What a week (OK, 11 days).

Well, it's been 11 days since my first chemo treatment. I'm realizing this will be a long couple of months.

Recent days have been filled with various side effects. At first I experienced intense pain, like flu aches but sharper. Like fireflies of flashing pain lighting up my body. Four flashes in my elbow. One in my hip. Two in my thigh. The back of my head. Constantly. I called Dr. Gaeke about the pain, which had me relegated to the couch, trying to sleep for relief. She prescribed some Darvocet and more Prednisone, which helped the pain but made me so jittery that I literally paced my living room because I just. couldn't. sit. down. I'm off the Prednisone now (only needed it for three days), and the pain is gone. I'm feeling better except for the stomach cramps. Feels like I'm super nervous about something. (Which I am: my next chemo treatment and the day my hair starts falling out in clumps. But the cramps are from the chemo destroying the lining of my gut.) Oh, and I've lost the feeling in six of my fingertips (makes it tough to type!) and a palm-sized patch on my left thigh. Again, the chemo.

Thursday I decided it was time to face the facts and do what is best for my body. I met with human resources to put in my request for time off, faxed my doctor the paperwork, talked with my understanding boss, and left. With a chemo treatment every two weeks, each treatment knocking me on my ass for a week after, the few days of peace I'll have are just too precious to spend sitting behind a desk. It is time to get well. And soon. Thanks to FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act), I'm able to be paid 60% of my salary while on leave, and I'm guaranteed my job when I return in a few months. 

Yesterday I commenced my medical leave by going wig shopping with my sister. She had already scoped out the wig shop at the mall, had gone in to ask questions about synthetic vs. real hair, do they come in other shades of blond, etc. We took Nikolas along, my almost-4-year-old nephew, who was so good. He cracked up when I tried on the curly wig, cackled when I tried on the Charlie's Angels wig. (I wish we would've had the camera with us!) While we were in there, another cancer patient was picking out her own wig. An older lady with a sweet smile who bought the first wig she tried on. We showed each other our port scars and wished each other well. Dee helped me pick one out that looks remarkably like my real 'do... a straight blond bob, only this one has bangs to hide the fake hair line. It's a little long, but my hair stylist can trim it up for me. I feel a little more prepared to lose the hair now. Deanna said she'll be there to take professional pics of my G.I. Jane moment when I take a razor to my balding head. Those will be blogworthy, I'm sure. Stay tuned.

Deanna has been a rock through this. Her matter-of-fact, no-drama attitude, sense of humor, and adorable son have filled me with the comfort that it's OK to be sick right now. It's OK to not work. It's OK to be scared. She's treating me not like I have a foot in the grave, but like I'm a regular person dealing with a shitty situation. She was there to hug me and cry with me when I showed up to her house to go out, only to realize all I had strength to do was sleep. She took me to a doctor's appointment when I needed a ride even though it meant dropping what she was doing and toting her son to West Chester in a truck with no air conditioning. She's taught me that even though it sucks and is gonna suck, the strength comes in dealing with it without unnecessary worrying. I love her so much.

Chemo #2 is coming up this Friday. I have to go to Dr. Gaeke's Thursday to give a blood sample so they can make sure my red blood cell and white blood cell levels are healthy enough to handle Friday's round of chemo. Pray that my levels are good, that it doesn't hurt too much when they stick me, that this round doesn't cause so much pain afterward, that it's kicking the lymphoma's ass. 

Love you all,

Tara