F&%$ This Year

It's not all badass bitch tumor warrior woman and sarcasm over here. I'm pissed. I'm sad. And just when I thought we couldn’t possibly get kicked again this year . . .

I had an appointment with my oncologist and an infusion today. It turns out that the Avastin can cause a fatigue syndrome to set in after several months, So it looks like I’ll be taking naps for the foreseeable future, since the radiation fatigue is still hanging around.

My disability company had sent some forms for my doctor to fill out, so part of my appointment was spent answering super fun questions. In my oncologist’s opinion, I will not be returning to work anytime soon. He asked if I enjoy the work I do or if there were other things that I would like to do. [Cue: Panic]

  

At this point, my eyes may not heal any more. My oncologist thought that my eyes are probably as healed as they’re going to get, but he couldn’t say for sure. I’m still outlawed from driving, which is annoying. I have a stack of books next to our bed that I just want to read, but can’t manage more than 10 pages at a time. This is a hard pill for me to swallow. As if I wasn’t panicking enough about my future ability to return to work, my future ability to read makes me panic even more. . . . I’m still holding out hope that they’ll get better.

My oncologist is quite the character. The man is brilliant, but quite the character. He’ll walk out of the room during my appointment, without saying where he’s going, leave the door open, then walk back in a few moments, and continue talking right where he left off.

A final thought — This year can fuck off.

Fight like Hell.