I had dangerously low white blood cells on Tuesday. I was told by a nurse practitioner because I saw her instead of my oncologist. Why? I don't know. Maybe Dr. Y. was on vacation.
I asked the nurse practitioner if we could give me the injection to remove the white cells from my marrow and give me chemo. No. I asked if I could have the injection before she sent me home to guarantee I could get chemotherapy the following week. No. Why? I don't know.
Tomorrow, I see a different nurse practitioner. Tomorrow, I find out if my body produced enough cells to get the green light for treatment. I don't want to go tomorrow. Why?
*~*
Tuesday was difficult for me. I didn't feel listened to by the nurse practitioner or her assistant. I had more pain than normal (chronic pain is a plague on my existence). I do fasting blood tests and chemotherapy days are long (I didn't eat for twenty hours). I counted on completing chemo by a specific date; the finish line helped me hang on.
After recovering from the trip, I had a good week. No increased side effects. My husband and I played video games and spent a lot of time together. I wrote blog posts, made sure a project of mine could continue, and edited my forthcoming chapbook. I had energy to sing. There were no naps! I was me again!
*~*
Today, I cried. I don't want to feel sick again. I don't want to lose my ability to think or my energy. I don't want to deal with another nurse practitioner who dismisses me. I don't want another bad pain day. I don't want to make a trip for no reason.
I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna!
Know what else I don't want to do? Leave my husband a widower. Everything else is temporary. So, I will go and hope for better things. Sometimes, that's all anyone can do.
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