All is well and on track. Apart from chemo fatigue, I have no complaints. Well, I do feel that Glenn Close was robbed at the Oscars, but no complaints other than that.
Back in September, after the first six weeks of dense-dose chemo, my immune system pretty much packed it in. Since then, a germ so innocuous that a healthy person might not even notice it could send me to the hospital for a few sun-soaked days of intravenous antibiotics. Not to be a drama queen about it, but there it is.
So for five months – on doctors’ orders and because sepsis scares the heck out of me – I have been in “boy in the bubble” mode. Only on a handful of occasions have I gone rogue and seen anyone other than my medical team and the redhead. Living on a sailboat for six years prepared me nicely for this degree of isolation, but . . .
Without the virtual contact I have enjoyed with all of you here, I would certainly have lost my mind a long time ago. So in addition to everything else, thank you for saving my sanity, which, of course, my family and oldest friends would argue has been unsalvageable for decades. But be that as it may, I owe you big-time.
Tomorrow morning is double-dose chemo, along with the next lab test for the CA-125 cancer marker. Still aiming for lucky #7! Have a great week.