My couch and I have been hanging out this weekend. Occasionally, someone joins us to watch movies. (Rocio’s coming back to a Netflix full of recommendations for chick flicks instead of horror films. That’s going to be a fun surprise. Maybe there’s one that mixes the two genres? I’d watch that.)
I didn’t get as sick as I thought I might. I started having stomach pain on Friday night and it persisted every time I tried to eat something. (I try to eat things a lot.) My stomach and I finally compromised on saltines and bananas.
I was still a bit nauseated when I went into work today, but I found my magic drug: ginger beer. It’s magic wrapped in magic. My stomach has been behaving since the very first sip. This worked well because it was my coworker’s birthday today, and someone brought in cake. I can’t turn down cake. That’s just wrong. (Wanting to eat cake after being nauseated earlier is a completely normal response. Probably.)
Overall? Not too bad. The CellCept was way worse. I can do this five more times.
French Word(s) of the Day:C’est ici! (say ee-see)- it’s here!
Well everyone, it’s chemo time. Based on the messages and words of comfort I’ve gotten from everyone, you’re all way more freaked out about this than I am. I appreciate the concern. I’m doing splendidly. I think I’m making people nervous with how calm I am.
I’m typing this while getting my IV. I’ve got 6 hours to kill.
I knew everything was going to be okay when the nurse said, “You can eat and drink as much as you want whenever you want.”
They have a “Be respectful of those around you” policy, which is code for “no guitars.” I don’t think I’ll get to fulfill my dream of starting a jam session in the infusion lab. I’m not supposed to bend my arm during the infusion, so guitar playing isn’t an option. There’s a little monitor that beeps every time your arm is bent too much. Apparently my arm is constantly bending, because I’ve set that thing off about 3,000 times today.
My mom and dad both kept me company (they’re such troopers, those two!) and got to watch me as I attempted to eat lunch without moving my arm. As I’m well known for my incredible coordination, this went well. My shirt thought everything was delicious.
I’ve been reading all day, and it’s been glorious. I’ve already finished a book during my time here. I realize you’re not supposed to call time spent getting chemo glorious, but I’m an English major who doesn’t have time to read anymore. It takes me weeks to finish a single book. This is like being in a library… a ugly library where they stick you with needles and take your blood pressure every hour.
I had my dad take photos so that you’d all have photographic evidence that I’m not falling apart at the seams.
I shouldn’t get too sick, but I’ll post over the weekend so that you know I’m okay. I have a very full schedule of hanging out and doing nothing planned.
This is my fourth time posting this week. I’m giving everyone a false sense of how prolific I am. Please don’t expect this next week or ever again. Normally, I’d wait a bit to post again, but I’ve posted every single year for Valentine’s Day. (And by every single year, I mean the last twoyears.) You can’t break tradition.
It’s become very fashionable to hate Valentine’s Day, especially if you’re single. I completely sympathize. Television stations are exclusively playing awful chick flicks. (I love a good chick flick, but can we discuss how terrible Sweet November is? I got stuck watching it on Saturday. Keanu Reeves- normally unparalleled in his awful acting- went above and beyond even his own worst role.)
My inbox and social media has been flooded with single friends’ statements of anti commercialism and it’s becoming rather annoying. Please stop. You all sound extremely bitter. I’m allowed to say this because I’m also single. (Couples, don’t even attempt to say something. You will be brutally rebuffed.)
Even though most of my close friends are currently in relationships, we decided to take a different route this year. Valentine’s Day shouldn’t just be about trying to find a meaningful gift for the person (or people) you’re dating; you have your anniversary to do that. Today should also be about everyone you care about. To that end, we’re all having a huge group Valentine’s Day celebration with pizza and two games devoted to love: Wink Murder and Cards Against Humanity.
I hope you’re all spending the day telling the people you care about that you love them!
Because the most popular search term for finding this blog is some form of “sparkly hearts,” I’m ending on a glittery note. Currently, this term has been searched for 1,800 times. I’m glad I’m not the only person concerned with sparkly hearts. Here’s for all you dreamers out there:
My chemotherapy session had to be rescheduled to the 20th because the hospital didn’t put me properly in the system. I managed to rearrange my schedule to fit theirs, further proving my point that I am a scheduling goddess and they- for lack of a better term- suck.
We’ve officially got a date for the Lupus Walk this year! It’s September 29th, so I hope you’ve all got your purple wardrobes ready.
I won’t have to search for mine. My cousin, Bridget, has taken care of that for me. She sent me this in the mail:
I understand why ballerinas like to dance- it’s absolutely the tutus. They make your legs want to stand up and DANCE. (Mainly because sitting in a tutu is rather difficult.)
Now, don’t you all want to put on your purple tutus and join my team? Of course you do.
I’ve mentioned my new diet in the past. After getting my new diagnosis, I unleashed my inner journalist and researched everything I possibly could about food.
My diet now cuts out high sodium, white flour, white sugar, beef, and dairy (obviously). That’s right. I’m one of those annoying people who only eat whole grains, fruits, vegetables, and lean protein.
And dark chocolate. Which is totally a healthy food.
I’ll be eating mostly at home, because trying to find a low sodium, dairy free, whole grain option at restaurants is rather like trying to fit the Sears Tower through the eye of a needle: impossible.
As I’m already giving up most food, I’ve decided not to give anything up for Lent. I think this more than counts. In solidarity, my mom and sister Alyssa will be joining my diet. (There you go! I’ve called you both out, so now you have to follow through 😉 )
I also tried to guilt my dad into following it, but he has informed me that as he grew up as a Methodist, Catholic guilt won’t work on him.
If anyone wants to try to talk him off drinking 3 million sodas a day (how about just going down to one a day?), I already played the “sick daughter” card and failed. Good luck.
French Word of the Day: essence (es- sawn-suh)- essence
I had a fabulous 25th birthday. I felt extremely spoiled by the end of it. There was lots of merriment and food, just as every quarter century celebration should have.
One thing I’ve developed courtesy of some of my medication is lactose intolerance. I didn’t even know medicine could cause that until I got sick every time I ate a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. (Don’t judge. You know you’ve done it.) It became a problem when I lived in Paris because those French people are practically made entirely of dairy products, but I’ve been doing decently okay here.
I used to still be able to tolerate butter, but I haven’t been able to after this last round of medicines. As you might imagine, this has limited my options at restaurants. They like to sneak it in, so I always have to ask. I’ve had the following conversation 3 times in the last 5 days:
Me: Does this have dairy in it?
Server: It has eggs.
Me: Eggs aren’t dairy.
Server: Are you sure?
I must have missed the memo somewhere, because a large number of people are convinced that eggs come from milk.
My new butter intolerance has led to a bigger problem: I cannot eat the frosting on cake. Frosting is an essential part of cake, ergo I am missing the essence of cake. And guys, essence is important. And you know what’s more important than essence? Cake.
But luckily, my friends were on top of the situation. My friend, Mike, researched dairy-free cakes, went out and bought a bunch of vegan butter and made me a beautiful, vegan red velvet cake.
Thank God for those vegans. What would lactose intolerant people do without them? I’ll tell you: not eat cake.