Is it at all fair that we had a 60-degree IN JANUARY?

It's okay in Florida. It's okay in South Carolina. It's okay in places where nobody has a Down Jacket to their name.
But please. My brother has a snowball in the freezer, he's so desperate.

Shall the Snow Gods smile down upon us?

Oh, and no more Dam jokes.

Last night, I was sitting quietly on the couch, minding my own busines, when out of the blue, my family hit me with six 6-ml saline saringes.
Salt water. In those little needle jobbies that you get shots in, but without the needle.
Have I not suffered enough???

Although, I must remember that...

Oh, and my brother gets his final four braces out today!

Hey... Guess what I just got? No, c'mon guess. I really want you to guess.

Okay, here: A perfect 20's silhouette.

Because guess what just came out at 9:10 this morning?
HA!! YES yes YES yes YES!!!

Now I have a hardcore Buggs Bunny Band-Aid over a little quarter-inch scab, and I can shower and put my arms over my head and turn 60's rebel and not wear a bra and be happy. HA!

I did ask if I could take my bloody, used Catheter home to show you guys and watch you ooh, aah and be violently ill, but evilsome Dr. Skinner put the kabosh on that one. His high on the humor reader is -52, not that he'd admit to it.

But I did try for you guys. I made an effort. Honest.

And now all I have to do is two months of PT (I hope) and I shall make you throw a Ridiculously Large Party for me.

Or I could take a really long shower...

Yes! Yes! YES! Yesyesyes!
My Catheter comes out on the 22!

...For those of you who are not as divinely blessed with the knowledge of The Catheter as I am, let me elaborate: Ick.
It is a peice of plastic that sticks out of the right side of your chest (and it has to be in a blood vessle or it won't work), enabling the Vampire Nurses to painlessly draw blood and preventing you, the Long-Suffering but Silent Wearer, from taking a shower.
Wondering why I haven't been smelling as rosy as usual? Wonder no more.

I plan to take a very long, hot bubble bath when I come around from all the knock-out meds, so please, no letters till half-past February.

There is a cooler on our back deck, stuffed with all the things that won't fit in our fridge.

"Honey? HONEY? Shrimp, Safer Soap and brandy...Tails on or off, mom?"

My brothers are in a vaccuming frenzy. Can a straight guy be in a vaccuming frenzy?

"Are your ears burning yet?"

My Nana is helping with the millions of dishes that have to be cooked or prepared.

"No, I have enough of that...NUTS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON FIRE!!"

I take this opportunity to say, if no one shows up tomorow, heads will roll and heaven will tremble.

...And really quick while I'm thinking of it, drop by our house on January 7 between 1 and 6 for cheese and crackers and hugs and all kinds of fun stuff.

So I'm finally back! We're all glad and happy. We're so overjoyed and boisterous, we don't even care about redundancies (or misspellings?).

I'm so glad the holidays are over, though. This means I shall stop all this Chemo-induced writing and revert back to my usual self.
Consider yourselves warned.

12/26

Uuuugh.
I just spent ALL DAY at Duke (10:00-6:00 counts as all day, right?) and only just got home.
And now, I shall treat you all to a rant. Aren't you lucky.

So my dad and I went today, got there a little before 10:00, the place was a tomb.
We check in, the nurse does all her fun stuff, and then we wait.
For four hours.
Now I don't mean to complain (yeah, like hell I don't), but really people. Get it together.
So by this time, the place is hopping, because everyone wants blood right after Christmas.

So here's a bit of a complication: I am still very Neutropenic. This means I wear a teal mask that does NOT COME OFF in public.

So guess what?
It's lunchtime. I am in a chair in a big room with a bunch of other similarly filled chairs. I can't eat, because I can't take my mask off. I. Am. Hungry.

So after we finally get home, I spike a 103 degree fever, and we're back to Duke.

12/29
So now I'm at Duke, with something resembling a fever (at times), and an infection in my line that is apparently vigorously evil, and the same room I had ten days ago.
Oh, and by the way, I probably won't be home for New Years.
Ick.

Done. Donedonedone. Done. Finito, finis, finished, the end of the blasted era. Ha!

And that's just Chemo. Imagine how I'll react to the end of the year.

But yeah, I am done. Ha! I'm done! I'm...done.

My list of No's (as I see it, my immediate family would probably have quite a few things to add on):
No Fevers (or even a temperature over 99.0)
No 3 AM blood draws
No paper-towel dispensers
No trains of Little White Ducks (the doctor's pet projects in long, white lab coats who ask you odd questions at innoportune moments. Like during your 3 AM blood draw, maybe.)

Wow. I am done with Chemo...

Last round, folks.

Wish me luck.

I'm Mad About Chemo

1. Being sick.
2. Being tired.
3. Easily scandalized doctors. (And their little white ducks, trooping into your room at 7:30 in the morning.) There are a lot of those in my ward.
4. Paper towel dispensers.
5. Blood draws. 4:30?? In the morning?? These people have seriously screwy internal clocks.
6. Beeping heart monitors. Those things are seriously messing with my night life.
7. Screaming babies. Thank God they're not mine, and could we please get a couple ml's of benadryl?

13-19 is my last one though, and then I'm home free.
That is, assuming I don't get any fevers and they don't have to put me on TPN.

Tomorrow should be fun. I get my breathing checked, my ears checked, my ovaries checked, my heart checked (twice! They just can't get enough of my heart), and then see my one last doctor who can tell us that I'm fit for reluctant duty and she'll call us when there's a room.

But looking on the Bright Side...
The Bright Side...
The Bright Side...is currently indisposed...

Hey, adoring fans, guess who's back?

My boredom has been taken to a new low. Or a new high, depending on how you look at it. (You may now hail me as The Fearsom Lady Clemintine Carver.)

The most interesting thing that has happened is we got a Christmas tree.
Apparently, these health profesionals at Duke really hold something against fresh flowers when I'm Neutropenic, but trees? In the house? Plus Neutropenia? Why should that be a problem?
Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, you should get a tree.
I think it's mostly the smell. Having that fresh, warm smell permiating the house. And the precence. It's a tree! In your living room! Tell me that doesn't count for something!
And also bragging rights. "I have a tree in my house, what have you got?"

What isn't there to love?

So, yeah. Trees.

(My brother is punching his forehead, yelling "F7! F7! It's not working!" That was totally random, but too good to pass up)

Oh my God.
An argument about chocolate?
This is seriously the best.

Lindt or Godiva?

Thanks for weired stuff. For misspelled stuff. For stuff I don't even like.

For unprocessed, well-cooked food and raw milk.
Olives, boyscouts and Ninjas.
Magaritas. Martinis. Mimosas. Daquaries.
Stem cells, modeling jobs and paintbrushes.
For perennials, British Hip-Hop, and Home Brew.
Cloudy, stay-at-home days, for oxygen, for shark oils.
For turkey bacon and scrambled eggs.
Below-freezing days when the thermometer reads 42.
Good movies, good actors, good dogs. Good presidents (we haven't had many of those lately) and good phone service.
Music, good and otherwise.
Pencils, and for newspapers, and for chocolate and Duct Tape.
Camping trips.
My guys. My dads. Acting. Marylin Monroe. Hot Cider. Trees. French toast.
For fires and for guitars and campfire songs. Supplements and iTunes and Paris.
Oranges, rum, The Beatles, the 20's, and the Ocean.
Eagle Scout license plates, headphones, four distinct seasons, distractions.
My parents, who like my music, even when they don't understand it. And hey, be fair, who understands Portugeese?
The Theater People, the sweetest visionaries out of Happy Vally Nut House.
For bing undersood, for being accepted, for Edgar Allen Poe.
For Ali.
Balsamic vinnegar, pumpkins and for water. Ice. Shovels. Red wool. Harmonicas. People who play drums really well. Bamboo swords.
For things that make less and less sense the more you read/listen/hear/write/see/taste/smell them.

This is the best Thanksgiving so far. My brothers are headed to Kinston with my grandmother (who is getting lost a bit, and asking my brother, the boy who got lost on the way to his orenteering class, for directions), my dad is asking me to google How to Cook a Turkey (My favorite was "How to Safely Cook a Turkey Without Swearing the Whole Time or Getting Unreasonably Intoxicated". He wasn't amused.), my mum is reading the newspaper, I'm DJing with the help of a icemaker full of champagne and Luna, the Cat Who Likes Rock, World, and Jazz.

Have a good time guys.

I am ONE CHEMO ROUND away from finishing! La lalalalala, lalala tra lalalaaaaaaaaaa! And now, a delightful aria for you...
Maybe not.
But Hey! Guess what? It's raining! It's cold! My dad is getting a new truck! I! Am! Happy!

You know what else? It's almost Thanksgiving. Time to see all your crazy relatives, all the nutcases out of the family woodwork, and for God's sake, don't talk about the big white elephant in the living room.
What really drives me nuts is all my Southern reliatives. Babtist tea-totalers. I don't have anything concrete against Babtist tea-totalers exactly, but when thyr're related and you shove 'em all together...Oh, God, you'd be amazed how bad you need a shot of something strong.
Or better yet, a mini bar.

Of course, I won't be anywhere near Kinston this year. I shall be staying home and depriving everyone of my glorious company because I will be Neutropenic. Ha.
Certian people aren't too darn happy about this, but another year and I'll be back on the rounds. Be happy for me! Do not be bitter! Patience is a virtue, dern it!

Now, don't laugh, but I am not used to a dead bird for Thanksgiving. Pig, sweet potateoes loaded with marshmallows, and Cole Slaw are the norm, with a side of hush puppies and some Sweet Tay. We don't do sweet tea.

I'm going back to Duke tomorrow for some lovely blood, platelets and benadryl, and then I shall be home for the holidays.

Ask for me during normal work hours.

I really do have an excellent reason for not posting in a while. Just wait, you're going to love this:

Tuesday, 12:30 PM: Run to Duke with mum, because I had a temperature that was all over the place and on the high end of the 100's. When I'm neutropenic, this is a Bad Thing, so in I troup.
Got blood drawn, found I needed platelets, no problem, there ALL BLASTED DAY getting antibiotics anyway, go home.

10:00 PM: Nice little surprise--fever again!

10:20-11:00 PM: At Wakemed getting MORE antibiotics. (Note: This was supposed to be faster than driving for an hour to get to Duke, but it took them an hour to get the antibiotics IN THE ROOM, and when they did, they barely knew what a Ferises Catheter was. I'm pretty sure you should know more than your patient, even if it is the ER, no offense, Dr. Citron.)

12:00 PM: Finally at Duke. In a Taj Mahal of a room. I'm serious. This is one of three big rooms in this ward, and it is ENORMOUS.

Wednesday: Nothing more exciting than MORE ANTIBIOTICS happened until around 10:00 PM, when I became seriously engaged with a prolific nosebleed, a bag of platelets, and muchos benadryl. I proceeded to sleep through the platelets and half the subsequent red blood until 4:00 AM or so, when I awoke, and the floodgates opened forth again (...Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite floodgates, but you get it, right?).
So I get more Blood'n'Benadryl, happiness overtakes me, and the blood is outa there before you know it.

Thursday: I am completely, totally (very much reversibly, however) unattached fom my constant companion, The Pole for most of the day, so my mum and I take a walk over to Duke Gardens a little after lunch. We find an nice sunny hill and lay there for a while just looking at the ducks and the pond and the blue heron and the trees and the sky and...Almost falling asleep too, but I won't mention that.
Gorgeous day. Whole year should be like that day. Could deal with it being about 7 degrees warmer, but apart from that, it was perfect. And Duke Gardens is a really nice place to spend a perfect day, too. I mean, at the risk of repeating my self waaaay to often...It's perfect.

Today: No fever in over 48 hours. No bleeding in over 24. Blood counts are trending upwards. Chance of getting the heck out of there by two: 100%, babe. If it wasn't, I would require a thorzine drip and several rolls of Duct Tape.

Ugh. Fever is NOT HAPPENING AGAIN, do you HEAR me??? Not. No. Never. I don't care if I get a closet for my next Chemo. NO. MORE. FEVERS.

So did you love that or what?

Aaaah!!
Kill me quickly...

My brother looks so good in eyeliner. Darn it, he looks better than I do. Hmmm...

Maybe death would not be preferable.
Have to think on this.
He's going to a boyscout Hallowe'en party tonight, with all my guys and dads...
I wish him luck. Mum says he looks like a drag queen. Which, as soon as he's out of boyscouts, might work.

Okaaaay...
MORE reactionary platelets, after they pre- and post-meded the heck out of me.
WILL THEY NEVER LEARN????
My parent's insurance company is paying through the teeth (not that I give a darn about the fuchening insurance companies). I think I deserve to at least GET SOMETHING OUT OF THIS!

Whoo, okay, breeeeathe...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch:

Nutropenic

Anemic

Corybantic? (That's just a great word)

I am full of ick.

We get a whole hour back!

...Why I am so excited about this, I couldn't tell you. Heck, it's probably something wacked out, but being excited about the sun going around the earth is exciting, right?

But it's October, there's hot cocoa on the stove, and life ought to be enjoyed.
Please, for me, don't think about the fact that tomorrow's Monday. Be happy! I am...

Well.

I feel good.

On the low end of the scale, there was the Hospital Mother Bear Story, which had a happy end, because hysterics are good for you. And crying detoxes.
(If you don't know what I'm talking about, visit Caringbridge.com and look for me.)

High end, I just got Hungry Eyes, which isn't very high I guess, but it's one of those songs that just makes me feel happy. Like Trees.

And I also stabbed myself with a Heperin needle, which is not nearly as exciting as it sounds, because it was only on my thumb and it had just come out of the wrapper and it was completely sanitary. It was just deep enough to draw blood and hurt and make me feel dumb.

Life does have it's high points...