Good news and bad news and thoughts on India

I haven't written lately because there hasn't been much to report. After the second treatment, I thought maybe this whole deal wouldn't be so bad if I could just get used to myself in the mirror.

But the fatigue just wears on you. Before I realized what was happening, I was almost a week in and just tiiiired. Aaalll the time. Sneaky sleepy dust bunny ba--ard. (:-))

And nauseous. I quit the anti-nausea meds a day earlier than last time, just to see. It seemed ok at first. Only after a few days off the medicine did I realize I wanted to puke most of the time. Or sleep. I didn't toss my cookies, but I did sit a lot.

Then came the soreness from the shot to boost my blood count. Started a bit slower, lasted several days longer. It's like having a bruise all over your body. Even your face hurts to wash it. It reminds me of the House episode where this young patient dude sees Dr House and complains he hurts all over. He uses his pointer finger and presses different spots on his body and says "ooow" until Dr House bends his finger backwards. (The idiot's finger is broken!)

So now we have tired, sore, pukey.

Oh yeah, and bald-ish.

Then Richard and I met with the dietician. I was getting super encouraged by her diatribe on vitamin D3 and what to do in the event I lose my appetite. I'm nodding. Listening. then she mentions that most "female chemo patients, though, gain weight."

Screeching halt. I confess I had a hard time listening to anything else after that little bomb.

What?! I have to go through all this and I don't even get the silver lining? I have to be bald, sick, sore, tired and FAT?!

I think Richard saw something in my eyes. He kept saying, "Don't worry honey, that's not you."

We walked out of the office and he asked if I was ok. I said I was a "little upset."

Outside the skies had opened so we waited a bit to leave, surrounded by gloom. Richie drove me back to my car at his office and I heard myself telling him I just didn't want it to take everything. And then I started to cry.

I really haven't lost it too much up to this point. Earlier that day I had a meeting with the genetic counselor and he told me I may have to lose my ovaries as well if it turns out I have a certain genetic mutation. Piece of cake. But suddenly, I was just through.

Richie was so good. He just held my hand and said, "Oh. Ok." Then he drove past his office. I looked up and asked where we were going. He told me I was driving with him to the Wendys to get a milkshake. It made me kind of smile through my boohoos. I'm worried abut getting fat and my lovee is taking me for a milkshake. Damn right.

Except I got french fries and ate half his shake :-)

By the time we got back to my car I felt much better. On the way home I called to lament my newest problem to Babette (aka Yvette aka Yogi), who proceeded to remind me to be happy I was going to get better since we caught the inflammatory pre-surgery, rather than post, in which case, this would be a whole different ball game. She said, "It makes me feel better!" in that cute little chipper voice she uses. Biotch. (jk)

So, I hung up and drove on. When I got home I weighed myself, as any good neurotic would do. You might like to know I actually lost a couple pounds again, after gaining some back last week. Then I did a little yoga for health.

Last thing. Rosemary, my sister-in-law called me and I KNEW she would understand about the whole fat thing, as she is rock hard and a size zero. She gave me permission to feel sorry for myself for just a second. Hey, we all know the masses are living in piles of crap in India. It really only makes me feel worse, not better about my own problems, heehee, but I digress.

By the end of the day, I felt much restored and it didn't hurt that my honey came home and played a new "eye of the tiger" playlist he'd put together for me and hugged me in the kitchen and I got to eat a delicious gourmet pot roast (yes. gourmet. pot roast. How does JP do it?)

God bless and love to you all.