Round 3 of chemo is, given the circumstances, uneventful. As Anne is about to access my port for my blood draw, I tell her that hot nurse John didn't use the numbing spray and I felt a lot less pain. So she skips the spray. "Was I as good as John?" she asks. "Sorry, Anne," I reply. "John's better. But you're still my favorite." I tell her I have some questions for her. She has some for me, too. She goes first. She asks about my past week and whether I've experienced nausea, vomiting, headaches and how my appetite has been. No, no, no, fine. The only problems I'm having are with my left arm. I show Anne, then Angela, the mystery lump and how my left arm is more swollen than the right. Angela says she wants me to have a duplex scan (ultrasound) of my entire left arm. Now it's my turn. I tell her that some friends read my blog and want to know if hot nurse John is single. If so, does he like girls or boys and if he likes girls, is he Jewish? So for those of you wondering, hot nurse John lives with his girlfriend and is Catholic. However, hot nurse Anne tells me she has a single, cute, Jewish, entertainment lawyer friend and we promptly contact our respective single friends to arrange a set up. What fun. As I'm emailing my friend who had asked if hot nurse John was Jewish that Anne has a cute friend for her to met, Anne is texting her lawyer friend and asking me if my friend is cute. Love it.
Now down to the real business. Anne returns with my blood results and tells me that my "little body" (we love Anne) is kicking ass and my numbers look great. My white counts have returned to normal (for me during pregnancy that means they're high) which is really good. So we begin with the 5 hour drip of fluid, anti-nausea medications and chemo. "Since you kindly referred to me as little, Anne, let me share with you my husband's thoughts on little," I say. Boris rolls his eyes and tells Anne not believe what I'm about to say because I'm taking it out of context, but...I'm not. And the conversation I share with Anne is almost verbatim. Boris and I were lying in bed one morning (it was early so I'll give him that) when I informed Boris that my new tatas were going to be small. "That's fine, snuggler," he said, but continued "just not too small because you want them to match your body." What!? "Don't you think I'm small?" I ask. I'm 5'2 afterall and while I'm not a tiny tot, I'm certainly not big. "You're not small. You're fuerte," he responds. What!? "You're fit and muscular," he goes on. "So muscular women can't be small?" I ask. Apparently not. I ask for some examples of small women and Boris informs me that the Olson twins are small. I remind him that they're not small, they're anorexic and in and out of the hospital for eating disorders. "Anyone else?" I ask. He names a friend of ours who is about as big as Kate Moss. Nice. "I'm not saying I think that's attractive, snuggler. I'm just saying they're small. And what I'm really saying is that I don't think you'll look good with tiny boobs." Aha. I inform him that I wasn't suggesting I go from a D cup to an A cup, but I just thought I'd let him know that I'm not getting D's again.
Boris and I spend most of the day shopping for Miracle's baby furniture. Initially, I had decided that I wasn't going to buy him a thing because if the worst happened, it would be too painful to have a room full of goods for him in the house. But I've decided that if the worst happens and Miracle doesn't make it - I'm going to have far bigger problems than getting furniture out of my house. Plus, that's part of the fun of being pregnant and I'm missing it because I'm so consumed with cancer.
2 friends come to visit me towards the end of round 3. One states that I look high. I guess that's a nice way to put it. Dr. McAndrew comes to say hello while they're visiting. I'm wearing a yellow t-shit and my orange Hermes scarf and she tells me I look like a burst of sunshine. Seriously. She asks how I'm feeling and how Miracle is doing. I tell her he's doing great although I haven't felt him moving around as much this morning as I'd like. She points to the bags hanging from the i.v's and shrugs. I guess we're both high. And then I'm free to go home. Then nurse who takes the needle out of my port says she didn't recognize me at first because it's the first time she's seen me in a scarf. She's used to me with hair (or at least my fabulous wig). "You look radiant," she says. "Doesn't she?" my friend says. The nurse goes on to say that part of what her cancer patients have taught her is that while as women we think that we need hair to be beautiful, she knows that's false as she sees bald women on a daily basis who take her breath away. So nice.
I've made it over the hump. I've made it halfway through my first cycle of chemo. 3 rounds down. 3 to go.