My Middle Name is Danger

Yesterday and today were rough days. I was just sick as a dawg, feeling like I'd slept overnight under a car in the rain. My stomach was growling but I couldn't bring myself to eat anything. I felt nauseous all day. Then my blood pressure jumped and my face turned bright red and I thought my head was going to explode through my eyeballs.

The cause? "No doubt a reaction to the chemo. Don't worry."

Oh. Okay. I'll just ignore my head feeling like an ICBM, then.

Anyway, it's a little better now so I'm able to sit up and write. As all of the drama was going on I noticed a rather fun piece of irony to this situation. The nurse is standing in front of the IV pole dressed in a hazmat-protective gown and glasses, she's hooking up bags that have PELIGRO! DANGER! CARCINOGEN! written all over them, and here I am nonchalantly eating half a PB&J as the stuff in the Danger bags is being pumped into me.

I'm not entirely sure how the first people who thought of chemo managed to get anyone to actually try it: Okay, so I'll be protected behind layers of clothing and gloves so I don't get it near me--and YOU will eat it for breakfast!! Whaddaya say?!! Come on! Be a pal!

So this is Day Four. No more chemo to come. Just the rest of the side effects, which will last for a few weeks. Transplant Day Zero in 2 days. I've been assured that my immune system is, for all practical purposes, nonexistent as of today. My white count was .03, pre-chemo. Do I hear a 0.00 for tomorrow?! Tomorrow is the day of rest, which means I will be able to hopefully catch up on my Monica Goodling-Alberto Gonzales, John McCain-Barack Obama stuff, and comment accordingly.

Thanks again for all of your love and prayers. Believe me, I feel them all, especially when the day seems most peligroso.