I’m up. Drinking coffee.
Yesterday sucked. Lots of puking.
Now trying to put myself back together for another day of it.
Alberto said that if my white cell counts got much lower he’d have to pause treatment.. (I’m thinking, “really? You promise?”). Of course, then again.. not sure I want it dragged out. Because of no treatment on labor day (cancer deserves a day off like everyone else), I already have to go back again on monday. A couple of days off over the weekend to recover a little and then right back in for a “STAY down!” kick in the teeth.
By the middle of next week, though, I should be feeling pretty well again, though. Then just a few more weeks of radiation, and the cancer should be dead. Nice. Sorry buddy.
Then I get 6 weeks or so of rest before surgery. I’ve been looking forward to it the same way you did summer vacation when you were a kid. It occurred to me the other day, though, that it’s going to be pretty weird. Their prediction is that the chemo and radiation should pretty much kill this thing.. so I’ll be feeling great. I’ll be feeling like myself. Give me a couple weeks there to recover from the treatment, and I’ll be on top of the world. Cancer free, etc. Then in early November, they’ll call me back in and say, “yeah.. um.. we’d like to remove your ass.”
“Hey! no thanks! I feel great!”
“No really. We need to.”
The whole no hair thing has been pretty weird. Strange to get used to in the mirror and all, but there’s a bigger thing. I’ve been in this neighborhood for over 8 years. I pretty much know everyone. Some of them knew about the cancer, and others didn’t. It just hadn’t really come up in conversation. But now it’s pretty hard to avoid.
“Hey! that’s a good new look!”
“Um yeah.. It’s cancer.”
“No way!… Are you joking?”