It's strange to see a photo of my grandma holding me and smiling. I don't have memories of her being happy, and I don't even remember the sound of her voice. It makes me happy to see her smiling and to think of her life and what made her, her. I don't really know if she ever worked or what she did if she did. I don't know how she and my grandfather met. I spent a little more time with my grandpa, but not by much. I remember my grandmother's funeral, sort of. I think I was eight when she passed. My uncle took me to visit grandpa in Florida once. We went with his step-daughter. Grandpa liked to watch soap operas and go to McDonald's for watery coffee and meet with his old timer friends to catch up on gossip. I wonder if they liked to watch Days of Our Lives and General Hospital, also. Grandpa kept a fruit bowl on his coffee table at his Florida mobile home. My step-cousin ate all of the fruit one day, mostly consisting of bananas. Grandpa was quick to let me know this was why she was so fat and that she was a spoiled brat. 

So, in my last post, I tried being cheery and, check, that’s done. Did that. My last entry will likely be my only attempt at trying to feign a good mood and cheerful disposition, for it is an empty and bankrupt existence that I toil with. I hear no words. I feel no feelings. All of the dopamine bursts are transactional, sans a few exchanges with friends and my dogs and family that keep me going, I guess. I can come alive with distraction. It happens, and then it’s over, and the emptiness returns like a void I rest in as I hope for no more distractions.

Yesterday, as I lay in bed not wanting to get up, I felt what was like a chisel cracking my skull. My head, with a sharp pain, just split. I reached for my ibuprofen and took two. I lay back down. I don’t want the sun to come up and the world to be bright out. It’s raining, and I like the sound, the cool breeze, and the dim light. I hope it rains forever. 

Still, I know I have so much to do, but all ambition has left me, and I don’t feel much of anything. I have moments of awakeness and times when I’m asleep. I prefer the times I’m asleep, frankly. I don’t even care that “awakeness” isn’t a word. Or, wasn’t a word because it is now. In my grumpy lexicon, at least. 

There’s not much worse than needing to rewrite an update that was accidentally lost.

I opened a Pages document and stared at it for about an hour before my sister-in-law called for a rousing chat that I enjoyed very much! She was on her way back from Plaquemine, Louisiana, where she was counting and taking artifacts and other data from the birds, Purple Martins, I believe, as part of her job in coastal ecology in Louisiana. She is such a wonderful artist, writer, and thoughtful human. I’m so grateful to have her in my life!

Back to Monday. The day of One Arm. Hopefully this one will be somewhat entertaining or cheerful via some of the pics and lists, although the title I consider is: Novelty, or, How to overcome ennui.

So, luckily, on Monday, there was only one attempt to get a good intravenous connection. However, the way the IV was set up, every time I moved my arm, especially if I bent my elbow at all, a beep-fest would begin. They gave me an extra pillow so I could extend my arm and a warm blanket to keep it warm and covered.

This was taken to a new level when I had to go to radiation. While I lie on the table, I have to bend my arms over my chest. We tried to adjust the tubes so as not to be inhibited, yet the beeps persisted. I was scheduled to see the doc after the treatment, and the technician noticed you could just click “OK” to cancel the alarm. This was a temporary fix, and the beeps would continue.

Black coffee. Work. Money. Walk dogs. Laundry. Clean house. Wash dog. Black coffee. Get up. Bed is so comfortable. Black coffee. Cramps. Black coffee. Get up. It's so nice with the windows open and the cool breeze. Hot Black Coffee. Financial aid application. Get up. So unmotivated. Hot black coffee. Hot. Black. Coffee. Espresso. Do the budget. Call the social worker back. Get up.

Everything smells weird.

I get up. I put my hair up and walk to the kitchen with as many glasses as I can carry. Yesterday I ended up collecting 6 glasses of liquids next to my bed. Most are still partially full. Green tea, peppermint tea, lemon water, stomach tea, coffee with soy milk, and cranberry juice. Took two trips. Nothing was quite right. The water with lemon, I think, was my favorite. Mmmmm, a fresh thin slice of organic lemon in water. So good from my nose to my tummy. I love fresh lemon. 

After radiation yesterday, I stopped by the grocery store. I had a craving for parsley and garlic with pasta. I had made a pasta earlier, just a little figuring I wouldn't be able to really finish it if I made the whole bag. On a regular day, I make the whole bag and pop the whole thing in the fridge for the week. These days, everything is in the freezer. It makes me hesitate when buying new food. 

I looked around the store. More than $8 for a small package of Benevolent Bacon. $7.50 for burrata. Almost $7 for parm? 

Not sure if I can really type for long with all this stuff on my arm, but I can't really reach my pen, so here I am. I wore a sleeveless shirt over the weekend, trying to garage sale as much of my stuff as possible to help pay for this treatment and my time off. My sport climbing gear was very popular for a minute. Sold two ropes (one 60 meters, one 70 meters) for a steal, 15 quickdraws, and 3 chalk bags. I kept my flower one even though I should probably sell it too. One guy who asked how long the rope was replied to my answer of 70 meters with, Oh, okay. Well, I need 200 feet. 

"Kill me now," I thought.

Looking down at my arms, I couldn't help but wonder what these young climbers must be thinking about me selling my gear. Addict? Junkie? Needs to pay for her habit. Oh well. I think I seem like a nice person regardless.

Day 8. They struggled trying to get a good vein today. And, apparently, topical anesthesia is only for port patients. Those nurses really like those ports. 

​Drew blood when I arrived, so that was stab one. But then they couldn't place the IV. The nurse tried twice and got another nurse to come over, so that's three more stabs. She got my left forearm going. The first nurse came back and pushed my iron supplement for about 7.5 minutes. Went through fine, but it felt a little pinched and seemed to be swelling a little. Fun fact: that iron makes urine turn blackish brown.

The guy from radiology came up.

"Hey, Ms. LeBlanc. How are you?" he said, "Hey, so, we're going to get you right now. We can get you in early, so we're just going to bring this whole thing downstairs. But don't worry, I'll get this for you."

I looked at my left arm again. Was it swelling? Was the liquid going under my skin? I couldn't tell. The first nurse came over and took a peek. She was about to disconnect the little adapter and said she was going to flush it, but I stopped her. I just couldn't imagine her telling me it wasn't flushing, or maybe I'd feel that pinching pain again as she pushed the saline through.

Day 2. ​I am beyond grateful for the support I've received so far! Right now, I'm surprised how incredibly tired I am. I just got off a video consult with a surgeon, so I had to get up and move about. Will it continue to be like this? I still have another appointment to go to today, so I guess I should make some more coffee! There's much to do also. I usually get up at 4 am, so Tuesday being garbage day, I thought I'd do it this morning. As I write this at 236PM, I'm watching the recycling truck go by and remember I slept right through my alarm this morning. Oh well, I think. I'm not going out there now! 

No appetite this morning, but I had some pharmaceuticals to take that require food. As I started taking things out of the fridge, my appetite emerged, and I was excited to eat! I skipped dinner last night - just couldn't imagine food. Very unlike me. Especially the last few weeks, my cravings have been all over the place, and I wondered where my discipline had gone! I had eaten so much that I even gained 5 pounds! Geesh. But when I had my consult yesterday before chemo, the doctor told me I'm anemic. I'm 7.6, where I should be 12, and 7 is the threshold for a blood transfusion. Internal bleeding, she said, over a long period of time. So, did I want a blood transfusion? No. I do not. Okay, well, we can do liquid iron in your infusion next Monday, then, she said. 

After chemo, I picked up some iron tablets from Central Market. I still haven't walked the dogs, which is usually a 5-530 am task, and I should probably take a shower. Should I take another nap first? Maybe coffee... I'll sleep later. Am I doing this right?

​Day 4. My body is still trying to figure out what is going on. Food and drinks are unappealing. Everything smells funny. I'm constipated, where normally I'm super healthy in that department. Funny how that throws me off mentally, too. Coffee is unappealing, where normally I can't wait to jump out of bed and make some. My dishes are pretty backed up... gotta do that today. My dogs aren't eating their food, and they're snuggling up to me so hard as to almost push me off my bed. I'm so glad I feel good enough to sit and type right now. I'm afraid yesterday I was pretty bad and felt like I was going to throw up the whole way to and from and during radiation therapy. 

"How are you today?" they ask. 

"Well, I'm going to throw up on you," I think. 

I lie down, my hands on my chest, and I close my eyes. My legs fit into a mold they made to ensure I'd lie in the same position each session. They close the giant door that is about 10 inches thick and extends from floor to ceiling, and is labeled with radiation and biohazard warning signs. They'll be right back, they say. 

Nice uplifting 60's music plays. I hear the buzzing sound of the machine starting to whirr as it circles my waist. It sounds like it's sputtering and spitting and moving. I keep my eyes closed briefly, thinking of the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, but then relax deeply into the recesses of my mind because I am so darn sleepy. When it's over, they come in. 

"We're back!" they say. 

They got me in pretty quickly today. Yesterday I waited about an hour. Then they tell me to have more of a full bladder tomorrow. Sure. No problem. I know they mean well and, honestly, they are very kind people. But I sure was grumpy yesterday. Hopefully, they forgive that. 

So, now, it's official. Leave is approved, and I am not getting a paycheck on March 31st, and I am on my own. I hope to get the Short Term Disability process started today, especially if I'm feeling good enough to sit up. I've got other things to do also: lesson plans, trying to garage sell stuff on FB Market, go to radiation, clean up the house a bit, and get the dogs out because I have a house showing today too. Unfortunately, I wasn't well enough to accept the showing yesterday. I really need to sell this place or get a good book deal or something to fund my life right now. 

So, I opted not to get the port. My veins are going to look pretty bad. After the consultation with the surgeon, however, I thought I'd do my best without. It's risky either way. The port goes right into your heart. You can imagine there would be risks there. She said the cisplatin is harmful to the veins, but is one of the less harmful toxins, and since I have 5 more rounds, it should be fine. Fine? Okay? Everything is a hassle and expensive. Will not doing this help? Who knows. Nothing is easily discernible right now, and I am definitely dancing in the dark. 

My imagination led me to believe I might be able to do all these things to make up for it. I had hearty plans to do a drawing a day and a yoga video a week. Now, I'm not so sure. I'm just grateful to be sitting upright now. Hopefully, I'll take the dogs for a walk later because they haven't been for a walk since Monday. Normally, it's once or twice a day. I really need to pick weeds, too. But I just made another ten bucks selling CO2 cartridges. I have a bunch more to sell. Hopefully, we'll have some cool weather for a few days. I'm really loving the overcast today. Counting my blessings where I can.

I look at the fish in this image and think, Just jump out, fish! Jump out!

But of course, it isn't going to. It's a still image. It is me. Me floating around in my fishbowl when the whole ocean I can't seem to access is all around me. Maybe an orca will come and chomp me up. Oh, wait, no. Don't do that, Mr. Orca. The bowl is made of glass.

I'm exhausted already. I opened the door to doctors and have been called, scheduled, poked, prodded, and scanned with urgency. Is it intentionally made so urgent that it results in my not changing my mind?  Well, it worked. Here I am. I already signed the agreement to do the radiation therapy, and my chemo has been scheduled. At first, they told me I'd be able to work minus the one full day of chemo per week and possibly a 5-day intensive radiation therapy. But when I sent the FMLA forms to the nurses, they called. 

"Are you sure that's what you want to do? Most people take the whole time off? You're going to be sick: vomiting, diarrhea, nausea," the nurse said.

"But they told me the nausea meds were better now. They said I should be able to keep working except for the chemo day because it takes all day. I can't afford to just take 6 or 7 weeks off from work. I've already explained to every doctor I've seen that I can't afford this treatment and I can't afford to take off work," I explained.

"Well, you're going to be sick."