about the first few days home from the hospital after my craniotomy, but I do remember sitting on my sofa, with my oldest, April, sitting next me. She was noticeably pregnant (due in March '15). There aren't really words to say to your child in that kind of situation. but I remember saying, "I'll fight this as hard as I can. I want to be there to see your baby...." <sobbing, of course>

This what makes this situation right now particularly fucked up to me. Because I DID fight and fight and fight. And Mother fuckers, I have survived for ...almost 17 months beyond my diagnosis! I'm planning on attending Autumn's first birthday in March! Wooooot! I'm feeling a little Ninja-ish right now!

But I'll admit, when I first heard the news about the new growth in the secondary spot, I was a mess. Lots of sobbing and shell-shocked, really. And in my head, I was thinking,  Am I going to be like aRusted Ironman the rest of my life? Where's my Mother Fuckin' Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior?

I kept thinking over and over...."I really thought I'd bought myself some time."
An interesting twist of words. "bought myself some time". Well, my doctors would say, Yes, you have. You did everything you could do. This disease is just a GINORMOUS MOTHER FUCKER. <(---I think that I added that last bit.) But I'll continue to do that which I can control over to try to give myself a few more weeks, months, or years with my family and friends. I will juice and drink combinations of kale/spinach/cabbage/romaine....(it's not as bad as you think - REALLY!) I'll continue to walk every day that is feasible - except my Ironman days (if I should have more of them)

And my brain-cancery mind has thinking about it...what would YOU do to "buy yourself a little more time"? And the thing, we ALL have evidence before us that tells that we CAN. No, there's no money-back guarantees, but why do we all ignore so much scientific evidence that we're shown that if we do X-Y-Z, that it helps us to prevent certain illness or medical condition that decreases our quality of life. And yet...and yet...

we don't do those things.

Kiddies, I'm not pointing fingers, and I'm not counting myself out of this phenomenon. 

Yes, death can be completely random. You could go out today and just get hit by a bus. Boom. No warning. But would you step off the curb onto a street without looking both ways if something was coming in your direction? I'm talking about a little itty bitty change that could contribute to preventative steps.

I really don't want to have this feel like a lecture. It's not meant to be lecture. Like I said, I've just been having this stuff bouncing around in my mind.

If there was ONE THING that I could leave behind today is to have you think about your life and what you are doing now. What you value. What you would lose if you were tragically diagnosed with a terminal illness. What would you do to "buy yourself more time"? My answer right now? Almost anything. To see my granddaughter's second birthday? To be there when one of my other children got engaged and went to a wedding attire shop to pick out their outfit...and I could be there? OR watch them walk down the aisle...graduate from college or earn a masters degree...

Or the smallest, smallest  things.... I was doing laundry this morning, and I was hanging up one of Steven's shirts. It's one that he has a tough time getting the collar "just so" over his tie, and he always asks me to fix the back of the collar to cover the tie. And as I hung that shirt, I thought. What if I don't ever get to do that again?  I'm not making this up. This went through my brain cancery mind this morning. 

So, yea. You can be sure that this #MFBCFNW is still fighting. RAAAAAAWWWWRRRR! 

No gratuitous picture of my granddaughter because I'm headed out to see her in a little while, and I'll take plenty of pictures then! So, come back later to see it! 

The One in Which I Do Something Ballsy

I've got great news for you all! Are you ready?

I am a Long Term Survivor!*

*Now, before you get all excited and plan a party --- or decide maybe June has gone off the deep end...
Kiddies, I can hear you saying it now: "What the deuce!? How can you say that? You were only diagnosed in September 2014 and you haven't even had your first post-treatment MRI! [This Friday! <scanxiety butterflies!>]  

Have you lost your mind?!"

Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Let's all take a deep breath, and let me explain...

The other day, I started to read this book that my thoughtful mother-in-law, Judy, sent to me....like, RIGHT away when she first heard the news about my situation.  It's called Crazy, Sexy Cancer Survivor, by Kris Carr.  And it looked really good, only I wasn't really feeling up to reading at all at the time. I was more into binge watching t.v. and movies on Netflix. So, it sat on my nightstand for a good long while I watched seasons of Newsroom, Girls, the entire The Tudors series.... Sorry, Judy! Love you! My brain just wasn't up to the task yet.

But in the New Year, one of my goals is to work on healing through the lens of the trifecta: Mind, Body, Spirit (more on that coming soon..) so I thought that this book might be a good place to help me tap into the whole Mind/Spirit part of things. And BAM, within the first couple pages, she had hooked me. She's infectious and positive and ...well, you can check her out online because she's kind of become a Big Deal and an Industry in a sense. Yes, she has things to sell. But don't let your cynicism get the best of you. [FYI: The world doesn't need more cynics.) She's got very important things to say. Go, Kris!

I'll even save you the trouble of googling that shit: Here it is on amazon.com.

One of the first things she says to do in her book is write down (yes, right there in the book - see, I like a girl who isn't afraid to mark up a book, too.) "I am a survivor. A Crazy Sexy Survivor and thriver!" And I did. And it felt good.

But then I got to thinking about this...in the Stage IV GBM community in particular, there's this on-going discussion and longing and quest to find Long Term Survivors, like the kick-ass Cheryl Broyles, whom I've mentioned before. But the term is not clearly defined, as far as I can tell. In other words, "How long is long?"

And then it hit me...if I can declare myself "a survivor", why can't I call myself a Long Term Survivor? As far as I know, I'm not violating any copyright laws. In fact, "long term" sounds suspiciously like one of those squidgy, judgement-call words. Like short or tall, fat or skinny...

You've all seen these e-cards....you get the idea!

I've decided Long Term Survivor is a subjective term, and I aim to do something ballsy. I'm going to claim it.  Long-Term could be months, years, decades...who the hell knows? Who's going to tell me I'm wrong? (I'm betting you don't have the balls to do it. And if you do, I'll just call you a "dick" and not listen to you anyway. Because I am ballsy that way too, my friend.) 

By using that term, I sincerely hope that it doesn't offend any Warriors who've been on the battlefield far longer than I. I honor you. I respect you. I want to BE you.  I have no idea what is in the crystal ball for me, but I do know that if I approach life as if I am a long term survivor, then I am living life as a long term survivor.  That's part of the whole Mind/Spirit Thingy, right? 

So, I ammended that page. Here it is:

And finally, to honor a recently fallen warrior:

Well said, Mr. Scott. Well said.

 _____________________________________________________________________________

P.S. To my son, Aidan: I swear I'll start reading The Grapes of Wrath right after I'm done with Kris Carr's book! I think my brain is ready to re-engage! Xoxoxo

The One in Which I Explain Why I Feel So Lucky Today - and Reveal a Ninja Warrior Secret

Two days left of my initial treatment! It's raining heavily out there, but I don't know what it would take for me to miss my radiation appointment today! Oh, no, no, no, no! You don't know who you're messing with! This is a Ninja Warrior on a mission! Bring it on, Sharknado!!!

June is on Day 29 of a 30 day radiation treatment schedule! Nice try!

You might have noticed that I changed up my blog banner. It probably looks too busy (Hey, who asked ya'??), but for now I think it more accurately reflects where I am on my journey. I'm not just a mother fuckin' brain cancer fighting ninja warrior. I am seeing more and more time and energy for the other "parts" of me. And it feels so good.

In the end of September, when Steven and I received my prognosis, I was in a very different place (mentally & physically) than I am now.  Post-surgery, I was having focal seizures 8-12 times a day! I spent most of my time lying down in bed or on the sofa, and Steven was right by my side the whole time, stroking my hair and talking me through the seizures. And yes, I felt so lucky to have him there with me. (I don't know what I would have done without him!) But I'm not gonna lie...I cried a lot. Not because I was feeling sorry for myself, but the thoughts that kept running through my head were: "Is this the best it is going to get?" "Is this how it is going to end?"

The idea was so crushing and debilitating...I cry just remembering it now. And I'm sorry if I've made some of you cry, too.

Just in case you need some...haha!

By the way, kiddies, I have become the biggest cry baby in the world, I think. Sad tears, happy tears...it's all good! Don't let anyone tell you differently.

So, why do I feel so lucky today, despite the fact that I still have GBM and a lot of the unpleasant things that it entails? 

Well, first of all, I discovered that I was Mother Fuckin' Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior (#mfbcfnw). So, that's cool, yes? Okay, kiddies, I'm going to share one of the most powerful lessons that I've learned as a Ninja Warrior. Ready?

The less you worry/think about things you can't control, the less "crushed and debilitated" you will feel. Focus on the things you can control. I might look badass, all bald and stuff, but the secret is: my primary weapon as a Ninja Warrior is my MIND. I can control my thoughts.

You mean, you've heard this before? You're right. It's not new. But it takes a long time to master, and it takes a lot of practice and discipline. And you will probably backslide occasionally, which is when those tissues come in handy.  But it's worth the effort to think about what you can and can't control, and focus on the CAN part as much as possible. Trust me.

So, Steven and I  - okay, mostly Steven (#myrock), I have to say, in the early days because I wasn't strong enough in the beginning - started with what we could control - plugging away, seeking out appropriate medical care for me and getting treatments started. Of course, we found Dr. Awesome McAwesomesauce, who changed my prescriptions and I haven't had another seizure since. Eek! I hesitate to even type that - I don't want to jinx myself! Sshhhh! Pretend I never said that. And now my initial treatment plan is nearly complete! That's crazy! It will be 42 days of chemo and 30 days of radiation! Woot!

Don't get me wrong... It is different. No doubt. (If you want more details about the medically side of things, click on the tab above or the link here: "Living with GBM and My Medical "Now What?")

But today, I feel more like I am Living Life in Full. I'm more than just a cancer patient. I feel stronger every day and more like "myself" - but with a more obvious potty mouth, which I've decided isn't such a bad thing.  I'm helping to plan our holiday family gathering at the end of the month and getting ridiculously excited about the arrival of our first grandbaby!  I've even begun to create Pinterest boards and send out absurdly long emails with details about these things. Now, anyone who knows me is saying, "Dang! JUNE is BACK!" <high fives to all of my fellow Type-A homies out there!>

Steven and I went for our daily therapy walk yesterday, and we had a good cry conversation about how we both are forever changed by this. There will always be the dividing line of B.C. and A.C. Where do we go from here? There are so many things that we don't know, too.  We don't have control over everything....

Wait, doesn't this sound suspiciously like something I said a few paragraphs above? I told you it takes practice! Keep trying, my fellow Ninja Warriors! Maybe we'll never truly master it. But if we keep trying, I believe we'll be happier for it.

Cancer doesn't define us, but it does change us. Not just those who get it, but all those who love the person. And it's the "Now What?" part that is confusing, scary, daunting.., But the exciting thing is...there's a "Now What?" for us, right now.

My New Living Life in Full will obviously look different - but isn't that changing all the time for all of all of us? I feel so lucky today because I am focused on the LIFE part.

The One in Which I Start my Last Week of Treatment and Talk about HOPE

Last Friday seemed like it's been a tipping point for me in my treatments. I mentioned that I started my "boosts" on Thursday, and I was wiped out in the afternoon, with a headache and slowed down speech. The doctor increased my dosage of steroids on Friday and cautioned me against pushing myself too hard. When he heard about our daily 3 mile walk up Communications Hill, the radiologist's eyebrows went a little wonky. They want me to exercise as I feel up to it, but not go too crazy. Moderation? Oh, yea! That's totally me! (not.) But I'm trying to balance my longer term goals with my recovery. Pssst! Hint: Recovery comes first! And I'm pretty sure my radiologist knows more about this stuff then I do....

Sure enough, I woke up feeling drained and spent most of Saturday in bed, nestled under blankets and reading online/watching Netflix. (Query: Is it possible to get to the END of Netflix?)

They say a little exercise can actually combat the fatigue, so I went on a little, leisurely 2 mile flat loop walk around the neighborhood with Steven in the late afternoon - No Hill!

And I was feeling better by Sunday morning.
<insert superhero sound effect here>
I made juice for all of us, walked Communications Hill with Steven, and even made lemon bars for "the guys" in the afternoon...Then I spent the better part of the late afternoon/evening in bed before having a fitful sleep (probably a side effect of the increased steroids). I may need to back off the Communications Hill workout - at least until the end of this week. What was that word again? Moderation. moderation....I'll keep trying...

Side note: someone responded on Facebook about this article about Communications Hill saying that they didn't think that it was actually the name of the hill - but rather something that I had just made up. Haha! I guess it would make sense because that's where Steven & I do a lot of talking...but if you read the article, I guess people do a lot of...<eh hem> "communicating" - and other things -  up there, too, that the residents don't like very much. Doh!

See, I was going to insert the obvious Clint Eastwood, "Get off my lawn" picture, but it was too cute to pass up!

As I've mentioned already, as my initial 6-week treatment is ending, it's time to switch into the "Now What?" mode. For 6 weeks, I had it planned all out for me, and the path was really clear. So, in reaching back out into the interwebs and reading about Long Term Survivors. I stumbled on a document from The National Coalition for Cancer Survivorship called, "Self-Advocacy: A Cancer Survivor's Handbook" (a very good read if you or someone you know is living with cancer). But this lead me to another document that I've been mulling over in my mind:

"YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN HOPEFUL" <--- click for document!

It was published in 2008, so maybe there's a newer version, but this one is free to read online, and I felt like it said so many things that I've been thinking and feeling, I wanted to share it with you. It's related to cancer survivorship, but I think it could be relevant to anyone in a very challenging situation.

As you can probably see from the more serious nature of my blog this past week, I'm definitely going through a transition period. Steven and I discussed yesterday how hard it is to remain optimistic in a world that can be so cynical and pessimistic. So, it really hit me when I got to this part of the article that makes a clear distinction between: wishing, optimism, and HOPE.  I'll leave you to read the details if you're curious.  
Aside: Don't you hate when you go to a presentation or professional development and someone just reads the words from the PPT slides??? Uh...thanks, but I can read for myself. Do you have anything new to add to the discussion???
P.S. There are a lot of good quotes about HOPE in there, though, if that's any incentive.

Despite my drugged up state in the hospital before and after my surgery, one of the few things that I remember was meeting my neurosurgeon, oncologist, and radiologist and all of them using the word "hope"and "hopeful" repeatedly. Whatever they were saying to me was probably very deep and meaningful - and I'm sure Steven understood it - but what I was mostly thinking is:

"Whoa! This is trippy!"

So,  I hadn't thought that much about HOPE as a concept until now.


Okay, I said I wasn't going to read from the article and I was going to let you read it yourself...and I swear, I'm not usually a liar, but this is so good....so much better than I could have said it:

Hope is “mental willpower plus waypower for goals.” Willpower, in this definition is “the driving force to hopeful thinking.” It is a sense of mental energy that helps move a person toward a goal. Waypower, the second component in the hope equation, is the mental capacity used to find a way to reach your goals. It reflects the mental plans or road maps that guide hopeful thought.

That sounds like another Good Will Hunting type of equation, doesn't it? I'm no genius, but the main part I get out of it is: HOPE is more than just wishing that something good will happen or expecting that it will happen (being optimistic), but HOPE is directly tied in with positive beliefs, goal setting, and a sense of self-empowerment...(plus a huge dose of adaptation on the side) <-- I added that last part. So, sue me. #freepass

What struck me the most in my first read of this article is the idea that "Hope is individualistic," -  that the way your hope develops is dependent on your family culture..."and it important to realize family differences with regard to hope."  huh. So, of course, I start thinking about the family that I grew up and what hope meant to us.... and the family we have now and what hope means to us... Newsflash: I could write an entire book on that, and this post is already ridiculous long! Sorry! So just FYI - I'm just opening up a dialogue about this...

I was deeply influenced by my own family's sense of HOPE. And I think that Steven and I have passed that along to our own children. We were instilled with the belief that if you set goals and work hard, you can usual attain them. (As long as the goal were realistic. It doesn't even have to be likely. It could be highly unlikely. For example: Anyone of us could have president of the U.S. But we didn't encourage the idea of hoping you could be a unicorn - at least after a certain age of childlike wonder.)

Bottom line: We were deeply steeped in a sense of self-empowerment. And I believe we've passed these beliefs on to our own children.

Big ah-ha moment for me: I've had plenty of willpower (I'm a Mother Fuckin Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior, after all) - throughout my life and during this shitty two months -  but this transition period is about tapping into the "waypower". The good news is that I've used "waypower", too, to reach my goals -  to create training schedules to run marathons and half-marathons, go back to school and get my teaching credential in 2003 (with four kids), etc.

But I've never applied it to this situation. I think this time, I'm not going to be able to do it alone. I'm going to need the help of my family, friends, and medical team, It's scary as hell because there's no clear path, and Steven and I are going to have to make decisions without clear right or wrong answers. Hint: if you think that you have the "right answer" you probably shouldn't share with us - at least with that filter -  because we know enough to know that there isn't yet a CURE AKA "right answer". 

But we have to "develop mental plans and road maps" to guide us toward our goal:

to be a 

Long Term Survivor.

This is one of the great quotes from the article that I'll leave you with:

No matter what befalls me, I feel commanded to choose life. You cannot give in to despair. You may hit bottom, but even then you have a choice. And to choose life means an obligation not merely to survive, but to live. ~ Nessa Rapoport

The One in Which I Reveal that George Washington was a MF Ninja Warrior

I woke up this morning, in bed with my arms around my Schmoopy, to the sound of rain drops falling softly against the window. And I was immediately transported back to a memory of laying in a pop-up camper with my family and hearing the rain drops plop on the canvas sides and the breath of my siblings beside me and my parents across the way. And it was so vivid.

I don't have a picture of our actual camper.I 'm sure my mom has many. I don't remember us having propane underneath. Other than that, it seems pretty accurate.

It's weird how the brain retains things, and how they are retrieved instantly from a smell or a taste or sound. Let's face it. The brain is weird. Magical. Powerful. Mysterious. and Weird. Which I guess is my round-about apology for this rambling post...

Today's radiation/chemo will mark the halfway mark of my current treatment regimen. I've learned a lot lessons from fellow Ninja Warriors out there that have seen battles with cancer, but one of the wisest is: Your journey is your own journey. Sounds simple, but it has given me a great deal of perspective after I first attempted to google"GBM" and got all freaked out.  Remember that? (Warning: Absolutely No Unicorns or Rainbows Contained in this Post (sort of)
Thank you to all the Ninja Warriors that helped through that particular hissy fit difficult time.

When I first got my prognosis, another wise Ninja Warrior (Bethany McIvor!) suggested that we google "GMB Survivors". I wasn't ready then, but I am now. Remember, kiddies, how I said we're all on our journeys? But this is a great lesson in how important keywords are when searching the internet.  Entering the keyword "tea party" will yield you VERY different results than entering in "tea party food ideas". These things are important to know because it would be very shocking and disappointing  for some Tea Party lobbyist to arrive at this:

Hint: Sometimes things end up in my blog just because they make me giggle to think about them. Giggling is a good thing.

P.S. I have lots of other lessons about google, but I'll save them for later...unless I get that inevitable communication from their lawyers.

So, I took a deep breath and googled that shit yesterday: "GBM Survivors". And yes, it contained (some) of the information that I was avoiding: The survival rate for GBM is... <June sticks pointer fingers in her ears> "La la la la...not listening!" But this time, I sucked it up and looked at the actual numbers. I already KNEW them, kinda-sorta. It just confirmed the whole Outlier thingy I've talked about it. That wasn't what I was looking for anyway. I was looking for WHO survived and WHAT they are doing.

I know that there are no secret recipes or cures, especially for the particularly nasty variety of Cranium-Threatening Bastard Thugs that are in my brain.... I realize that "cranium" isn't really the right word, but I can't think of a really good synonym for brain?" Oh! I know!!! How 'bout "gray matter"?

Okay, so henceforth, I do decree that they (the fucking tumor cells in my brain) will be referred to as Gray-Matter Threatening Bastard Thugs!  I'll just call them Bastard Thugs for short. But y'all will know what I'm talking about now, k?

Ninja Warrior attacking actual Bastard Thugs (GBM cells) with ninja stars! Fuckin' Awesome, right?!

Anyway, this is some of what I took away from my initial search for Stage 4 GBM Survivors is:
1) They exist! Yay! They're not unicorns! (Whoops! Sorry, kiddies! Ignore that last part.)
2) There are Mother Fuckin' Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warriors who are Long Term Survivors (LTS)!
Check this LTS ninja out: Cheryl Broyles's Inspirational GBM Brain Tumor Survivor Story
3) Knowledge is power. If I want to be a Long Term Survivor, I have to ACT like one.
Anyone who knows me knows this: I'm not quitter. I'm going to research and train and use my body, soul, and mind in this fight.

Sorry to break the news to you all, but this was a big a-ha for me (But remember what I said, kiddies: knowledge is power!):

4) This is only the first battle. This is an all-out war, and there will be more battles. There will be more treatment cycles and more battle scars.

The Good News: We don't have to think about them today. We don't even know what they are! What a waste of time and energy - and I can't afford to waste either of these things.

Because I'm a history geek, a thought that keeps running through my head are stories my father sometimes tells (fellow history geek! fist bump!) about George Washington during the Revolution War. Did you know that he lost more battles than he won in the war? And he had many close calls that could have ended his life.  (You'll have to ask my dad for the specifics. He's much better at telling those stories!) But it's obvious that George Washington was a Ninja Warrior, too!

Google truly failed me this time. The best I could to was a GW vs. Zombies pic.Which is also pretty bitchin'!

Although I couldn't find confirmation of it on the internet, I'm pretty sure GW's battle cry at Yorktown was, "Die, you Mother Fuckin' Bastard Thugs"

P.S. Did you know that I went to George Washington University, and I lived in Washington Crossing, Pennsylvania for a time in my life?

Coincidence, or something more?