Yesterday marks 4 chemo treatments down. That's 33%, or one-third of the way, for those of you scoring at home. I gotta say, the port is pretty great. The entire chemo experience was so much more comfortable and I like the fact that I couldn't actually feel the poison running through my veins. Nice touch. It also meant that I didn't have to keep my arm straight for 4+ hours. I'd like to say that I used my new found freedom to write the next chapter of my novel, but instead I curled up like a baby and slept for the whole time. Which was also pretty great.
I wore some awesome armor courtesy of my friends Milana Homsi and Declan McCullagh. I think the message pretty much says it all. And while I normally learn more toward the intuitive than the scientific, I really can't argue with the 90% cure rate. I also can't argue with the fact that the egg-sized lump in my neck is now the size of a lima bean. Or "3 cm" as my doctor calls it. He knows that because every time I see him, he measures the lumps with a weathered looking, laminated ruler he keeps in his pocket. Let's just say the first time he busted it out, I was a little nervous. As Charlie pointed out, it was ironic to watch him use it while I was wearing this shirt.
My hair is fighting the good fight, but continuing its slow, steady march toward oblivion. I'm thinking about having a head shaving party. You're all invited. There will be cookies and champagne and cocktails with umbrellas in them. Charlie and my friend Marshall are shaving their heads in solidarity, which is so sweet it makes me wanna cry. (Most things, do these days. I think cancer has made me even softer than I was before, if you can believe that.)
It was 40 degrees today so I wore one of my new snazzy hats that my friends Kate Wrigley and Mike Guerrino got me. I got lots of compliments, which gives me hope for my impending baldness. That and the super luscious new make-up I just bought. It sparkles. And who doesn't look hot in sparkly blush?
I wore some awesome armor courtesy of my friends Milana Homsi and Declan McCullagh. I think the message pretty much says it all. And while I normally learn more toward the intuitive than the scientific, I really can't argue with the 90% cure rate. I also can't argue with the fact that the egg-sized lump in my neck is now the size of a lima bean. Or "3 cm" as my doctor calls it. He knows that because every time I see him, he measures the lumps with a weathered looking, laminated ruler he keeps in his pocket. Let's just say the first time he busted it out, I was a little nervous. As Charlie pointed out, it was ironic to watch him use it while I was wearing this shirt.
My hair is fighting the good fight, but continuing its slow, steady march toward oblivion. I'm thinking about having a head shaving party. You're all invited. There will be cookies and champagne and cocktails with umbrellas in them. Charlie and my friend Marshall are shaving their heads in solidarity, which is so sweet it makes me wanna cry. (Most things, do these days. I think cancer has made me even softer than I was before, if you can believe that.)
It was 40 degrees today so I wore one of my new snazzy hats that my friends Kate Wrigley and Mike Guerrino got me. I got lots of compliments, which gives me hope for my impending baldness. That and the super luscious new make-up I just bought. It sparkles. And who doesn't look hot in sparkly blush?
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