Watching the Sharks score 4 goals in the first period and still hardly holding a lead. At least I'm not at the game like Max, poor sucker. Although pizza he get, to be sure.
I had my initial phone interview with the Block Center today. After this coming Friday's scheduled call with Dr. Block himself, I should have a pretty good road map for the next as of yet undetermined period of time for how to handle this stage of cancer. I'm in the weird, anxiety-ridden, hazy stage where the tumor--according to my 2-month MRI/MRS cycle--is not getting bigger, I'm not taking chemo or getting radiation but I'm still draining that insipid crap through and out of my system, and I'm getting my menstrual cycle back. Just to name a few of the minor annoyances. The real hard part is being stuck between really sick, like, dying sick, and dead. Because in between treatment and death, as luck would have it, is a whole mess of grumpy. I feel fine, I can eat like a horse, sleeping enough to put a newborn baby to shame, can almost win an arm crossing contest with Samson the Angry Three Year Old and I'm slowly squashing my poor husband into a fatigued pulp of a man. And I can't remember shit.
Did I mention that I'm having memory problems?
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