The seat by the window was waiting for me.
The nice nurses as well.
The aluminum foil covered bags of medications were hung on the pole next to me and would, again, be dripping into my veins one after the other.
Medications that are sensitive to light. Scary stuff. This shit is going into me and I should believe it's meant to help me?
Who is the sick f***er that came up with these things?
My hair is slowly getting over the separation anxiety and letting go of my body. I have the feeling that my hair really really likes me. Much more than I like it, and it makes me feel guilty. Because the only bit of hair in my whole body I can tolerate and might feel slightly sorry to lose, are my eyelashes. The rest can go. Never served my right anyway... but it stays — or maybe not for long now? Hey! I have Adriamicine! The ultimate weapon against naughty hair. (Any hair that is brave enough to stay — will be shaved.)
I couldn't fall asleep last night. Didn't feel so good. Some new pains are there now. I guess the more treatments I get — the more new pains I will discover. The body is starting to realize that the first chemo was not a one off mistake and that it's coming again... the inner resistance is recruiting and I suppose next time will even be harder.
The people in the day-treatments room on my Tuesdays are quite the same crowd. I think next week I will start discussing them. Some are quite interesting in a disturbing kind of way.
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