Had a CT scan this morning to see how the last two rounds of chemo worked. Doctor's appointment this afternoon to get the results. If all goes well, I'll start another round of chemo soon, maybe even today. I think I'm ready. I hope I am.
A knock on the door today. Daniel had been playing with my car keys. A tall young man in his 20s or 30s, dark hair, stands there. "I really hate to ask this, but do you have a child who's been playing with your car keys and honking your horn from inside the house?" Uh, yup, that would be us. Terribly sorry ... I'll try to keep them away from him (wresting the keys out of Daniel's hand, prompting a loud outcry). What a way to meet the neighbors.
Daniel and I go to L.'s house last week to meet her new baby, the younger brother of one of the boys in Daniel's playgroup. Midway through our visit, Daniel stands up and announces, "I want to get going in the car." Moments like that, I'm astounded at how much my little boy understands, knows, is growing.
My eyebrows and eyelashes are falling out. I have two lower eyelashes left on one eye, five on the other. Haven't counted the top lashes, but a little bit more. My eyes feel sticky when I close and open them. I feel like a freak. Steve and I have a rare, wonderful date yesterday afternoon on the patio of W.A. Frost, having drinks and eating a cheese plate. He says he doesn't notice my eyelashes, just my beautiful brown eyes. I love that man.
At the grocery store last week, two upbeat women are accosting every soul who exits the store, asking them to help "save the children" by donating to their charity. I walk out, and the woman nearest me takes a glance at me (cane, cancer hat, freakish eyes, no doubt) and just says, "Good afternoon." No pitch, no request for money. Why? It feels wierd.
Inside the store, I'm standing in front of the pre-bagged salad section, wondering which kind to get. A woman next to me looks at me and then asks, "Can I help you get something down?" I'm thinking, do I look like I'm incapable of reaching out and picking up a bag of salad? I want to snap at her: "I'm perfectly capable of getting my own salad, thank you." And I almost do, but then I soften it at the last minute to something like "I'm fine, thanks." She was only trying to help.