Monday, April 12, 2004
End of the Tunnel...
I have two more chemo treatments to go. Two more holes poked into the top of my hand. Two more rounds of digestive distress. Two more chances to further emblazon dark streaks on my wrist (the veins get stained by the chemicals, or something). Two more weeks of feeling kinda crappy in that head-feels-wrong-sinuses-going-nuts-I'm-not-really-going-to-hurl-but-maybe-I-should-fall-asleep-just-in-case way.
I will still have to go for periodic visits to the incredibly cold-handed oncologist (but he has a warm heart, I'm sure). These will taper off after a while. The blood tests will continue--which I also do not enjoy, but they're over so quickly it's not all that bad. The other day I commiserated with Grandma about all the poking and prodding we have to endure at the hands of our health-care professionals. Grandma hates going to physical therapy; I hate going for chemo. We both hate going to the dentist. Grandma's not allowed to eat salt because her feet swell up; I've been warned not to carry things on my left arm (like a purse or briefcase) because my arm might swell up. Grandma's eye doctor pesters her relentlessly; I don't seem to require an eye doctor.
It remains to be seen how many weeks it takes for my hair to go back to its usual thick and full self. Grandma says they sell some nice wigs on home shopping, but I don't really require one. Although I suppose if I could get a bright red one or a blue one à la Sydney Bristow, it would be pretty cool.
I'm looking forward to the end of the major treatment. All I will have left is the final reconstruction. I'd like to thank John, who suggested upon hearing about the incident with the Sherwin-Williams paint swatch that I go with a semi-gloss (it's easier to clean). The thought had never occurred to me.
I will still have to go for periodic visits to the incredibly cold-handed oncologist (but he has a warm heart, I'm sure). These will taper off after a while. The blood tests will continue--which I also do not enjoy, but they're over so quickly it's not all that bad. The other day I commiserated with Grandma about all the poking and prodding we have to endure at the hands of our health-care professionals. Grandma hates going to physical therapy; I hate going for chemo. We both hate going to the dentist. Grandma's not allowed to eat salt because her feet swell up; I've been warned not to carry things on my left arm (like a purse or briefcase) because my arm might swell up. Grandma's eye doctor pesters her relentlessly; I don't seem to require an eye doctor.
It remains to be seen how many weeks it takes for my hair to go back to its usual thick and full self. Grandma says they sell some nice wigs on home shopping, but I don't really require one. Although I suppose if I could get a bright red one or a blue one à la Sydney Bristow, it would be pretty cool.
I'm looking forward to the end of the major treatment. All I will have left is the final reconstruction. I'd like to thank John, who suggested upon hearing about the incident with the Sherwin-Williams paint swatch that I go with a semi-gloss (it's easier to clean). The thought had never occurred to me.
