I accidentally bang my afflicted left hand against the sliding door of the West-Herr Toyota courtesy van Tuesday morning and it hurts like hell as it swells into a red welt. How long will I have this vein-inflamed side effect, I wonder?
I just had a cancer talk with the shuttle driver, who went through four years -- four years! -- of chemo to beat leukemia. He had to retire early from his job, had chemo at Roswell Park every day all day at first and couldn't get a bone marrow transplant from his family because none of them were a match. Because of the chemo's effect on his legs, he walks with a cane, but he's cured and happy to be driving the shuttle three days a week.
So I'm counting my blessings. I keep something close to a normal schedule, aside from ending my evenings a little earlier than I used to. There's that sinus condition, which erupts into sneezes and sniffles occasionally. And the zinging in my ears every once in a while. And blurry vision, which compels me to wear one of my many pairs of drugstore cheaters a lot and may or may not be related to chemo. And some lingering fatigue. And my hand.
But chemo is over. No treatment Wednesday. Nothing but a month of recovery with some tests to confirm it before the surgery on May 4. Health care proxy Bill Finkelstein wonders how firm that surgery date really is. He's decided not to wait until my meeting with Dr. Guru on April 10 to get a confirmation.
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