Hematoma Kiss my Ass!

So, if any of you have seen my last post on social, the scar from my lumpectomy had sprung a leak and a doctor told me, not to worry, it will stop on its own, and to go live my life. Well that was a week ago and turned out to be some horse shit advice!

**WARNING, if you are squeamish at all DO NOT READ ON. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! And yes there is a pic.

Let me paint the picture for you . . .

It’s Thursday morning and I wake up to a soaked bra full of blood, but no pain. I’m nervous for sure, but think it’s ok. The doctor said as long as the blood is dark in color it’s old blood and it’s nothing to be concerned about. She said it was probably a Hematoma, and it would heal on its own in most cases . . . I had also done some googling on my own, just to put my mind at ease:

Hematoma (Blood Build-up): Like a bruise, a hematoma is a mark on your skin because blood is trapped under the surface. A hematoma usually refers to the mark created when blood builds up in a surgical wound where tissue has been removed and in some cases, the blood may need to be surgically drained, usually by reopening the incision made during breast cancer surgery.

YIKES!

So, prior to this blood bath sitting in my bra I wasn’t too worried. I nervously removed the soaked bandage and from there it wouldn’t stop. It just oozed slowly and consistently for hours. I started to panic. I was deep breathing, then pacing, then cursing. The gauze wasn’t doing shit so I was scrambling with bounty paper towels (they are supposed to be super absorbent, right?). I let out a scream and started to cry and thought, WTF?? I am not OK with this, what is happening? Why do they keep telling me it is ok when there is clearly something not right?! WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BLOOD??” I called my surgeon’s office (who was finally back from vacation, who goes on vacation after cutting people open anyway?) and let his assistant know what was happening and I wanted to come in. She called me back saying he was in surgery, but to meet his at the office in the hospital at 3pm. I called Corey and told him the situation and he came home to check it out right away. By the time he arrived I had already gone through half a roll of the bounty paper towels (which were working great by the way), and was standing at the top of the stairs topless holding the paper towel under my boob to catch the blood. Luckily, he is not squeamish at all, he just looked at it and said, “It’s ok, we will see what the doctor says.”

We wrapped up the oozing boob and hit the road. When we arrived, I changed into my oh too familiar surgery gown, and waiting in one of the rooms for the doctor to arrive. When he does I explained the situation. Since his face never changes I didn’t know what he was going to say next.

Doctor: “OK, Monique we have two options; option one, let the hematoma drain on its own, but it could take up to two months, or option two, I can open it up and drain it right now. But the scar will not end up as pretty.” 

I looked at Corey wide eyed, my head was spinning. I thought, open me up, again? No anesthetic? The scar was healing so well, what did you mean by not so pretty? This wasn’t an operating room; do you even have the tools to do this right here and now? Is this woman next to you even a nurse, she wasn’t wearing nurse like attire? Me: “Doc.  what caused this, is it something I did?” 

Doctor: “No, it was nothing you did, unless you were doing jumping jacks, which I highly doubt, this happens in 1 out of 6 patients. It could be from the chemo and the medications you have been on, really, it’s hard to say. I would prefer not to have to wait two months though, because that would delay your radiation.”

Me: “I don’t care about the scar, I just want this to end, so drain it.” 

He started right away, the nurse (she was in fact a nurse so I take back what I said before), pulled out all the tools, and set him up. I could have sworn this was an examination room, but they had kit ready to go! He used local anesthetic so it didn’t hurt, however I could feel it all. I could feel him squeezing, and although he had put some cloths around the wound to catch all the blood that was being spilt, I could still see the gauze was being changed every few seconds. Worst of all I could smell the blood, it smelled like raw meat, and it made me sick. If I didn’t think I was going to eat meat before I definitely couldn’t eat it now. I kept my eyes closed for the most part, and tried to go to a happy place and block out what was happening. Why oh, why did I decide to sneak a peek, right at the moment he was using tweezers to pull out a blood clot and slap it on the towel beside my face? Ugh! I didn’t open my eyes again until it was over.

Then came the stitching, I could feel him tugging on my skin, it was horrible! Then the doctor said something that disturbed me, “I wish we had used a contrast color thread, the lighting in here is not great.” WTF does that mean? Nurse replies with, “I’ll go get a flash light.”  What kind of make shift operation is this? I am trying to remain calm, especially when she came back unable to find a flashlight. Me: “I have a flashlight on my iPhone, would that work?”  Corey pulls out my phone and the nurse tries to shine the light for the doctor to see . . . it doesn’t do shit. Doctor: “It’s ok, I’m about done.”  Now I am panicking that he can’t see what the hell he is doing and that not so pretty scar he had warned about, may be even worse! Now I know why they put you to sleep during surgery, it’s not just for the pain, it’s to protect you from the possible mental anguish. I am clear blood and gore isn’t for everybody. I haven’t had any major surgeries in my life, so for some people this may have been a cake walk, but for me it was traumatizing and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

When it was finally over my boob was half the size it was before, all the swelling was gone, but the scar was gross to look at, thank-fully they covered it with gauze so I wouldn’t have to. Corey came over kissed my head and said, “I’m proud of you.” I replied with, “That was horrible, let’s get the hell out of here please.”  We went home still reeling from what had just happened. At least it was over . . . or so I thought.  4 days post open boob surgery and I am still in pain and feels like I had surgery all over again. Maybe everything is fine, maybe a new hematoma is taking shape, who the hell knows?! There is no way to really prevent it after all. How frustrating is that? I am super angry, frustrated and sad. All this laying around (although necessary), is making the rest of my body stiff like a grandma; my radiation will have to be pushed until I am healed (date is TBD), and I am so scared the hematoma will return because my boob is swollen again!  I am really in my feelings these last few days, which I hate! All I want to do is eat ice cream, chips and pizza (when I know my body needs greens juice, salads and healthy shit!)

Yes, I know it could be worse, it always could be worse, but not addressing how I am feeling would make me even crazier then I feel right now, and who needs crazier, I sure as hell don’t! I am sure Corey would agree.

I meet again with the doctor on Thursday, we will see what the next steps are. The journey continues. 

SURGERY COUNT DOWN . . .

I'm sitting in my car in the hospital parking lot waiting for my next appointment. I am getting a Sentinel Node Biopsy to determine if any “abnormal cells” have spread.

The Sentinel node (under the armpit) is the first lymph node to be affected. Finding it involves an injection of a radio-istotope into my breast, which travels to the sentinel node. If the Sentinel node is not involved, there is a 95% chance that the remainder of the glands are negative as well.

But first I get to have 3 radio active ,“seeds” injected into each tumor. Fun times! NOT! They freeze the area (my boob and under my arm) – Ouch! Then inject the seeds. Apparently, I am pretty sensitive because it was NOT frozen the first time he went in there – damn it! These seeds essentially make it easier for the surgeon to identify the tumors during surgery.

All of this is in preparation for surgery tomorrow. I wouldn't say I am scared, per se …  but nervous yes! I mean it is surgery after all and anytime you must go under the knife there are risks involved. Oh, and there is the whole recovery time and the fact that I don’t like pain, AT ALL! I don’t know many people that do, but I think I am a big baby when it comes to pain or discomfort. This was emphasized when I yelled out in pain when the freezing hadn’t kicked in yet, so one of the nurses started rubbing my arm and squeezing my hand mid procedure. I was a bit taken aback, (as nice as the gesture was), I mean we had just met and I don’t like to be touched when I’m in pain. Not to mention I was having hot flashes during the whole thing and her arm was sticking to mine and I needed some space! “It’s almost over,” she kept saying, gently. Ugh! I just wanted to punch her! All I kept thinking was, “GET OFF MEEEEEE, I CAN’T BREATH WITH YOU UP ON ME!” I had my nipple in the air, the doctor sticking my boob on my right and her rubbing my arm on my left, all the while being told not to move and surrounded by these blankets to ensure I didn’t touch the disinfected site. I was suffocating! But I didn’t want to be mean, (she was so nice), so I just sweated and bared it as long as I could, then I gently tapped her and said with a weak smile, “Thanks, I’m OK now.” “Oh, OK,” she smiled back and backed up. Thank GOD!

I really can't wait until this is all over, I want to start my life! WAIT, scratch that. As I wrote that, I just caught myself. That's a BC (before cancer), type of comment. There is no starting my life, my life is actually happening, RIGHT NOW MONIQUE! I forget sometimes. That, “I will be happy when . . ,” mentality can kill you. . . maybe literally. Def emotionally. What I really meant to say is; “When this surgery is done and I am healed, Corey and I can finally take that, "Monique kicked chemo's ass," trip we have been planning for months. This has me realize how easy it is to slip into that, “I will be happy when,” state of mind. Everyday I am grateful I have come as far as I have; for the support that I have; for the amazing healing, I have experienced. Even when the, "poor me," days rear its ugly head, I am still grateful. AND I need to remind myself everyday that cancer is not something I need to put behind me, it isn't going anywhere. The treatments will change, the feelings and emotions will change, the check-ups will change, but I will always be the girl who got cancer, has cancer or had cancer. Duh! And that is OK. It was a wake-up call, and we all get some sort of wake-up call, (if we are lucky), and mine was cancer. 

I was resisting pulling out my iPad and writing in the car, but now I am so glad I did otherwise I wouldn't have seen that I am still, "waiting" for something to end before my, "real" life can begin. NEWS FLASH! My life is happening right now!

I have 2 reminders on my phone that beep everyday: The first one is, “Create my body as a place cancer cannot live.” The second one is, “My worst day is someone's best day.” Today I am creating a third, "Your life is happening, so don’t waste it.”   You have any alerts you need reminding of?

The Tale of, "Crazy Ass Nurse Maggie"

Let me tell you the tale, of “Crazy Ass Nurse Maggie.”

Since chemo round #3 my doctor has prescribed me 3 days of hydration, post chemo home care to help with the fatigue. This means a nurse is scheduled to come to my house, hook me up to a IV for for 4 hours each day and leave.  (Note this has made a HUGEEEE difference), so I am clear this will be a reoccurring thing. However, the nurse (Let's call her Maggie), they sent was a bit ummmm . . . I don't know . . .  too much. You know those people who get way too familiar too soon? Let's exam the facts . . . 

1. She was making little unnecessary comments that reminded me why I don't let any, Tom, Dick or Harry all up in my house, like, “It must be hard to clean all of those trinkets you have around.” Shit like that. You know, one of those people who process their thoughts out loud?

2. She was super frazzled and a bit hostile by the time she arrived, complaining that they just added me to her schedule last minute. (As if I needed to know that).

3. Then she made it clear she didn’t get have my information because her first question to me was, "Did you go away and catch a bug or something?" To which I paused, then replied, "Ummm, don't think you can catch cancer." Maggie was instantly embarrassed saying that the computer wasn't working and didn't update her on my situation . . . I let that go (well sort of).

4. She was in her 50's so she treated me like a child, naturally. Not a huge deal, however she made a huge miss-step operating under that assumption, this is what happend . . .

I thought I would do something nice on the 2nd day of her visit, by giving her a thank-you card for what it occurred to me as a thankless job (based on everything she had told me in the short time we spent together). She had also mentioned she was having trouble with her two 20 year old daughters, (I use the term, mentioned loosely, since she actually gave me her entire life story on the first meeting, pointing out how hard her life was, and how her kids don't appreciate how easy they have it). So feeling like I could help having taking so many self-development courses myself, I wrote in the card a contact for a course she could look into for her daughters. She kept referring to them as, "2 daughters who aren't getting their shit together and are making her want to ring their necks!" So I thought, it couldn't hurt.  

On the 3rd day when she returned, she greeted me and she said that her daughters have taken all the courses in the world, and nothing has helped, so she doubt this would either. (I never mentioned the course other than in the card, I didn't discuss it and didn't want to tell her how to raise her kids) All I could muster was a shrug. It was not the fact she didn't want to look into the courses, I could care less, it's what she did next that threw me. When I sat down for her to put in the IV she reached out her hand and before I knew what was happening, she proceeded to RUB MY HEAD!!! and said, "Thanks anyway." (Insert blank stare here please). I didn't even realize what had happened until it was over! How was I suppose to respond to that?? What I wanted to say was, "Bitch no you didn't just rub my fucking head!" Who the fuck, rubs another grown ass woman's head? Let alone the stranger cancer patient who's head is shaved for fucks sake??? She is so lucky I had no energy to compute what the hell was going on (or that track record of never slapping an old person was about to get broke). Instead I just sort of sat there stunned. I didn't even have the energy to respond, so I didn't.

Maggie was nice enough, don't get me wrong, but it was time for her to hit the road.  On her way out she said, "I wish you all the best, and maybe I'll see you in a couple of weeks." (I was thinking it may be time for a new nurse), But I just smiled and proceeded to shut the door. Then she turned around and said, "You know your face is so familiar, I just can't place it." Me: "I have that sort of face," Why was she still here? I am thinking. Her: "What high school did you go to? Me: "Agincourt," please leave, I think to myself. Her: "Oh my God, me too! That must be it, what year did you graduate?" Me: Ummm I can't remember right now (I really couldn't, I was exhausted I can barley remember what day it was!, I am tired can you pleassssssse leave. Her: "I graduated in 81'" Me: "Ummmm I was born in 81'" PAUSE. Her: "Oh! Ok hahaha, that can't be it then, see you!" (Insert blank stare again please). HOW OLD DID SHE THINK I WAS?? If she read my chart she would know! I mean I know I looked a bit rough in my robe, sunglasses and caftan, but DANG!

I shut the door and looked over at Corey who had heard the entire conversation.

Him: "She's confused don't worry about it," kissed me on the cheek and smiled.

Me: "Hmmm, I kinda hate her now . . . Sorry."

P.S. she actually turned out to be my nurse again the next time around.  2 weeks later there she stood on my doorstep smiling. Maybe I overreacted? I did learn this time around, if I speak less, so does she. Lesson learned LOL! 

WAKE-UP CALL

I thought I would be the one, you know that 1% who's hair doesn't fall out from chemotherapy. Yes, I know naive, but I thought I would be the one to beat it. I’ve heard stories of people who did, I mean these were not legitimate sources by any means, but when you are desperate to believe you will grasp at any straw . . . (Note to self STOP grasping at straws).

Last week I walked into chemo treatment #2 with a smile, one might even say, with positivity in my step (it happens). I had my hubby on my arm and some experience in my back pocket, (after all I had done this once before), so I was feeling more confident all around. But most importantly I STILL HAVE MY HAIR ON MY HEAD! Verona, our nurse from our last visit even called out with a smile, "Wow your hair looks great!" I took that to really mean, "Wow you still have your hair?" Damn straight, I thought to myself. I mean it's not like I wasn't losing some stray hairs in a few choice places, (no need to mention), but the hair on my head was in tack and looking fab! And why not? My whole life I had been told how thick and strong my hair was. I come from a long line of women with what some would call, “problem hair,” (of course that would depend who you were speaking to). Only my black ladies would understand, you know that thick hair that you hate to comb and takes hours to wash and dry. I have given more then my share of hairstylist a few headaches.  But I didn't care because girls around the world would kill for it if it knew the resilience of it. No matter how many times I permed, dyed, cut, shaved, braided, damaged, twisted and permed some more, it always came back thick, full and strong. Can I get an AMEN!

I'm telling you I was feeling good!

Near the end of the treatment another nurse came in to ask how I was feeling and to give me my next appointment. She was nice, and had bouncy long luscious hair, so I asked her, “Of all the patients you see, how many keep their hair? I'm thinking Iike 20%. To which she replied, "Ummm I saw one woman once... " I just blinked . . . Hmmm, maybe she was new . . . not encouraging. I glanced at Corey and said, "Maybe I'll be the one?? Corey replied, “Yey babe.” Again not that encouraging. She smiled and looked at us and said, "What is cancer Monique?" We both paused for a minute. What kind of question was that? She answered for us, "Cancer is fast growing cells, rapidly growing cells we need to shut down." I guess I sort of saw where she was going with this.  "And what is chemo meant to do?" She continued, "Chemo not only shuts down the fast-growing cancer cells, but it also shuts down ALL fast- growing cells, including your hair. So, if your hair is falling out its an indication that the chemo is working, so look at it that way."  I paused and smiled. She smiled back and left. My first thought was, BITCH. LOL! Ok so my second thought was, she was right. Then I looked at Corey and said, "well does that mean if my hair isn't falling out that it's NOT working? F! Now I was worried... Well worry soon turned to trauma, because the next day my hair started falling out.  

Fast forward 2 days later Corey comes home in the day to check on me. I hadn't been feeling too well, (to be expected following treatment). He said he would hang with me for a while before heading back out and we started watching, “The Get Down,” on Netflix. 20 minutes in Corey looks over at me and I am sobbing. He looked panicked, "What's wrong?" I pointed to the nightstand beside me. While we were watching, I ran my fingers through my hair and a small clump came out in my hand. "Corey, I thought I would be prepared for this, but I’m not, I thought I would be OK with this, but I'm NOT!" He just consoled me while I sobbed and kept saying, “I am not OK with this,” repeatedly. Finally, he said, "I know this is not the most important thing, but I’m OK with it.” I couldn't help but smile, he is so sweet. "It isn't the most important thing but it matters that you are OK with it." I stopped sobbing and took the clump of hair and flushed it down the toilet.  I knew this was a possibility, not a small one, a BIG one. I KNOW people warned me, I KNOW what the books, pamphlets and all the now people I know who have had cancer, have told me. AND KNOWING MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. I was told, shave it as soon as you start losing it, because watching it fall out is fucking depressing. F! It’s more than depressing, it's fucking traumatizing, it's like, OK NOW I WILL LOOK LIKE I HAVE CANCER. Up until now I can hide it from the world. Hair indicates vitality and health. And I have great hair. Had great hair. Now I can't hide it. 

I know my friends and family have said, oh it's OK, you will look great bald, you already shave the sides of your head. Shaving your head voluntarily is not the same as it is falling out of your head with no control. I invite all of you to look in the mirror touch your hair then imagine it coming out in clumps with each stroke of a brush. It's not a pretty sight and no you are NEVER prepared for that. What I also wasn't prepared for was the pain. It's not enough that my hair was falling out, with each passing moment, I feel like my scalp was on fire. It’s like a bad sunburn, it’s fucking excruciating! No one told me this. I think I read something about beware of tingling, whomever wrote that needs a kick in the balls (yes, I am assuming it was a man). Even laying my head on the pillow with each turn of the head I could feel the hair ripping from my scalp! WTF WAS THAT ABOUT??!

So now its time it’s gotta go! I was hoping to postpone this as long as possible but the hair coming out in clumps is more than I can mentally handle. It doesn't even feel like it's my hair anymore, it's like wearing a toupee, just laying on my head. It's killing me. SO as soon as I can muster the mental strength it will be gone. Until then I avoid touching my hair in fear of what might end up in my hand when I do. 

CHEMO DAY ONE- MEET THE RED DEVIL?

It's 11 pm the night before and I am reading everything I can get my hands on regarding, "How to prepare for Chemo.," (and for any of you that know me, you can picture it).  Luckily my home girl put me on to another woman warrior named, Nalie Agustin, who wrote an entire e-book just on this subject, entitled, “Chemo Secrets." I highly recommend this read for those who have been just diagnosed and friends of those who have been just diagnosed. It is a quick read, it's upbeat and gives you a snapshot into what to expect and how to prepare. She is also fucking awesome! SO, I compiled my chemo care bag with the following, to combat the side effects I might endure the next day:

1. Warm socks

2. Blanket

3. Ginger candies x 3 (for dry mouth)

4. Hand cream

5. Water

6. Music

7. Movies

8. Visine (For dry eyes)

9. Lavender (for nausea)

10. Natural hand sanitizer (which I really don't need until later, I mean I am in a hospital with a sanitizer dispenser on every corner)

11. Toque (apparently, I am going to be cold as hell)

12. Lip balm

13. Greenhouse juices X 2

14. Rice cakes (bland foods only for now, nothing too crazy keep the system calm)

Yes it was a tonne of shit, so you can picture Corey and I arriving with our bags and luggage like we were staying overnight. Turned out for visit 1, totally unnecessary!

I had also been fasting for over 24 hrs. (No, it was not fun!) But a lot of my own research and through the advice of my new naturopathic doctors, this can help manage the side effects, as well as keeping the cancer from returning in the long run.

So, as you can see I was chemo ready! 

Fast forward it's the day of and I am getting messages of encouragement, even a video, (Thank-you Sheena!) that just lit me up. My family hugging me extra tight and reassuring me that, "You got this!" It was all very moving. I thought I would be more upset today. I cried a bit last night, but not out of fear, it was out of . . . come to think of it, it was probably fear, lol! I am not angry, or sad, just ready to get this done! Before I left the house, I created with my coach the possibility of being, strength, trust and vitality. I had a smile on my face and despite feeling nauseous on the way to the hospital, (probably that fear again), I was OK. I had my hubby beside me bumping the tunes, "Bad and Boogie," and I was ready, the sooner it starts, the sooner it would be over. I have 8 cycles total, (once every 2 weeks for 15 weeks), so let's get this over already!

Before I left the house I was thinking, maybe I should wear a hat, so I can get use to not having hair, (and really so the sicker people don't envy me, or think, enjoy that cool hair while it lasts!) Yes I know how that sounds. But that was dumb, no one was focused on anything but themselves and their loved ones, I really need to have more faith in people (W.I.P).  Also, I remember what Nalie had written in her book, "don't go to your chemo looking sick, you want to feel great so do whatever makes you feel great, do your hair as long as you have it and put on some make-up, and wear something bright." So, I took her advice.  I have the next 3 months to look sick if that is what happens, right now I feel fine so let's maximize on that as long as possible! So, I did my hair, did my face and paired my bright yellow scarf with my stylish track pants and T shirt. #IWOKEUPLIKETHIS 

I could go over EVERY medication that was discussed, their names and side effects, but really, they give you the worst case scenarios and I rather deal with things one step at a time (and I am sure I will address in later posts). Let's talk about how I was all set to have an IV in my arm (as I have been getting use to this), and then the nurse tells me to hold out my hand. Whaaaat? All readers, do me a favour and look at the top of your hand, how many veins do you see? Now picture putting a needle in them for the next 2 hours.  "Is this going to hurt?" I ask, "Yes" she says, "but only for a bit". The reason they do this is chemotherapy has the tendency to weaken and collapse the veins, so they do not want to take your big beautiful ones in your arms . . . not yet anyway. So, they hooked up an IV and start pumping in saline, to open my veins. Then she informs me they are mixing the chemo in a lab and will bring it over when it is ready (It was somehow comforting to know they didn't have batches of this shit premixed just laying around).

45 min later the same nurse that greeted us when we arrived, shows up in a fully covered smock and gloves carrying a plastic bin containing the medication. From what I read about what's in that bin, I don't blame her for wanting to protect herself, I wouldn't want any on me either . . . Oh I forgot, it's going IN ME! First, she pulls out 2 huge oversize syringes full of red liquid, a.k.a. DOXOrubicin, a.k.a. "The Red Devil" and she hooks it up to my IV which she will administer manually. She says, "Don't be alarmed if your urine is red for the rest of the day, it's normal." Eeek! Then I say to her, "So this is the 'Red Devil' I have heard so much about, that's what you guys call it right?" She pauses for a minute and says, "I don't call it that, and I try and educate everyone around here not to call it that. I call it, 'The Red Soldier' because it is here to fight for you."  I just smiled, she was so fucking right! "You know your words have power," she goes on to say, "and sometimes people don't realize what they are saying. The devil is out to destroy everything and is meant to be evil, but this is your red solider, it is out to help you." I can see my hubby nodding in the background. I was so lucky to have Verona as my nurse. She was speaking my language. Sometimes I forget about the words that I use or even think. I am a firm believer that our language creates our world, and Verona was giving me a firm reminder of that. She finished the 2 syringes of my, "Red soldier" and hooked up the second drug to my IV, called cyclophosphamide. It doesn't have an a.k.a, so I am thinking it is the nicer of the 2 drugs.  

Verona chatted with us while she pumped the, "Red Soldier" into my vein, (ever so carefully as not to cause it to burn). All the while she kept saying to think positive . . . And it got me to thinking . . . for me beating this cancer was not about thinking positive. Yes, I hope and pray for healing and for a positive outcome, and I know that crying curled up in a ball in a corner is not a beneficial, (although sometimes necessary), way of dealing with hard times. But this was not just being positive, this was about being POWERFUL in the face of no agreement. My body has cancer and for now, it is not going anywhere, I CANNOT GET UNCANCERED. I heard someone say this a few days ago. I was in a crowd full of 200 + people, and it hit me like a tonne of bricks, as if she was talking right to me! She was encouraging people to choose whatever life has thrown at them. She was making the point in saying, you cannot resist what life hands you, your wishing it to be different is a waste of time and energy AND essentially is a suffering of your own making. TRUER WORDS HAVE NEVER BEEN SPOKEN. I don't feel sick, and because of that, it has me in denial about what is really happening. I was still convinced up to the moment she was pumping the, "Red Soldier" into my veins that they had made a mistake, they got the wrong gal! Denying it is a waste of time, and more importantly, energy that I don't have. I know I will get through all of this, and yes it will SUCK ASS! But I thank God for the problems I do have, because it could always be worse, this I know. 

Day 1 done . . . 7 to go!