Round three soon to be fully under my belt, with a difference this time. I was reading up on "fixing" blood test results before last Thursday's poke and downed a gigantic glass of water, a huge mug of green tea and about two cups of green and carrot juices mixed together. Perhaps all a bit coincidence, but my neutrophils (type of white blood cell that figures prominently in your immune system) ended up being a normal person's level when they shouldn't have been.
So Nurse Jane was happy with me and she jacked up my processing time to 30 minutes from 60 for the second half of my cocktail on Friday. She neglected to tell me, but was observing my sniffling and nose-blowing toward the end - a sign of the speedy injection.
"I like to get 'em in and get 'em out," she said. Indeed.
Yesterday afternoon I flopped on the bed, the coolest room in the house, and dozed on and off until Pete brought me some homemade chicken broth. The worst was again between about 4 and 9 pm but no varminting. So again, bravo, Emend. I dozed on the couch for a bit and then downed some more anti-nauseants and rolled back into back for a pretty great sleep.
This morning I still felt off, but managed a handful of dry cereal and a peach. Around lunch time I craved the ever-loving pickles and bacon again so Pete took me on a drive and we ended up at Spinnakers. Great pub. Awesome BLT. Pickles by request. Ate the whole damn thing, which could not have happened on day two of round one or two. Again, do I thank the neutrophils?
I have this image of some 1980s video game playing in my breast - asteroids or space invaders. I tell ya. My skin is clearer than it's ever been. My armpits are smoother than a baby's. And despite it all, I'm still growing a bit of hair on my legs, my eyebrows are still clinging and I'm still ovulating to boot. The simultaneously random and specific destruction is endlessly interesting to me, but I'll be damn happy when I move past round four and onto the less sickly-feeling rounds five to eight.