That which doesn't kill us merely postpones the inevitable.
Friday, January 05, 2007
The Big Ick Returns
Hallo gang members! I'm just popping to let you know that in spite of their valiant efforts to poison me, I survived my fifth toxic infusion of chemotherapy yesterday. I threw up 9 times last night and am as weak and woozy as a drowned kitten today. The Prednisone has triggered a bad case of edema, and according to my brutally poetic designated driver, my face "looks like somebody inflated it with a bicycle pump until it's about to pop." I can barely see anything through the tiny slits in the puff that are my eyes.
The next few days are going to be hell on earth, the Big Ick, but they will pass and I'll be back kicking and screaming. Meanwhile, that's five down and either one or three to go; and the current score is five to nothing with me in the lead. Go team.
A single woman in my fifties, in debt, no income, no health insurance, and then that grapefruit-sized tumor wedged between my lungs turns out to be a malignant high-grade highly aggressive stage IV lymphoma. How much worse can it get? Bwahahaha! Stay tuned and find out.