Two Month Chemo-versary

Today marks the two-month anniversary of the day I received my first chemotherapy infusion. How time flies! I still remember that day; I was excited and nervous, and my sister and parents came with me. I didn't want them to have to see me hurt, so I tried to pick a seat where they couldn't see me get poked. I remember being surprised at how old everyone else was, and I remember feeling really awkward not knowing the protocol of how things were supposed to go. I remember getting knocked off my ass with Benadryl and being so sleepy I couldn't speak.

Now when I go to chemo, I go alone. I don't need anyone to be there with me because all I do is sleep, and that would be very boring for a guest. When I get there, I say hi to everyone I know. I know exactly what I want to have for the time I'm there and get it all ready: a table, with my iPod, GameBoy, phone, water and a juice box; a blanket or two to keep me warm; and my prayer shawl knitted by Auntie Alice. I take my shoes off, lean my chair back, cover myself up, and get ready for a drowsy 2-3 hours. I'm an old pro now.

So two months down already. And a little over two more to go. I can do this. No sweat.

I don't feel too good today, but I'd better get to feeling great! I have a race tomorrow! No running of course. And California in just 4...3...2...1...! And birthday in 10 days!

Today I had a great cancer moment. I was trying to sleep in, but the doorbell rang. The doorbell never rings, so I figured I'd better answer. I was hoping it would be a delivery guy with beautiful flowers from a mysterious benefactor, but it was door-to-door Obama people. I didn't bother putting a hat on, and I was just wearing my bathrobe. I told them I wasn't that interested in the election this year, as I have more important things going on. Blah blah blah, they asked if I had cancer, yes, what kind, breast, my mom had that, oh, can she pray for you, sure. Flowers would have been better.

You know, the funny thing about cancer is that someone has to tell you you're sick. I was feeling pretty good before diagnosis, before treatment. Usually when you're sick, you go to the doctor and tell the doctor you're sick and you feel like crap. After, the doctor helps you and you feel better. In the case of cancer, you go to the doctor and the doctor tells you you're sick. And then the doctor helps you and you feel like crap. But eventually you feel better. Right?

Something that disturbs me about cancer is that the patient has no real idea what's going on inside of them. And neither does the doctor. You have to have tests and images and scans and whatnot to tell you what's going on. For all I know, cancer is spreading in me right now. For all I know, there is no cancer in me now at all. Who knows? It bothers me not to know what's going on in my own body. And it bothers me that, regardless of why I have cancer, it's something that my body is doing to me. It's something I'm doing to myself, and I don't know why, and I don't know how to stop!

Stop making cells! Easier said than done, eh Marc, as I now realize... unfortunately...

If everything were different today, I know what I'd do. I'd call up that guy, and I'd see if he wanted to get a beermosa with me. Days like today always make me think of him. Days like today make me nostalgic for my old life. But everything is not different. And for the record, he's always told me I was, indeed, good for him.

Oh well. Cheers to today! Send me positive thoughts and good vibrations that I'll be feeling better for my race and my Chemo-cation!