Previously on The Murder of Ted…
Ted was taking some serious hits, but the mission was taking its toll on me too. My body was exhausted, my patience was wearing thin, and I was starting to realize this fight was going to test more than just my ability to follow the clues.
This week: Ted reclaims territory and his ugly little lake develops an eye. Meanwhile, I suit up, turn up the heat, and do everything I can to give Ted the melt stick.
Thank you for joining me on this unexpected, uncozy adventure.
The Murder of Ted
A Series of Unfortunate Events, an Uncozy Adventure
Chapter Fifteen: The Eye of Sauron
A good sleuth pays attention to the little things. A change in behavior. A suspicious mark. A new pattern. Or something that doesn’t belong.
My eight-week checkup with LW didn’t go as well as I had hoped.
Ted was quickly reclaiming territory, and the fear of him resisting treatment kept lingering in the back of my mind. He had swollen up so badly that when LW saw it, all he could say was, “Well, don’t bump him and watch out for hugs!”
I had Dead Ted Lake sticking out of me, and he was squishy.
Ewe.
LW reassured me that we were still making progress and that Ted was dying. The lake was necrosis. However, he wasn’t sure these first twelve weeks were going to kill him.
We knew that was a possibility from the beginning, but of course we had hoped we would reach success the first go around.
The darker side of that news was that it was entirely possible Ted was resisting his arrest. Worse, there was always the possibility that he was still spreading.
I did not want to let my thoughts linger there. That is not a good place for my brain to hang out.
So, once again, I asked the question: “What do we do?”
“We wait,” he said.
The Lord really wants me to master patience.
I asked about an emergency mastectomy. Not because I wanted one, but because when you hear that Ted might be winning, you start wondering what else can be done.
LW said “no”.
“That would actually be worse,” he explained. “Right now, hopefully, Ted is encased in inflammation. We don’t want to cut through that.”
Ted’s fortress was surrounded.
So, we would continue the castor oil treatments and deal with wound care if and when Ted finally opened up.
I wanted him to come out with his hands up but not that way.
I still had five weeks of chemotherapy left, and I needed to be out of chemo for two weeks before we could do new scans.
Seven weeks until we would know just how much success we had on the battlefield. That’s a very long time when you’re waiting to find out whether the thing you’re trying to kill is actually dying.
LW needed to see what the resident brain tumor was doing and what Ted was up to before we could plan the next round.
My energy continued to decrease as the battle waged on. I went to my final Stealth Attack injections, where Ted received another face full of poison. Those appointments had become something I absolutely dreaded. They were painful, and I hated going. But this was my last one, and I clung to that piece of joy.
Unfortunately, the extra drugs I needed caused me to lose stability. My blood pressure dropped so low that I almost passed out. My husband had to walk me to my next treatment and practically pick me up to lay me on the table. I must have scared my tech because she kept asking if I was okay and checking on me.
Sadly, my husband had to leave for work, and by the time I needed to get to the next treatment, my tech was helping me because I couldn’t safely get there on my own. That treatment was canceled. My blood pressure continued to drop dangerously low, and I was sent home.
Epic fail.
I slept for twelve straight hours. My body had filed a formal complaint.
Somehow, in the middle of all of that, I managed to get the first Ted Hunter story released.
I was pushing through the brain-fog black hole and accomplishing actual work.
I even got the newsletter out.
Only a week late!
I was still winning micro wins.
Go me!
Those little accomplishments may not sound like much, but when your brain feels like it has been dropped into a black hole and your body has the energy of a dead battery, getting anything done feels like winning a gold medal.
By the next week, things were still on a downward spiral. As if the last few chapters hadn’t been bad enough. My weight stayed down. My energy kept disappearing. The fatigue dragged on and on.
It’s hard to believe that rock bottom is never really rock bottom. There is always farther to fall.
I was pushing myself so hard to stay positive that sometimes I wondered if I was allowed to admit how awful I actually felt.
Ted was reclaiming territory, and the question I didn’t want to ask kept getting louder:
What if I have to live with Ted forever?
That thought terrified me. My entire summer had turned into cancer. Now Ted was taking over my fall. Cancer is a full-time job even when you are trying to pretend it isn’t.
24/7 cancer is not healthy for anyone, even when you are maintaining a positive attitude and attempting the daily murder of your tumor.
There were so many moments when I wanted to give up. Not on life, just on this. I wanted to pack a suitcase, get in the car, and travel.
If this really was the end of my normal life, I wanted to go somewhere that didn’t smell like chemo. Somewhere that didn’t involve blood tests, treatment rooms, scans, or conversations about tumors.
Reality would come crashing back in. There were treatments to finish. Bills to pay. Funds to find. And most importantly, Ted needed to die.
Chemo makes you emotional. Your body is changing. Your appetite is changing. Your taste buds are changing. When you have entered muscle wasting, you know you need to eat to live, but food becomes a battlefront all on its own.
You know you need calories.
You know you need protein.
You know your body needs fuel.
And then you look at the food and your stomach says
Absolutely not.
Meat was especially bad. Just typing the word made me nauseous.
Each day at the cancer table, we expressed our hopes and fears. My friends help me more than they’ll ever know, because when their down, I find a way to be so positive and encouraging that it keeps me out of those dark corners, too.
Ted’s swollen red, purple, and black marks were forming a very intimidating-looking eye. His ugly face was staring at me every time I saw it in the mirror.
It reminded me of the Eye of Sauron.
Great, now Ted was watching me from his gross little lake, and the pain was increasing.
His whispers lingered like a stale smoke in the air. They were thick and intoxicating. But that’s what he wanted.
I was becoming increasingly exhausted. I joked that I had become narcoleptic because I was literally sleeping everywhere I went. All over the building I was napping.
I was so tired that even lifting a fork to eat felt like I was lifting a ten-pound brick.
I was becoming a zombie. My blood pressure continued to drop. My weight was still teetering on the edge. And every hug had to be carefully guarded because apparently even affection could be a disaster. As much as I wanted to drain Ted’s lake, having him explode was not an option.
When the next hyperthermia treatment came around, I wanted to hit that 104-degree goal so badly. I needed to give Ted the melt stick. So, I put on my LW-issued super suit. It consisted of wool socks and mittens, 100% thick cotton sweatpants, and a black sweatshirt.
I added an extra-thick black hoodie and sat outside on the sidewalk in the Florida heat and sunshine, trying to preheat myself. I even drank three tablespoons of olive oil. Anything to help. Anything to give Ted the melt stick. I wanted him to evaporate.
I went into treatment at 100 degrees. That’s what baking on a Florida sidewalk will get you! This time, I was lucky enough to have my buddy Dee in the hyperthermia room with me.
And we had a blast.
Well…
As much of a blast as two people can have while sitting inside giant heated pods trying to cook their cancer.
We danced in our pods, if you can call it dancing. We wiggled anyway we could to the beat of the music.
Cheered each other on and pumped each other up as we hit each temperature milestone.
We both reached the goal.
I made it to 104.5 degrees!
Success! My little army had been deemed worthy of the melt stick. Armed with those babies, they ran around for an hour and a half, blasting Ted to oblivion.
Ted liked to play dirty, and the gloves were off.
“Two can play this game!” I whispered to him.
Our nurses were like guardian angels caring for us, wiping the sweat from our brows, helping us drink while laying down, and doing anything they could to make us comfortable in an uncomfortable situation.
We played The Final Countdown during the last few minutes as we melted away, and when they opened our pods, we played We Are the Champions.
It was perfect and also emotional because it was Dee’s final day. Joy was officially dead. At least, that was the plan. We were practically signing her death certificate. Dee’s scans were still a couple of weeks away, so technically we didn’t have proof yet. But Joy needed to be dead. Dee needed her gone. I told her to start writing the obituary now. She asked if I would. So here goes.
An Obituary for Joy
Joy
Date of birth: Unknown
Date of death: October 8, 2026
Joy, a longtime resident of the darkness, has finally been defeated.
After a three-year hiatus, she returned without warning, believing she could once again make herself comfortable in Dee’s life.
She was wrong.
Despite her best efforts to reclaim her territory, Joy met her match in an epic battle to the death. After an exhausting fight, she was defeated and cast back into the darkness from which she came.
Joy was known for causing pain, fear, exhaustion, and killing Dee’s joy. She was not a pleasant houseguest and will not be remembered fondly.
During her final days, Dee refused to give her the satisfaction of winning. Her light shone brighter than Joy’s darkness, and in the end, that light destroyed her.
Joy is survived by absolutely no one who will miss her, and she will most certainly not be invited back.
Good riddance, Joy.
You will not be missed.
Dee, I hope you like Joy’s obituary.
It was time to say goodbye to Dee. It’s always hard to say goodbye to a friend. Especially when you’ve spent hours together sweating inside human-sized ovens.
Dee was ready to move on, and I hoped Joy really was dead. I wanted that victory for her. I wanted it for me, too. Because somewhere beneath the exhaustion, the nausea, the falling blood pressure, the muscle wasting, the pain, and the fear, I was still fighting. Still finding a reason to laugh. Still hunting Ted.
Every good sleuth knows what you do when the suspect starts watching you. You watch him right back.
Stay tuned for the next episode of Chapter 16: Beans, Glorious Beans!
Ready for more mysteries?
If you’ve been following my very uncozy investigation into Ted, you may be ready for a mystery where the murders are fictional, the clues are fun, and nobody is checking your blood pressure every five minutes.
Come spend a little time with Taryn O’Kelly, a party planner turned amateur sleuth who has a talent for finding trouble, bodies, and a whole lot of small-town shenanigans.
If you’re ready for a cozy mystery with humor, a little romance, and a happy ending, Taryn is waiting.
Start with Party Planning for Murder, Book One of the Taryn O’Kelly Mysteries, then follow Taryn through Frost and Foul Play, Cruises, Cocktails, and Corpses, and Sparks, S’mores, and Scandals.
And don’t forget, the antidote to the uncozy is a cozy mystery.
Until next chapter…
Happy reading.
As always, thanks for stopping by for some Salty Inspirations! -Michelle ❤️
🗃️ The Murder of Ted — Chapter Archive. You can find all chapters of The Murder of Ted in the complete chapter archive.
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