As promised, Betsy came through with the goods.  A few days ago some “blooming” awesome cheerful socks arrived at my door from Chicago.  Betsy is currently undergoing her own chemotherapy experience and yet she has the time to give to others. I blogged about the awesome Betsy here

Tribute number two to Betsy with Betsy's socks
Tribute number two to Betsy with Betsy’s socks
Epirubicin – known as the red devil

Today was my third and final cycle dose of FEC (Fluorouracil (5FU), Epirubicin, and Cyclophosphamide).  Next I move onto three cycles of Taxotere, also known as Docetaxel here in Australia.  So essentially I am half way.  After today, there will be no more red colouring in my urine!  Yay!  Should be finished chemo by late July.

I am loving the socks. I am loving the humour and whimsy. I’m still smiling about it even as I type this feeling pretty shitty with nausea.

Again, the Dexamethasone steroids I am given can kiss my grits. My brother even made a t-shirt for me with some derogatory slogans about Dex for me. He’s talented like that!

Today I went all out. It wasn’t deliberate.  I entered a full oncology waiting room and this is a depressing site in itself. Today I was the youngest patient in a room full of solemn faces. These people have Leukaemia, breast cancer, liver metastasis, bowel cancer, you name it.   So I walked in and I cut through the silence with a robust “Good Morning Everyone”.

There were some timid replies. Some laughs.

I sat down and felt the stares. I made eye contact with a few and smiled.

I looked into my handbag. The one that Mr Cool bought me for our anniversary. I am still a handbag virgin only having ever owned a few in my life. I used to carry my cash and cards in my pocket. Not anymore. To fill some time, I rummaged around in said handbag and I grabbed a pen from the bottom and I accidentally dropped in on the carpet floor and it fell to pieces in front of all the patients who were facing at the centre of a rectangle because of the chair configuration.  I thought how bizarre as it looked like one of those long tampon applicator thingos.

The funniest thing then happened.

When I picked it up and put it is a bin next to me, an unadulterated tampon flew out of my handbag and landed on the floor. This time I had to get out of my seat and pick it up.

There wasn’t much eye contact made with people after that.

If I’m being treated for cancer, through the bright socks and the humour I’m doing it with moments of embarrassment and with Jazz hands. Don’t forget the Jazz hands!