I went into my first round of chemo feeling 100% and had no idea what I was in for. This time, I'm going into it at 50% and I know what to expect, and thus am quite a bit more reluctant and nervous. At the same time, looking forward to it because I feel like the star destroyers have been blasting off only little bits of my tumor and with each chemo, Luke Skywalker gets another chance to hit the target and just blow that death star to smithereens.
I am heeding the call to be smarter and less stubborn about reality. V is meeting me near the end of chemo to walk or drive me home and W is driving Jonah and I to his piano lesson, so no driving for the acid queen. A kind soul has already delivered me medicinal chicken soup for the week.
I have so little hair left, I'm ready for a buzz, but Jonah say's "no". He says I should enjoy the little bit of hair I have left, and he disagreed when I said there really wasn't enough to enjoy and I think my head looks like baby bird... all pale and tufty. The sweet boy is adamant that I don't shave it off and I'm going to do what he says. Maybe he'll get used to the idea, but for now, I'll respect his point of view.
May the force be with us all.