Bloody Sunday

Oh, yes, the special breast cancer package Ford Mustang is real. I'm just grateful that the car itself isn't pink. There's also a breast cancer edition Mercedes, but it has no pinkness at all -- just a straight donation from Mercedes.

It's been a difficult weekend. I've been sick, sick, sick. Queasy, and hungry -- unfortunate combination -- and there's something fishy going on in the salt world. Food that should be salty tastes saltless and/or tasteless. Imagine eating a frito and having only a textural experience. And food that isn't salty, an apple for instance, will taste as if it's encrusted with kosher salt.

Ugh.

Sweets taste most normal. So I've had a steady diet of cell-destroying chemotherapy drugs, vascular growth inhibitors, calcium-suckers, antihistamines, steroids, anti-nausea meds, a flu shot, caramel corn, and donuts.

There's a steady stream of blood clots pouring from sinuses into my mouth or down the back of my throat.

The steroids (which have been prescribed to fend off adverse reaction to the chemotherapy and to help w/ nausea) make me crazy. Sometimes they make me crazier than others. They primarily make me feel picked on by Eric. It's very disconcerting to believe that Eric is being mean to me. It's bad for me, and it's bad for Eric.

I've really worked hard to avoid this. I've tried to stay conscious of what's going on. I'm a good drug-taker, and I know when I'm "not right", so I check and double check my reactions.

Still -- this weekend has been hellish. I feel picked on by Eric, and he feels upset that I think he's picking on me. At best I'm a bit irrational-around-the-edges, and Eric (who is so good, and so patient) sometimes responds with hurt feelings, which I interpret as a form of aggression... and so it goes & grows.

The steroids also keep me awake. I was up until 5:00 AM Saturday morning and 3:30 AM this morning.

Bad, bad, weekend.

I'm glad for all the times I'm not crazy, though. It's such a ragged and raw feeling. There's so much turmoil there, and such potential to create ugliness. In the end I guess it just makes me even more grateful for what I have, and what I want so desperately to maintain: the peaceful enjoyment of my days, whatever the condition of my body.