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."