[Note: This was originally published on Wednesday, April 6, 2011]
I know it sounds crazy but its hard not to like going to Swedish cancer institute, the staff are so blooming nice. My social worker Katie (yes, look at me, I have my very own special oncology social worker) really went to bat for me to get these drugs, even sending me e-mails at 7.30 in the morning because she knew I’d be leaving for the ferry by eight. I mean really, who does that?
Dr G, my oncologist, gave me a quiz to make sure I understand when to take them and if side effects get too icky, when to stop. I mean does he know how much I love a good quiz?
You would think that when faced with voluntarily swallowing poison, you might hesitate, might give pause to consider saying no. Not me, down the hatch one, two, three pills at a time.
So, I guess I have started the dreaded chemo journey.
Radiation was fine, I still don’t like going into …THE ROOM, but, Big Bertha wrapped her arms around me and twirled to the right then left squeaked and whined a bit and Bob’s your uncle, it was all over.