Chemo #4...or When CANCER became Cancer...Kind of!

Last week, on Wednesday, August 24, I had my 4th and hopefully, final, chemo infusion.  On one hand, it seemed like this had been the longest summer in history and on the other, I couldn't believe how quickly it had flown by.

Chemo and cancer is like that for lots of folks I have talked to.  It's overwhelming and in the middle of everything and every decision and thought and emotion, making so many things more difficult and heavier and pricked with that nagging "I have cancer" in the back of your mind.  But life goes on, so all the heaviness and difficulty and newness and adjustments are coupled with all the stuff that just has to happen - making time seem short...

...and don't get me started about the obvious "time is short" part of discovering you have cancer...

...and before I knew it - I was making my Countdown To Chemo Checklist and adding things to my calendar to make sure I was prepared for my very last Chemo!

Which brings me to "When CANCER became Cancer".

When this hit my family - everything stopped.  So much needed to be learned and heard and appointments were strange and full of words and terminology that we had never even thought of before...we went en masse.  We scheduled everything to make sure everyone was available and there and we all had notepads and sharpened pencils and questions prepared and research done.

And then CANCER became our new reality.  And life went on.

People are amazing and they care deeply.  They want to make sure you have all the time and resources you need when you are going through something like this, but it's not their something.  They forget.

Heck, I forget other people's stuff all the time.  And I feel terrible - even though no one ever MAKES me feel terrible.  People (at least me) are a little bit thankful when you forget their stuff - it makes us feel a little less terrible about forgetting your stuff!

My point in all that is - no one is going to have my cancer at the top of their 'things to remember and schedule around' list.  Not my husband's job, not my kids' school or activities or friends or my doctors or anyone but us.

And that means, it's just not practical to think every appointment and chemo week and chemo session and nuelasta shot or prescription pick up is going to be set up to be a family affair.

That first treatment - we were like the Russian Synchronized Swimming Team at this year's Summer Olympics.  This time - we were Martin Short and Harry Shearer on SNL...without the nose clip!  The first time, everyone had their job, their responsibility and we reviewed and discussed each step and expectation.  Things were planned and organized and executed precisely. 

This time, well...this time, it was the 4th time.  We knew what to do.  We didn't "need" lists - we were experts.  I've always said, I would have Chemo NAILED by the time I was done with it.  And I really did!  The Chemo Countdown Checklist.  The Chemo Cold Cap Bag.  The Chemo Day Kit.  The Tricks, the props, the preparation. 

But life got busy.  The kids went back to school.  I am tough.

So, I not only called in my prescriptions, I picked them up.  I called in and arranged and drove down and picked up the dry ice by myself...and backed up that terrifying ramp without anyone to encourage or praise me or at least laugh at my pitiful, yet somehow impressive attempt!  I had to organize friends to be my Chemo Buddy on the day of.  I packed my own bag with my own checklist and it wasn't a big deal.  No need to review the list or double check the bag or stare down at the contents and hold hands...I got this!

Truth be told - I did a little bit of thumb-sucking early last week.  This was a milestone.  A finish line.  Something I was about to conquer and (not surprising) I wanted to slay it.  And (also not surprising) I was still scared.  Chemo for me has been difficult.  The day is a blur and the meds make me out of body and I count on my Dream Team to protect me fiercely and make sure there is nothing extra to add to the hard.

But, I am also a realist and know that this had been a long, hard summer and CANCER has gotten in the way of a lot of things.  I never dreamed I wouldn't be able to work - who knew the taste bud and exhaustion thing would be what it was for me?  I never dreamed there would be days when I just didn't feel safe behind the wheel of my car?...but man, oh man - You're Welcome North Fort Worth!!!  Who knew Ninja Fatigue would be so Ninja and so relentless?

I went to my last oncologist appointment alone - because at this point - it's kind of just a formality.  I am doing well.  I have been praised out loud for my white blood counts and my numbers and the fact that I keep moving and that I am keeping track and asking questions and not needing the narcotics and have gotten control over some of the less-pleasant-to-talk-about parts of chemo through my diet and kicking in the water and chomping ice and water-picking and the gift of being able to rest and not push myself most times through this battle.  (I learned a bit of a lesson I will share at some point about pushing myself...but that is story for a different day)

I did as much as I could the day BEFORE chemo to make the last Chemo as effortless and stress-free as possible.  Appointments scheduled...check!  Hateful shrew dealt with...check!  Payment made...check!  Radiation conversation started...check!

So, for this last Chemo, CANCER had to become Cancer. 

It was Chemo Day, but I still had to set my alarm and get the kiddos moving and make lunches and obsessively remind and make sure everyone got where they needed to be on time, all while trying to organize a Dream Team picture - that was only important to me and not really that important at all.  It was something I built up and had to let go of.  I have learned that my mental state - my zen, if you will, is the most important thing I pack in my Chemo Kit! 

I went over my check list and rifled through my bags and said a quick prayer that I had managed to get everything important (I was thinking CRUCIAL at the time) into the bright pink polka dot bag.  I texted my Chemo Buddies and tried to not stress out when we left 6 minutes late (at least I remembered to hug the kids) and tried not to feel sorry for myself when they were more concerned about their new high school schedules than my last chemo - because, have I mentioned, I am tough and they know it!  I remembered to take my pre-meds at the almost exact right time before we left.  I gave the dogs a belly rub for luck as we walked out the door.  We got stuck in traffic, but not STUCK IN TRAFFIC, we got a premium parking spot, I didn't spill anything or drop anything or cry on the way.  I carried things this time - because I could and it was necessary and when my sweet husband offered to drop me off and make two trips I told him absolutely not!

My phone was full of beautiful texts and messages and verses and pictures from my wonderful friends and family.  My room was ready.  There was no drama at the desk.  The crushed ice machine was working beautifully.  My beautiful friend, Lisa was coming through the doors to hold my hand while Patrick did the mechanics of the Cold Caps.  My nurse was Bart, which felt like a wonderful sign of a good last chemo.  I did manage to get everything I needed into the Chemo Kit and the set up was effortless.  I felt more in control of the appointment than in the past - asking questions and confirming details instead of panicking and leaving it to Patrick or chance ... I mean, we were old pros at this!

But it was weird.  Not having my family all there.  Asking people who I love for this level of help.  To be a part of something pretty raw for me.  To show a weakness and fear and ugliness that I would prefer the world not see in quite that bright a light. 

As always, those around me were the stars of Chemo #4.  Efficient and strong and organized.  All I had to do was survive in my zen.  To stay in the calmest version of me that I could muster for those nearly 8 hours. 

The medications do all sorts of bizarre things to me - I drift in and out of la-la land.  I burst into sweat.  I freeze from the inside.  I make sounds.  I require touch.  I look ridiculous.  I need my heroin...which is really just a square of Hershey's chocolate on my tongue during the first minute of every cold cap...and Yes, that is 18 squares of chocolate...nearly 2 full Hershey bars!  Don't tell me sugar isn't a drug!  I need my crushed ice, my Sprite, Spot, the yellow heart pillow, the electric blanket, my phone, my socks.  I was also armed with my #thebadassissilent t-shirt, a sense of humor, a sense of accomplishment, less fear, a confidence in Patrick's face and the newness of friends at my appointment - like entertaining, but MUCH weirder!

And all of that is probably enough to say that CANCER became Cancer on my last appointment, but the scale-tipper was when my husband actually had to leave before we were done.  His hand was infected - and he still managed to do all the manual, difficult work of the Chemo Cold Caps but he needed to see a doctor.  The nurses at Texas Oncology all agreed it was important for him to get in to get some antibiotics asap.  Well, we wouldn't be finished until most doctors were closing up shop.  So, my fabulous friend Lisa babysat me and made me laugh while he made an appointment before her Chemo Dream Team shift ended.  And the Amazing Amy got trained to be a Chemo Cold Cap expert in about 10 minutes near the end of her Dream Team duty and I actually managed to get through the end of Chemo #4 as a somewhat active participant. 

I have always been pretty out of it during all the appointments.  But this time, I helped (Amy may argue this point) pack up and tidy the room and rub my own pressure points to ease the nausea and administer my own Hershey's heroin and hold my own Sprite and adjust my own blankets during the last 2 caps...which was really only about the last hour.  I carried things again.  I managed to get to and into her car.  I got into my own house - I have no idea how or if anyone else was even home, but clearly I made it!

And it was, by far, the easiest of all the treatments.  Familiarity, knowledge, experience, support, faith, some luck and an amazing team of family and friends made it easy.  And, as thumb-sucky as I was about it not being everyone's number one priority and for the world not stopping for me and my chemo...I think that really added to the ease.  People get cancer all the time.  The infusion room is always busy.  This is a part of so many lives.  And the world goes on - at least that's what I'm counting on.  And the more normal bits of time you can have in the middle of it all - the less stressful it feels.  And for me, less stress equals strength and a much better ability to cope and be tough and adapt and plow through.

And the next day, I got my favorite neighbor, Cheryl, the one who cracks me up and gets me and takes nothing too seriously (unless it's about our kids) drove me to my Nuelasta shot/fluids appointment and was with me when I rang the "I Finished Chemo" bell and I got my graduation T-shirt.

Monday, I go for my radiation consult so I can move into Phase 3 of this Kicking Cancer's Butt Crusade that I am on. 

I am weary and wobbly and seem to be experiencing ChemoBrain at a higher level than usual this week, but I rang the bell.  I have the shirt.  I have no more infusions on my appointment card and the Cold Caps are going back to Dallas on Thursday.  So weary and wobbly it is, but DONE WITH CHEMO! 

Thank you everyone for being with me throughout this journey and for all of your prayers and support and encouragement - God is good!

Chemo for me is a little bit like being pregnant...

It occurred to me this morning as I was frantically racing to my refrigerator to make sweet potato hash before I perished from the sheer desire for sweet potato hash that going through chemo is surprisingly like when I was pregnant.

Something is growing inside me and I pray about it all the time.  There is incredible technology out there in the medical fields - whether it be my OB/GYN or my Oncologist team - they have ways to look at things.  Ways to give you odds and predictions (always prefaced by the "now there's no guarantee" and "everybody's different").  But when you get down to it - there is no way to know the exact outcome until the time of the exact outcome.

So, I pray. 

I asked God to take care of my unborn children.  To give me the strength and wisdom to make the best choices for them (especially since I waited until most of my friends were realistically close becoming a grandparent before I had my daughter!).  To fill me with positivity and joy and peace so the only energy they would feel was that they would be safe and loved and able to thrive.

Now I pray for many of the same things.  Strength and wisdom and peace and positivity....Why does my computer not think Positivity is a word?  Has my computer not met me?  Has it not been here when I have typed it, had it put the red squiggly line under, basically calling me an idiot, and then seen me ignore and continue to type?  Does my computer not understand that if I use it frequently in conversation and can't think of another way to spell it and choose to continue to type it that IT IS A WORD?  Anyway, I have prayed a lot during this breast cancer ordeal. 

The big difference is I am praying for God to kick the living crap out of this cancer.  Not nurture it.  Not help it thrive.  Help ME thrive.  Help cancer die!  But still - I feel the same focus and peace and purpose when I pray as I did when I was pregnant.  Praying for the inside.  The unknown.  The hope for tomorrow.

The fatigue...man, talk about something like being pregnant!  I could sleep anywhere at a moment's notice when I was expecting.  Anywhere!  Totally not like me.  I can nap occasionally - but usually, I sleep best in my controlled environment in a made bed with an exact positioning of pillows, ceiling fan speed and temperature.

With chemo - BAM!  I am out like a light when the fatigue hits.  I'm certain it's not pretty, but so many things about chemo aren't pretty that I just don't care.  I sleep.  In a chair, in the car, in the car-rider line at Central, on the stairs (that was just one time, but I think it speaks to the Ninja fatigue that hits you out of nowhere?)

With pregnancy, I was making a person - it made sense.  With chemo, I am filled with poison and trying to kill a demon disease - all very tiring work for this old body.

Which brings me to another similarity...no matter how tough it is physically - it's worth it!

We had quite a journey getting pregnant with our son - our daughter, like everything else she does, decided she wanted to be born and that was that!  But with my first pregnancy, we thought we would be those fun dog-parents and fill our lives with other things.  And then I got pregnant.  At 37.  And all the things that happened to my body were weird and I was a hot emotional mess and my ankles took a 7 month vacation and the extra testing because of my age were awful and expensive and at one point, I had to have a wisdom tooth extracted - and I did it in the dentist's office with a local anesthesia and no pain meds after because I didn't want anything to happen to my baby.

Point being - no matter what I needed to do - I did it.  No matter how icky or tired or emotional I felt - I pushed through it.  Because I was making a person - a person I had been dreaming about for 5 years.  My beautiful boy.  And then my phenomenal daughter.  Whatever nature through at me - I was up to the challenge.  I feel certain I whined and probably moaned.  And at delivery time - I signed the paper for the epidural, knowing that I wasn't going to have it.  I breathed and panted and concentrated and trusted and had two ginormous babies naturally.  Because it was worth it.

And no matter what chemo brings to the party - I am up to the challenge.  No matter how much I want to lay around - I get up.  No matter how tired it makes me - I rest and restart.  No matter how hard the nausea pushes me - I sip the ginger tea and nourish my body with fresh fruits and stay strong.  If chemo keeps me up all night - I find positive things to fill those hours instead of worrying about what I can't control.  And when the next treatment looms - I find my center, ask for help, lean on my family and friends, trust in my ability to do whatever it takes because no matter how hard it is - it's worth the fight.

Amazing?  Right?  Chemo and Pregnancy - kind of the same, but totally different.

All of this realization brought on by the most obvious similarity - CRAVINGS!

Oh my goodness!  I craved Enchiladas with my son for about the first 5 months, then anything spicy - but especially the green chili cheese crisps from Via deLoSantos in Phoenix...it was embarrassing how often we went there so I could not be a crazy person pacing up and down the hall of our tiny home craving that cheese crisp...which I could make, but it wasn't the same!  With my daughter - watermelon from start to finish.  I have pictures of me at work, on a plane, at the park, at restaurants with little zipper bags of watermelon chunks because it was all I wanted.

I think it's ironic that watermelon was all I wanted with my first and second chemo.  I was averaging an entire watermelon every day or two...all by myself!  Near the end of chemo #2 came an addiction to stone fruits and now that we are into the second recovery week of Chemo #3 - it's sweet potato hash and eggs.  It's crazy.   I wake up and can't function until I get my fix.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner - who cares...just get me some sweet potato hash and eggs...NOW!  Sadly, there is no restaurant in town that makes what I am craving...so I am forced to cook myself and everyone in my house is DONE with this for every meal...so I am kind of on my own.  But I am fighting cancer - so they just have to deal with it.

I expect that is why my husband has been so amazing during all this - he got to practice dealing with my particular brand of crazy when I was pregnant with our kiddos.  He was ready to deal with Chemo Brain and Chemo Emotion and Chemo Cravings and Ninja Fatigue, because, for me, it is eerily similar to Pregnancy Brain, Pregnancy Emotion and Pregnancy Cravings and Fatigue.  Who knew?

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and the Chemo #3 Dream Team

I feel certain that Robert Burns was not specifically thinking about my day last Tuesday when he wrote "The Best Laid Plan of Mice and Men", but man that phrase kept running through my brain...along with an alarming number of 4-letter words aimed directly at those who were waylaying my 'best laid plans'.

I am a planner.  I should have a shirt or a tattoo or a bumper sticker.

My family knows it, my friends know it, people who follow me in line know it...I am guessing some can just sense it.

And throughout chemo, it has been an asset.  As I've written before - I expect to have chemo figured out just when I'm through with it.  But after Tuesday, maybe not!

Many of you know through Facebook and Crowdrise, that I had some serious trepidation about my 3rd Chemo treatment.  I was so nervous.  I think I was realizing how tired I was from our family vacation - which was perfect and restful and full of family and love and fun and laughter and relaxation...but it was a long drive both ways and (along with being a planner) - I like to drive.  I am a planning control freak!  Maybe it's control of the music or when we stop or the game of "speed buddy"...yeah, it's the "speed buddy" thing.  I pick someone with just a bit more speed confidence than I have...say I'm comfortable going 3 miles over the speed limit (don't do the crime if you can't pay the fine!), but a guy in a normal car, not using cruise control, preferably with in-state plates is doing 8 or 9 miles over the speed limit - he or she becomes my "speed buddy".  I fall in line and follow them for as long as it works.

Sometimes I have to give a couple of buddies a try - some people are put off by someone following you...obviously following you, but on our trip home - I found 2 perfect speed buddies who I believe took at least an hour off our total trip.  I did my best to teach the theory to my son (I know, what kind of mother teaches their child that it's ever okay to do any miles over the posted speed limit...I REALLY wanted to get home, but I also knew how much he wanted to drive for a while...so I let him have at it on the OK Turnpike and taught him "speed buddy"...but used a 3-4 mile over the speed limit guideline...compromise!)

Anyway, I was tired from the drive, the unpacking, the resettling into our lives and the knowledge that in less than 3 days, I was back in the chemo treatment room.

I thought that was why I was nervous.

I think I was wrong about that!

Chemo #3 Dream Team

The Universe was sending me a message to find my calm, call in my prayer warriors, muster my yoga breath, surround myself with comfort and my dream team because the wheels were about to come off my Chemo #3 Bus!

To all the amazing folks who checked in, sent a prayer or message or emoji or post - God Bless You!  My feet didn't touch the ground as I was checking in I was so lifted!

Sadly, it wasn't long after my harmless signing in that I almost hit my knees.

I got there and went to the "wrong" desk.  In my mind, it was doctor, labs, treatment.  So I went to the doctor's entrance (mind you, they all connect to the same places...so why this is even an option, I have no idea).  I was told it was labs, doctor, treatment and no, I couldn't just walk back from this side, I had to check in at the other side.

And then the dreaded "Were you aware that you have a balance due of...."  That was all she got out of her mouth.

The very first time I went for chemo, they drug me into the finance office and told me that my portion (my 10% of each chemo) would be just over or under $1000, depending on the pre-meds for that treatment...we have moved solidly into the over $1000 because I require the anti-anxiety meds and so does everyone else in my circle (for me, not them!!!).  Anyway, it's a personal flaw of mine to take everything to heart, but that's who I am, so I was not only scared to pieces about my first chemo, I was so overwhelmed and embarrassed about my inability to pay in full this surprising amount for 4 total treatments that I did not handle it well - which I am certain played a significant part in my total come-apart during Chemo #1.

So, as a planner, I did what I thought was the proper thing.  I contacted the nurse in charge (the amazing Krystal, the Beautiful Soul) and told her of my experience and asked if they could make a note on my screen/chart/profile/whatever to NOT approach me about finances until the next day after chemo when I was going to be in anyway for my Nuelasta shot and to let them know I would be making payments, not paying in full.

Chemo #2 - no problem.  Not a mention of financial responsibility or burden, not a scouring face at my empty checking account, no judgement or tsk, tsking.  Just a smooth sail into Chemo #2.

So, thinking I had it handled, aka planned, I was surprised when the receptionist asked me about my balance.  So, I explained to her that I had asked to handle finances the day after chemo and she was nice enough to put a note on my screen and I even heard her tell the shrew at the other check-in desk NOT to approach me about my balance and that I would be making a partial payment when I returned on Wednesday.  I mean, seriously, we had barely gotten back into town...I hadn't begun to divvy up what we had to give to who we still owe. 

So, off I went, to the other side to check in and breeze back to have my lab work done, before seeing the oncologist and embarking on Chemo #3 treatment and don't you know...she asked me about my balance!

Not directly.  She looked up from her desk, sort of smiled and asked "Are you Lisa?" in a louder-than-necessary voice (should have been my first tip-off) and then her eyes went directly to an unopened folder or the top of her desk or somewhere downcast away from me and she she mumbled "I understand (insert name of receptionist from the other side here) let you know you have a balance of.............................." and I lost my mind!

Not one of those quick, got-it-under-control mind losing experiences...it was a full on WTF (sorry) implodes.

My eyes went wild.  My voice went up (I know this because people looked away and peaked around corners) and my outrage made my entire body shake.

I couldn't believe it.

I explained to her that I personally heard the other receptionist ask her nicely to not bring this up and that I was aware and that I was planning on taking care of it the very next day.

And, bless her heart, she didn't have the good sense to let it go.

She wanted to be right.

She wanted to challenge me...the clearly crazy person across the counter from her.  Poor thing.

I would never survive in a physical fight - even at my best - unless maybe someone was messing with my kids...but you know what I mean.  I'm not daunting.  Or ruthless.  Or aggressive.  Physically.

But I have always been blessed with an ability to verbally take down almost anyone.  And I did.

I am not proud of it.  I actually walked away because I could sense, even in my rage, how outmatched she was and I hate to ever be cruel.

And that's exactly where I was going.  I did call her a liar at one point and the Capital B made it onto my lips (for the obvious B-word that she chose to be), but I think I stopped it before it came all the way out.  For all I know she was already in the back room behind the magical locked automatic doors by the time I was headed out.  I would have been!  The old man sitting by the harmless unlocked entry door that I was raging towards caught the capital B and thought it was hysterical.  Glad to know I made his morning.

By the time I made it back into the doctor's reception area, I was in tears, red-faced, couldn't breathe and so angry that I had worked all night and morning to find my center and it was all blown up.  And I let myself get angry and I hate that.

I am certain she has a list of things she has to do - and at the top of that list is making sure people pay their bills or know about their bills or at least have to feel guilty about their bills so they are more likely to pay their bills.  I am also certain she sees hundreds of people every day (there were 67 of us in for treatment that fateful Tuesday...I hope the other 66 were calmer!)

Anyway, she should have been kinder.  Smarter.  More caring.  I should have ignored her.  Been more insistent on going through the taboo doors and not going to the other side...I knew something bad was over there....

But I hate to be cruel and I hate to lose my cool.  But I did both!  Big time!

It took a while, but I finally got back to see the doctor.  The poor nurse that had to put in my numbers was terrified.  Talk about peaking around corners...when I came back across to the doctor's side, my control was pretty much gone.  I was scolding and horrified and outraged and not the least bit quiet.  Even my sweet family was averting their eyes and pretending to look at their phones and arrange things in the chemo kit so they didn't have to look directly at me!

But, eventually, it was all back to normal...or so I thought.

I had my appointment with my oncologist.  Things going right on track.  Next steps.  Expectations.  Double checking pre-meds and prescription refills.  We were off-track time-wise, but I was getting back to my zen, happy place.

Off we went - back to the ONLY private room in the entire infusion area - reserved for those who are doing chemo-cap therapy or who had a severe reaction or fear or whatever during their treatment.

When I turned the corner, I noticed this look on my husband's face - I honestly thought they were turning me away because I was so awful earlier.  But no - it was worse!

They had given my private room to someone else.  They actually moved all our things out of the room (that we had already set up) and pushed them over into a corner!  Right out in the middle of everyone!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????

This was clearly a dream...nightmare...whatever.  No way this was actually happening.  No way!  I was just back at zen.  Just back to mentally tough enough to endure 8 hours of -35° C ice hats on my head and severe nausea and exhaustion and the crazy surging cold of T/C treatment.  No way!

 But yes, it had happened.

I suppose everyone goes through a lot of steps to get ready for chemo.  But all I really cared about were the steps we had gone through.  The time off that had to be requested for my husband and son.  The rides for my daughter.  The mental preparation.  The packing.  The planning.  The understanding that if we followed our part of the bargain, the chemo folks and oncologists and nurses and administrators and even the financial people would do what they had said.

It was bad. 

It was pretty obvious they knew they had probably made a mistake, but somewhere deep inside, they were hoping I would be more understanding.  Or quiet.  Or agreeable.  The poor messenger nurse tried.  And I sent her off to find a supervisor - who didn't have the guts to come out on his own (I had a few select words for him) and sent her back to deal with me.  What a baby! 

I could see they all knew what they did was wrong, but it was too late.  Someone else was in my room and no one was going to deal with it or take responsibility for it or fix it.

I panicked.  We were running out of time to finish the treatment.  I knew I was unable to go through this sitting in a Barco-lounger in the middle of a room (they did offer a white sheer screen thingy, but please!) and it would be almost impossible to get my dream team another day off that soon after vacation to be with me and this is not a solo gig.

I can't explain the bargaining and the conversation and questioning and back and forth that went on.  And my complete surprise that as open and honest as I have been, my note taking and attention to detail and reputation as a planner, that they would actually say out loud...."I know you had your things set up in there, but they were ready to go, so we moved you out."

Without a warning or a word or the option to GET IN THERE and stake my claim.  I respect doctors, but I respect chemo more.  I would have walked right out on my oncologist (who I adore) to have my room.  I cannot express how important routine has become in getting through chemo days.  And part of that routine is having my room, my privacy, the ability to make the horrible little noises I can't stop during the first 5 minutes of each cold cap.  Having a safe place where I don't have to put on a happy face or be upbeat or smile or buck up.  What was I going to do?

In the end, the other family (who had moved their appointment which is why we were both there on the same day) moved out into the main room and used the little sheer screen and I got my room.  The room we were told we had reserved.  There was some back-and-forth about whether that was ever "really" said...which disappointed me at a pretty deep level, especially when I was able to quote conversations where I was clearly led to believe that YES, we had an appointment for that private room.

Except responsibility people!  Even when you screw up - unintentional as it might be.  Don't make the crazy lady with cancer and tons of fear feel like she is losing her mind more that she actually is.  Just apologize and make it right.

I had to see the husband of the lady we displaced while I was trying to get myself back together and I lost it.  I felt so bad.  I didn't want her put out of her comfort zone either.  I wanted someone who allowed this to happen to magically fix it so no one was put out.

That's not how it works in the real world.

Someone is inconvenienced.  Or moved.  Or made less comfortable. 

And, maybe for the first time in my life - I made it someone else.

I always give.  I always let someone go in line before me.  I will take the next cab or let them have the corner piece of cake (that's a big deal for me, just so you know...I adore frosting!) or use the good goggles.

But not Tuesday.  I know my limits.  Chemo is tougher than I ever imagined and in order to survive, I chose me.  I let them move out.  I moved in.  I kept my head down and felt terrible, but I took the room.

I also switched my next appointment so they wouldn't have to.  It felt like the least I could do.  I have no idea if they appreciate it or even know, but I know.  And I feel a little better about it.

It meant some juggling for us, but nothing that we couldn't handle with 3 weeks notice.  And it felt like the right thing to do.

I made it through Chemo #3 in pretty good shape.  There were a few other glitches - I mean seriously, people steered clear of us!  Usually, there are 3 or 4 people who come in to check and offer and get and peer...not Tuesday.  It was just us.  One brave nurse and no one else...and I'm sure she drew the short straw.

Krystal the Beautiful Soul checked in until we got the next appointment conflict ironed out- because no one wants to have to go through that again!, and then even she disappeared!  How nice to be infamous!

Ice caps & a Jiffy Pop Hat

But we made it.  My family got to work and got me through Chemo #3. 

The infusion room was all but empty by the time we left for the day, coolers and bags and a big stuffed dog in tow.  No one looked directly at me - which was fine - I prefer it that way when I am vulnerable.

I have no idea what was said about me or my situation or my response.  I'd like to think someone recognized a teachable moment...but who knows?  Not me.  And I can't make that my concern.  But, as a planner, I have put notifications into my calendar to call ahead and confirm my expectations and my private room and my payment schedule. 

When I did return on Wednesday for my shot, I got in line at the "other" reception desk (away from the shrew), we did not make eye contact.  She was smart enough to not try and help me.  I paid what I could and the appointment went off without a hitch.  At one point I thought I saw her consider asking "can I help you ma'am?", and decided not to.  There was no waiting on her side, but I was weary from the day before and decided it would be incredibly unwise to even chance eye contact with her.  My son thought it might have made the day more interesting, but he's a teenager and easily amused by things that shouldn't be amusing!

Daisy, the Medicine Dog

And now we are in #chemoweek and all that goes with it.  Eating fruit, chomping ice, taking naps, taking tiny walks, getting in the pool when I have a chauffeur and watching the Olympics!  What a wonderful coincidence - finally an excuse to sit and watch the Olympics without guilt - all of it!

I believe I hear the swim trials calling my name right now...thanks for listening to my rant...Chemo #3 really was quite a day!