Tomorrow

Tomorrow afternoon I'll have my infusion and my injection -- those minimally icky procedures that Eric and I have been hoping will be effective.

I'll leave work shortly after lunch and go to the Chemotherapy Suite, where the nurses wear brightly colored uniforms and no one laughs.

I don't like the way it smells there.

I'll have a fever on Wednesday, and on Thursday I'll go to work.

I don't complain much about the weird hospital smell or the brightly colored uniforms or the nurses who speak to me in baby talk, or the hair I pull from my hairbrush not by two's and three's but by thirty's and forty's.

Actually, I'm oddly grateful for the weird hospital smell that doesn't make me nauseated, and the nurses who pat my leg, and the hair that I have left. It could be so much worse.