Better Living Through Chemo-stry
7/13/06

O Best Beloveds, the numbers have gone like this:

Pre-commencement of new, not so nice chemo: 170

Today, after two full rounds completed: 97

Oh, that Dr. W, isn't he preening? And aren't we just dancing over here?

The magic number remains 32, and even then, we might not be done--I have this vague recollection of a meeting with that same Dr. W, under the influence of IV Ativan (I believe I called him "Pookie" to the general mirth of the nurses, who wouldn't dare, but now secretly will behind his back) during which all this was discussed and it's very weird, acting like you are totally in control and lucid at the time and later wondering if you dreamt it all--because even if the numbers get there, I still have to have scans again, and if they show any lingering remnants ("ash" either he or Steve called it, dormant, but there), I might have to have those radiated sticks long time Maladies readers may recall as a suggested possible treatment from Cancer: The Return. These deliver concentrated radiation right to the hot spots in my liver, an outpatient procedure that takes only twenty minutes, which seems impossible to me since when I visualize it, I see a twig-sized instrument going into my side, which surely would leave a hole I can't just walk around with, like a cartoon character, but that proves I have either too much imagination or not enough. But the point is, that would zap the last little crumbles if called for.

Still, all that is speculation. Because right now, it's 97, and I don't just mean the temperature outside. And a combination of drugs, or something less chemical but equally blessed, has kept my stomach from feeling too awful this time around. Next complete set, we will go to three weeks on, one week off, so that I can have the watered-down version that seems to have treated me so well pre-trip, so I really only have to do this crappy stuff one more week. And after that, I go to New Orleans. All that, and a tiny leetle bit of hair on my head. I'm nearly resigned to the return of real life and other post-holiday cancer chick activities.

You betcha,

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