First, the upside. All is right in tumor-land. Just had blood counts done, all is normal or better. My tumor is pretty much miniature, at this point. The second head that I grew on my neck seems to have disappeared, which is nice.
Now, the bitchin’ and moanin’. I’ve never been good about doing what I was told, by anyone, really. It’s just my nature to automatically question why I’m being told to do things, and to reject the idea that I should blindly follow any orders.
I’m starting to bristle a little under some of the restrictions. Most of them have to do with waiting for my port incision to heal, but some of them are chemo-related, too. Don’t sweat (and thus, don’t go to the gym). No drinking. Don’t get your scars wet. Don’t ride the motorcycle cuz the tumor’s in the way.
Part of me feels stupid for bristling about it. After all, these folks are saving my life, so what’s foregoing a beer or two and staying out of the pool? I also know I’m taking it out on Suzanne a bit, too, which she doesn’t deserve.
The other part of me wants to ride my motorcycle to a bar with a swimming pool after going to the gym…