...boobie update

In anticipation of having my hair fall out, my little 2 1/2-year old grandson, Michael, had the time of his life. I bought him some little kid scissors and let him cut off my hair. He went crazy, standing up on the kitchen chair. As he furiously snipped away, his mantra was "cuttie cut, cuttie cut, cuttie cut!!!!!"

Well, after several mammograms, needle biosy, two surgeries, countless MRIs, a bone scan, and more blood being sucked out of my body by lab techs than Bella Lugosi did to all of his victims during his career portraying Dracula, I completed my first chemotherapy session. The highlight of the chemotherapy was the thrill of not barfing. I was so frigging prepared for that...antianxiety drugs (also prevents nausea), a drug taken before and for two days following chemo, a drug added to the chemotherapy IV, and two different emergency pills to pop afterward in case the previous three didn't work. So, I still don't know whether it was the drugs, or just amazingly awesome luck. But I am thankful that I am two weeks closer to my "Forty Years of Barf-Free Living" Thanksgiving celebration (next February 21 will mark the date of the last time I puked). My next chemotherapy session is this coming Thursday...one down, three to go. I know it sounds weird to say I'm looking forward to it, but I am. The sooner I can put this behind me, the happier I will be.