Chemo #5

I'm thirsty. I'd love a coffee. I can still taste the dexamethasone anti-nausea medication residue lingering in my mouth. But I'm avoiding liquids that will dilute my blood and lower my hemoglobin count. I want to get my treatment today and this little component in my blood needs to rise one, little point to meet the criteria for the protocol.

I'm confident I did it. I drank less than usual yesterday. My dinner included a couple of dehydrating beers with some chicken wings (I didn't have time for steak, and the chicken wings were part of a very generous food donation from the wonderful friends at work).

I find I'm approaching chemo #5 with a bit of a different attitude. I want to get the treatment, I want it to kill the cancer and get this over with. But I'm not skipping into the chemo suite, optimistic and anxious to begin. I'm worn down and tired. I know it has to be done. I know it'll help save my life. But part of me really, really wishes all the chemotherapy treatments were all over.

I was tired and teary yesterday. Maybe it's because Dr. H talked about the possibility of extending the chemotherapy past #6. While I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, the potential is probably lingering in the back of my mind, dragging down my spirits. Part of me doesn't think I'll have to go there because I'll stick to the protocol and stay on the Olaparib, but what if . . .

One day at a time, that's always been my mantra through this journey. I can get through today, with its IV poke and hours sitting in the chemo suite. I can take those cancer-killing liquids in my body. I can and will do it. And then, I'll face tomorrow.

One day at a time.

Tina