Oncology appointment today. I stressed out so much over it last night that I ended up with liquid diarrhea and a really bad nightmare about my nails falling off, and very little sleep.

My neutrophils are up to 1.1 (or was that 1.2?) which is good. Anything above 1 makes me happy. The lowered dosage helped with that. My tumor markers are at 116. That’s bad. 120 is my really scary number. That’s where I was when this all started.

We went over the whole “how are you feeling” thing. When I said “Physically I’m ok. Pain tolerance goes up and I’ve learned to manage my pain. I have had very little pain for the last few months, mentally, not so hot.” He made a comparison of being in purgatory (according to the dictionary, one of the definitions is :a place or state of temporary suffering or misery). So true. I just want something else to happen. I’ve been sitting here for over 2 years and knowing that it will get bad, but not knowing when is really starting to eat away at me. Some days I just want to get it over with. Not often, but some days. Then I feel guilty for even thinking that way. Other days it pisses me off that I have to even consider it.

Then I go to the pharmacy and they tell me I have to give them 48 hours for my prescription. Again. Seem like every time lately, they’re telling me this. Every time I have to tell them I can’t wait and need them today. They get all snippy with me until they talk to the actual pharmacist. Why can’t everyone in there know the protocol? That I’m “special” and get them the same day. I feel like a bitch every single time but these pills are keeping the cancer away. I don’t want to miss a day because I didn’t give them 48 hours notice.

He’s scheduling a CT for the beginning of April. Looks like I’m on a 4 month cycle with them now and I see him again at the end of April. He wants to watch me more closely because my tumor markers are still climbing.

I go for bloodwork tomorrow, then my oncology appointment Tuesday. No matter how many repeats of this pattern, no matter how many times I’m told I’m stable, I’m still stressed. Usually patterns and routines are a comfort to me. I’m the type that looks for the pattern and the repeats in everything I do. I know the beginning and the ending. There’s no stressing over what’s going to happen.

A really strong analogy is comparing having MBC to Russian roulette. I’m waiting for the trigger to be pulled when I sit in his office. So far I’ve been lucky, and there’s been nothing but the click of the trigger, but just over 2 years into this and I know that one of these appointments the bullet is going to be loaded into the chamber, and the trigger will be pulled and it won’t just be a click I hear.

Try as I might, I can’t find the comfort in this routine. The only ending I will ever get is like losing at Russian roulette. I will run out of chances. This pattern, this routine is terrifying.

I used to love food. Almost any food, except really spicy stuff. I loved cooking and baking. I loved savoring every morsel that went into my mouth and being a slow eater, this made it even better.

Since I’ve been on these drugs, it’s been getting harder and harder to enjoy food. My taste buds are shot and finding something that tastes better than cardboard isn’t easy. I eat a full meal at dinner so I don’t get nauseous from the drugs. Ok, so it may not be a proper meal, but enough to fill me up.

For a while now I haven’t been eating properly. I find something that remotely tastes as it should and I’ll eat it for days. Frozen Italian meatballs, KFC, steamed potatoes and carrots, cherry turnovers.

At this point, I’m more concerned with getting food into me than I am about nutrition and my weight.

I spent today remembering the people in my life who died from cancer. There is too many of them. I thought about everyone in my family who has had cancer. I thought of all the others in my family who have been lucky enough to not get this wretched thing and hope they never do. I wish I could take away the fear I know they carry but the future is a big unknown.

This thing has the ability to take away a person’s spirit, their dignity, their personality. The people I knew who died from it did their best to hang onto all of these things even with death taking them far too early. I hope, as time eats up for me, that I’ll be able to hang on to them too.