I’m coming out of my cuccoon to talk to you. I woke up at 5 this morning, and haven’t really done much else since then besides shower and sleep some more. I scheduled Dry heaving in there somewhere. Now it’s almost two o’clock, and I’m finally making some effort to get out of bed.
I’ve seen the dietician, but I fell asleep on her. She’s mailing me an e-file of my restrictions so I can share them all with you.
Thank goodness my mom is here. I just met a rep from the visiting nurse company. I’m scheduled to be discharged tomorrow, and a nurse will see me on Sat for “teaching.” I think she’s going to show me how to flush my hickman, but I’ll take her anyway.
So the cells should be reaching the blood bank about 2:30, then, eventually, they’ll find their way to me about 5 or 6.
I hadn’t been beat down by chemotherapy regimens prior to coming here for a transplant, so I feel like I’m in as good a position as I can be.
The worst that has happened so far is I’m a little tired and nauseas. I always get nauseas. Then I get allergies to whatever I’m given for the nausea. I’m down to bear bones treatment now: ativan or marinol. I vote neither. Kytril and alloxi sound fine to me. Ativan makes me sleep and messes with my memory. Marinol makes me high off my ass.
My mother votes for marinol. Apparently, as annoying as I feel on the drug, she thinks I’m hysterical. I turn into a one woman party.
I should really come with a disclaimer: Do Not Add Alcohol or Drugs
There is really no accounting for what may come out of my mouth when either of these substances are added. I have a faulty edit button in general. I can only keep my opinions to myself for so long. I definitely do not need pills messing with my judgment.
But I have them anyway so what’s a girl to do.
Contrary to what some of you may suspect, I do have a financial back up plan a-z. Plan Z is selling my scripts, right after plan x, where I pimp myself out to a sugar daddy to pay for my expenses, and plan xxx, where I do barely legal porn. None of these are going to happen.
I won’t invite those types of people into my life, and certainly not into the life of my child. I will not be dealing my drugs.
Don’t think I haven’t had the opportunity. Drug addicts, for whatever reason, love me. They cry on my shoulders. They rub my feet if we are at a party and they somehow get their hands on me. They are always trying to breach my look and don’t touch policy.
Who wouldn’t want a drug dealer like me? But it’s not going to happen. Don’t come by my house, I have nothing for you. I’ll let my dog after you.
I have an idea of a life I would like in the future. I have goals that could be compromised. I have ties to the ideal society I would like to exist. I’m not going to sell these desires for some fast cash.
Most people don’t realize that these people may surface during cancer treatment. Why wouldn’t they? Drug addicts are opportunistic. Morphine was made for cancer patients. They can put two and two together.
It makes me feel unsafe. Yes, I do have a past. I left that a long time ago and never looked back. That’s the truth. So you know who you are that I’m talking about, and I recommend you leave me alone.
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