Chemo #2 is in the books. My oldest son wasn’t feeling well so instead of sending him to camp, we brought him to a place filled with germs and immunosuppressed people. Obvs. He is also old enough to be interested in what mom does at chemo so we figured why the heck not. 

 We also played some solid rounds of Blink (Thank you, Miranda) which I lost at every single time. I guess he’s not old enough to understand the concept of letting someone win ’cause they are being poisoned?

And who doesn’t play with snapchat filters at a doctor appt?

We got Jimmy Johns sandwiches, read books (shout out to my childhood friend Jennifer Close who just published The Hopefuls!!), and I even met a new cancer friend in the hallway (believe me, when you see someone approximately your age in a chemo ward, you start chatting).

This young woman was 25 and has a very similar diagnosis to me. Check your breasts, ladies. I am not playing. You heard me– she is a healthy, beautiful, 25.

After a last minute, contortionist sock photoshoot,

it was time to start wrapping things up. Turns out I am sort of a chemo phenomenon. I do remarkably well at the time of transfusions. No side effects, allergic reactions or hold up. I save that all for later.

One last social media blitz in the form of a boomerang:

Now it was time to get unhooked and head home. Upon walking out of the doors of my place of poisoning, I suddenly felt very tired and weak. I got into my mom’s car and knew my only option was to get into bed. Walking up the stairs at my mom’s house seemed infinitely harder than it did this morning.

So it begins.

This week will be extra difficult, as my whole family planned their summers in accordance with my original chemo schedule. This week is an orientation week at my sister’s college, where she is an administrator, so she is slammed and my husband has staff on vacation, so he is stuck at work.

First thing I have to get through is my daughter’s 6th birthday parties all day tomorrow. Will I be the only mother vaping legal weed in the bathroom of the American Girl Doll Store? Perhaps. Tough noogies, America (and your dolls).

When shit really hits the fan Thursday and Friday, I have a pretty airtight plan with babysitters, my mom and my husband, but I’d be lying if this all didn’t stress me out. I hate having my kids as pawns in a shuffle game. And I hate leaving them for days at a time. I just have to. It’s my cross to bear right now.

Writing this blog made me so tired. Mental acuity don’t leave me!!!!!!!