I am clawing my way out of yet another cancer chamber of horrors. As much as I hate to post two negative-ish reports in a row about my cancer treatment, hey, that’s my reality right now.
I now know that I am going to crawl on my hands, knees, and empty belly over the finish line, not unlike Julie Moss at the Ironman in 1982, but without the poop.
What finally convinced me to add low dose chemo to my radiation schedule was Dr. Akerley saying that I wouldn’t lose my hair. I quote: “I give this regimen to blue-haired old ladies and they’re fine.” Being a reporter at heart, I ask for clarification: “They keep their blue hair?” I got the solemn nod….
Who said radiation was easy? I think it was me, a few weeks ago. I was so consumed with NOT doing a full round of chemo that I fooled myself into thinking radiation would be a simple matter of lying on the table and getting a little targeted sunburn on my chest.
The kanji is the symbol for strength. It’s a copy of the tattoo I have on my wrist. It’s my “Livestrong” and it’s one of many things that’s helping me stay strong even when I’m feeling challenged.
If I’m watching “Kelly and Michael,” it must be Tuesday in Poison Control. Here I am again. Taxol is dripping into my arm. I know that because I have that weird medicinal taste in the back of my throat. Nothing a couple of fun size bags of M and M’s can’t mask, for now. My…