Chemo number ? today, then ?+1 tomorrow

I've lost count. Sure, it would be pretty easy to get the exact number, but that would take a lot of scrolling and counting. 

Also: 

Numbers bad. Words good.

I think it's 15 and 16 coming up, I don't know, but the point is, damn. That isn't even that many times, especially in comparison to what I know others go through, and I'm pretty damn sick of it. 

Not fed up. Not depressed or demoralized. Not angry (well, kind of angry).  Not dreading every time this day comes around and cursing the fates or falling into "woe is me. "

I'm fine. Today just happens to be the day. I'll do what I'm told. I'll spend 8 hours at the Cancer Center for a 2 hour treatment. 

I'll be friendly to the nurses and doctors who do an awesome job and go out of their way to make me as comfortable as possible. 

I'll nod and smile at and make small talk with other patients. We'll roll our eyes at the wait time and share what we're comfortable sharing about our diagnosis. 

Which in my case isn't usually very much. There's an incredibly weird dynamic in there--and maybe it's unique to me because I'm a weirdo, but there's this strange feeling--shame--that I feel when sharing my diagnosis with someone who I perceive to be "worse off" than I. 

I hope the readers of this blog like Game Of Thrones, or this is gonna seem pretty weird.

 I've had it drilled into my head that I have "good cancer," so I feel sheepish explaining my problems to the man with prostate cancer, the woman with lung cancer, the woman my age with breast cancer, etc. 

I realize it's silly, I didn't ask for this and neither did they and we didn't have any control over it and I shouldn't feel ashamed yada yada yada.

Who, me? Oh um, I have the fun one. The fun cancer. So...let's just talk about you.

 I know it's weird. So is Cancer. Hey I'm just gonna hang out here and multiply extremely rapidly, cool? k cool. 

Shocker, I've gotten off track. 

I tend to get lost mid-blog post.

I'll go down to Ann Arbor today, listen to sports talk radio on the way. I'll stop and get coffee. It all seems like a normal day until the moment my door closes behind me in the parking lot. 

I'm in control of things up until that moment and can still exercise free will. I could turn around and go home. 

 I can limit the size and scope of my predicament by using humor, belittling it, or just ignoring it. 

"It's only as big and scary as I permit it to be," right?

Then the door closes, and:

Just--damn. 

 

 Go Science, go.