Sunday, August 5, 2007

So, I should probably clarify.

Just so no one thinks I'm sitting all alone in my bedroom, moping, and feeling sorry for myself. Friday was sort of the culmination of two months worth of unfortunate events for me. Friday itself I spent in an outpatient clinic receiving blood. I then came home to find an e-mail from my doctor telling me that my platelets were still too low to safely begin chemo, and she told me I would have to wait another week to be tested again. Hence, my final round of chemo was pushed back a week, and I lost it a little bit.

I am in a really weird emotional spot right now. I have been consistently in and out of the hospital for the past two months, and I realize now that I had set my expectations way too rigidly in terms of returning to school. For the past seven months, I have learned to live (mostly) day to day. The idea of going back to Boston helped keep me sane, and as my return was further solidified, I became fixated on returning on a certain date. And then when I learned my date had to be extended, I didn't know what to do, really. It's hard when something you look forward to so much is suddenly altered. But you'd think I would have learned by now that you can't put too much trust in the future when the present is so uncertain.

My doctor explained to me in another e-mail that my most recent infection really took a toll on my cells' ability to regenerate, platelets included. Obviously I am disappointed, still. But my despair of Friday has receded quite a bit. One of the main reasons for this, other than that I've had some time to let it sink in, is that over the past few days I have heard from some of my very good friends, as well as from people who don't know me too well. They reminded me that a better world exists outside of this dastardly cancer-infused one, and I absolutely have a place in it. Regardless of when I actually, finally, fly away from Chicago, I will definitely do so in the near future. And then the good times begin in earnest. The next six or seven or eight weeks are still going to be hell for me. You can not fathom how much I want, how much I need this chemotherapy to be finished. But I guess the most important thing I can do, and if anyone wants to help, please do, is to think happy white blood cell thoughts. And just accept that this will end when it ends. Thank you So much to everyone who is helping me get through this. I wouldn't be able to without you. Peace.


Megan said...

My white blood cell thoughts are so happy.

You really have no idea how happy they are. For serious.

kev-kev said...

jamming. Ben Harper concert. me cooking you your favorite dish in the whole wide world. drunken Guitar Hero/shenanigans.

happy thoughts.
can't wait to see you.
i'm sending happy blood cell thoughts til my head hurts.

i don't know what your favorite dish in the whole wide world is, but as long as its not too hard to cook i shall make it for you and it will be delicious.

Megan said...

my thoughts are happier than kevin's thoughts.

when kevin's thoughts saw my thoughts walking down the street they were so ashamed at their own lack of happiness that they committed seppuku, right there on the sidewalk. Luckily my thoughts were so happy that they couldn't be bothered and stepped over the corpses of Kevin's thoughts into the theater where they had tickets to watch an improv comedy show and eat world class surf and turf.

kev-kev said...

megan's full of poop. period.

P.S. i hear she's evil, but keep that on the down low

Megan said...

Kevin's libel will be punished the next time we meet--although he probably won't remember, given the condition of his heart.

kev-kev said...