Put Your Glasses On

So, yesterday I replied to an email from a friend, without my glasses on. She was inquiring as to how things went at my last treatment. I provided a lengthy narrative, somewhat along the following lines, didn't proof it, well, couldn't actually see it, and hit send. Later in the day my friend replied, and I had the opportunity to re-read what I had sent. Well, the typos. Too funny. It really made me laugh. Belly laughs. Roars and those of you who know me, know that I can roar, sometimes evilly I am told. Anyway, did that ever make me feel good, at least for a little while.

Friday - When I arrived at 9, I was feeling down, cause I wasn't looking forward to the session. Registered. Then upstairs and it seemed quiet until I walked into the chemo room. There was a crowd. A TV was on - loud! Very unusual. Normally it is conversation, which can be enjoyable. I sat in my normal seat, but detected a bad smell, and between the noise and the smell I knew there was no way I could tolerate it. Luckily for me, there was an empty bed in one of the patient rooms, and the nurses were comfortable putting me there. I joined an older gal who was also receiving some kind of treatment. So, I drew the curtain and had a window view from 4 floors up. What a beautiful view from the 4th Floor. I had my book (The Girl Who Played With Fire) and sudoku (with which I am becoming obsessed) snacks (almonds, crackers and an apple) and I was pretty happy. We had an uneventful hook-up, aredia drip over 2 hours, visits from the fabulous volunteer who took my lunch order and provided water. The other gal left well before I did, and I had the entire place to myself. I was comfie. Meds were flowing. Abraxane started around 11:30, Jim arrived just before lunch and I was home by 1:00 p.m., after my port was flushed. It was much later that the fun started. What's up with this fever? I was ill Friday night, Saturday and Sunday a.m. Jim kept the cold compresses happening, even an alcohol back rub.

It's just dreadful. I left a message for the gals at chemo today. They are having clinic but I am not scheduled to see the doctor. I will await their directions, but I am supposed to have my next treatment on Good Friday - moved to Maundy Thursday, which would mean that I would be miserable for Easter this year. I have asked that my treatment be pushed to the following week so that I can be involved in Holy Week.

My sleep last night was terrible, being kept awake by random pain. It's hard for me to describe, but this pain roams around my body, hitting several different places at once, and it has a pulse, a rhythm. Another rhythm. It is very intense.

That's the reality. I'm up and about; Jim is off to Halifax; I am wondering why I am here alone (well not alone - Honey is here, yay! Oh yes, Boobadee and Puff as well.) Why am I here alone and why is Jim in Halifax alone? I am hoping I can have a nap this afternoon and that this pain will subside.

The sun is shining. I haven't heard a forecast, but am praying the sun will stay out and that the temperature is seasonal on this 4th day of April, the year of our Lord 2011. It seems to me that my brother John is having a special day today. Must investigate and send greetings! He is lucky and fortunate to have found a loving life partner, so that would make it a special day every day, anyway.

A confession: on the way to the Hospital on Friday, we were listening to election discussion on the radio. I told Jim I wasn't going to vote. "What's the point?", I asked. He scolded me, reminding me that my apathy would only allow someone else to win. So, I will vote. I am going to post Ralph Surette's column from Saturday's Chronicle Herald. We have to vote. Look at the rest of the world. We have to protect our freedom - our democracy. My Dad fought for it.

Take care one and all. Get out and breathe some fresh air and enjoy the sunshine. Don't sweat the small stuff

Peace to you all.

Emma Lee