Crash carts, broken blood vessels and Nordstroms

Yesterday I had to give myself the last shot of Filgrastim (classified as a "colony stimulating factor" - what the heck's that mean?). That injection was a milestone.

I had my final AC treatment last week, and other than taking some antibiotics this weekend, it feels like I've rounded a corner. Supposedly, the worst part of treatment is over, though I still have months to go.

In looking over the side effects of AC infusion, I don't see anything about Merda Sententia, the general crappy sensations I've had each a week after treatment. It's not just fatigue or malaise. It feels like my normal body fluids have been replaced by chemicals, and subsequently my body feels unnatural, and I don't want to be stuck in it.

Next week I start Taxol, which I'll get weekly for twelve weeks. The first time I am unenthusiastically infused with this sludge, they'll be prepared for my having severe side effects by having a crash cart and Respiratory Therapist on hand. 

That brings me great comfort.

My latest tattoo has gotten me a lot of compliments. Marvin Johnson (aka Jerry the Bee Guy) did a wonderful honeycomb with bees, and a mandala at the back of my head in case any evil approaches me from behind.

A few days ago, one of my coworkers walked up cautiously to look at it. Her first thought was that I had a bunch of broken blood vessels on top of my head.

I'm more and more comfortable being out and about without any head covering. I staffed a public meeting last night in Puyallup and thought wottheheck, I'm going to be a la natural. No one screamed or stared or ran from the room with their hand over their mouth.

I rarely stray outside my comfort level.

It's the introvert in me.

*******

My skin has been very dry. I'm getting dark circles under my eyes, and the skin there's getting wrinkly. Last week I braved Nordstroms (I never feel white enough, feminine enough or clean enough to be in there) and headed for the cosmetics section. A nice woman in a lab coat gave me a sample of some cream to put under my eyes. She handed me her card and when I asked her how much the little jar of age-defying goo was, she said "Sixty-five dollars."

Yikes.