I'm Peggy in Joan's body...

Ahhhh, the irony. I'm on the upswing after Round 2, which means that the five days of groggy, foggy, leaden, manic hell are over and I actually feel pretty good and have some energy. Of course, now that I'm feeling better, I'm at the point in the cycle where my white blood cell counts are at their lowest, which means that I'm highly susceptible to infection. This being the U.S., one doesn't necessarily want to walk around masked and wearing nitrile gloves in public, so I'm essentially stuck indoors when I *should* be out and about while I have the impetus and the fortitude.

What to do? I know! More Mad Men. *Sigh*

Ya big baby!

Having had hubba here all weekend to take care of me, I feel like a big coward because I'm afraid to be without him here at home. The chemo and side effects have turned me into a wuss! I hate this!

DECADRON

Decadron: a thoroughly bad-ass steroid that accompanies all of my AC treatments and makes my heart race, makes me jittery, makes me feel wired and nuts, and prevents me from sleeping. Sucks! But what if the drug were a Transformer? Hmm...

DECADRON
-Looks intimidating
-Voice like Soundwave, but deeper and more menacing–however
-Is a jittery, shivering wreck who can't hold his hands steady and drops weapons as a result
-Can't transform properly because he's a twitchy, spastic mess
-Finally has to resort to popping Benadryl in order to calm down enough to transform/be able to fight

HA!

The incoherent rantings of a new cancer patient who's gone to the dogs...

Apologies in advance for the rambling incoherence, but this is Day 3 of Round 2 of the "big guns" (i.e., dose-dense) Adriamycin/Cytoxan chemo, and I feel like I've been sideswiped by a bus. Mmmm, butterscotch Snack Pack pudding. Not much is appealing right now, so I'm indulging in "food" that I'd not ordinarily touch with a 10-foot pole. Last round, I had intense cravings for instant boxed mashed potatoes and salty-as-hell jarred gravy. UGH. Ever-dutiful DH made a special trip to the g-store to obtain this garbage so that I'd be able to put something in my stomach. Woot!

Delicious, life-giving Gatorade. It's what's for breakfast! Urff. I've found that low-sodium "natural" Jif peanut butter and Nutella are rather palatable, so I've been spreading them on Kashi waffles for at least a modicum of nutrition.

Seriously, cancer, you've got the worst timing.

I got the call on 6/15/15, the one I'd been dreading yet waiting for. It was inevitable, as I saw it. I'd been waiting to hear this ugly news for years. I've never been an optimist. So when she said that the small mass of microcalcifications in my left breast was malignant, I didn't even cry. There was the full-body rush of burning adrenalin, but my voice didn't even crack when I asked her, in a clinical manner, what would be next.

What followed was a flurry of activity over the course of the next two weeks, and all of my choices were suddenly taken away from me. More biopsies, during which it was discovered that the cancer had indeed infiltrated at least one axillary lymph node. The insertion of a port (a chest port/"portacath") for easy chemo infusion/blood draws. ("I don't want any of this!" I screamed to myself). Alas, too bad. Surgery is an inevitability, but my onco team recommended neo-adjuvant chemotherapy, to see how the malignancy(ies?) reacts to the onslaught of poison.

Now, you see, my DH and I had been working on getting the hell out of our useless/hellish job situations and this horrible part of the state. He's been looking for another job for months; I was waiting for something to come through for him before making a concerted effort at job-hunting for myself. It's all come together so oddly...