avoid falling

That's one of the things on the official list for chemo patients to do: avoid falling. I think that's a great idea for everyone, so in case it's not on your list, please add it. My brother-in-law Rob forgot about this and almost broke his hand this morning while running. I was too late in reminding him. I feel partly responsible for his spill.

The official list also says that I should give the kitty litter duty to someone else in the household during chemotherapy -- something about the presence of creepy viruses. This is great news to me, though I think it will take awhile to pass the official scoop to Laura. It's not generally on her radar, though she does the lion's share (whoa! glad we're not dealing with that) of the daily pet care. She does intake, I do output. Not for the next 4 months, though, no sir.

In fact, the official "Chemotherapy and You" book says, "Don't do any chores you don't want to do." This, to me, seems a little over the top. I appreciate the sentiment, but there are breadboards to sweep off, mail to vet, toilet paper rolls to replace, no? More importantly, one has relationships to protect. Always want to keep putting currency into your relationships, and eschewing chores I don't want to do doesn't seem wise. Plus pulling my (occasionally modified) weight around the house is a way of keeping my life in familiar order, which matters to me. But the kitty litter? I will be a good patient and pass that to Laura.

Yesterday I went in for the shot that must follow chemotherapy by 24 hours: it's Neulasta, which boosts white cell development. Apparently once that happens, it's like bringing in the opposing army. The chemo puts in one army, and they stomp around and make a mess of your inner meadow. But the real fighting begins when you bring in the white cell army. By Grace, both armies seem open to mediation so far. Today I woke kind of puffy and red, like I had a face-fever. I'm a little poky, and the appeal of food is highly variable; nearly everything loses its appeal after a few bites. But I did walk a couple of miles in the wicked cold, and that was good for me. So I'm hoping my white blood cell army will be heavy on the "come on, guys, let's go work this out around the kitchen table" approach. I know I'm supposed to see chemo as fierce banshees attacking the confused cancer cells. But the Quaker in me runs too deep. I think maybe we can talk them out of my body. "Listen, fellas, you don't want to be doing this, right? Why don't you just give up and we can all be square. You got the boobs. Give her the bod." This is my hope. If not, then, sure, cellular pacifism be damned.

Fun numbness story: I slipped my arm out of a few layers of sleeve yesterday to get the Neulasta shot, the better to get at a good spot to inject. Didn't notice until bedtime that I only put one layer back on. My shirtsleeve was all bunched up around my chest-with-no-feeling. Yep, spent the day wearing half a shirt, and had no clue.