Things I've Learned Since Friday ...

1.  Attitude is everything.  The second round of chemo went very smoothly compared to the first and I think it was in part because of how scared I was of the unknown.  I was more relaxed this time and not only did the dreaded blood draw go well, but the actual chemotherapy seemed to go quicker. 

2.  Fried ... well, anything ... isn't a good follow-up to chemotherapy.  Yeah, yeah, I know. Of COURSE it isn't; however, in my defense, the fish and chips at Twisted Rooster are darn tasty.  Or, at least I used to think so.  Oy vey.  I took an anti-nausea pill before we even left the restaurant.  And then again six hours later.

3.  Saturday is my eye of the chemo storm.  I seem to have a lull between the nausea of chemo day and the ache/exhaustion of the third day.  Saturday is a good day for me.  I felt so good this past Saturday that I volunteered one last time at a LaughFest show that night.

4.  Sunday post chemo is my drugged stupor day.  I managed to go out for breakfast and then was done. I mean ... sit down and wake up hours later done.  Go to bed at 6:30 p.m. done.  DONE.  When you hit that point: give in.  Your body needs you to shut the hell up and get unconscious.

5.  Day 17 is THE day.  Dr. V said my hair would fall out two weeks after the first chemotherapy infusion - day 14.  The nurse said it would be more like day 17.  Nurse L has the win.  My hair was fine up until ... well ... today.  This morning, I went to put a bit of product in it, re-smooth it, etc., and ended up with my hair in my hand rather than product in my hair.  A few shakes over the sink told me all I needed to know: Day 17 people. 

I called my hairdresser and she kindly found time for me today.  See, the hair on top of my head was taking the swan dive first and would likely have left me with a bare top and ring of hair.  That might work well for a certain Irishman I know (McMorrow) or some current male coworkers but I decided against the drawn-out end.  And my hairdresser is incredible.  She fit me in, took care of everything, gave me extra scrub to use on my remaining magenta scalp (the mohawk is gone but the pink doesn't want to die), and wouldn't accept more than a hug. 

I got good people. 

And finally ....

6. I have a damn fine looking head.

Talk about liberating.  I thought I'd freak out.  I thought I'd cry. 

I thought I'd begin speaking like Andy Serkis and calling everything my precious.

Ha!  Nope.

I've learned I'm so much stronger than I thought. 

With a sprinkle of crazy for good measure.