Round 4

Okay so going to chemo with a black eye isn't really ideal. But if we're talking ideal... then I really wouldn't be going to chemo. I don't want to go. I want to be somewhere, anywhere else.

I keep thinking that if I don't think about it, it won't come. That if I keep reading my book, an obvious coping mechanism, that the sun won't rise. It'll stay 2:00 a.m. forever. When I was little I thought that the only way morning could come was if you went to sleep, but I hate being older and knowing better.

I'm armed with my new anti-nausea med & my cd player. (I'm totally an ipod hater) Hoping that maybe the music will make it easier to drown everything out faster. It's a race to get to sleep, to reach unconsciousness quicker than the last time.

But even the music doesn't help. I start to feel sick on the drive down to Rochester. Almost like my body is betraying my mind telling it "you don't have to think about what's happening but you can't stop me from reacting". And the worst part is the blood draw right when we walk in. They can never get in my veins on the first try and so I endure 2 or 3 more pokes.

I hate the waiting after the doctor's visit & before the chemo part starts. It's too long and not long enough at the same time because eventually they always call my name. They say that the chemo is cumulative... but I think that the anxiety is. It compounds in my stomach faster than my 401k is ever going to grow.

And I wish I were somewhere else, anywhere else.