Though I have been thoroughly enjoying my chemo vacation, or chemo-cation, I had this nagging guilt that I really should call my nurse about having that weekly blood work I've been pretending I didn't need. It had been overlooked when I rushed out of the infusion room almost two weeks prior. I think I was so excited about two whole weeks of normal I didn't want to stay there long enough for them to schedule me for anything.
I ran out of there like someone running down the jet way while deplaning in Bora Bora with nothing but their swimsuit and a toothbrush.
I was going on a chemo-cation, so lather me in sunscreen and point me to my beach chair.
But all great vacations must come to an end and at some point I remembered my real life back in the $11,500 recliner.
It occurred to me that almost 4 weeks off of chemo might not be enough time for my blood work to bounce back after all. What if I showed up this Wednesday and my counts were still too low? I had only one rational choice. I felt like the nerdy kid in class that reminds the teacher they forgot to assign homework right before the bell rings on Friday afternoon.
I ratted myself out like a teacher's pet and called in for an appointment on the off chance that my blood counts hadn't really climbed back up and something needed to be done about it between last Friday and this Wednesday.
This last month has been well needed in so many way. It was my half-time, minus irrelevant musical performances by non-Americans during America's most popular sporting finale. I will now gear up with a refreshed body, mind and spirit and try to keep my head above water as I drag my feet back down this long, miserable road.
I have no doubt that I will be skipping a few more weeks down the line, but at least I've crossed the half-way point and got to enjoy a long layover at some trashy airport sports bar. As much as chemo should stay on schedule, my body is not giving me a choice and for once I am grateful.
6 down. 6 to go.