My Favorite Chemo Breakfast Revealed

My Favorite Chemo Breakfast Revealed

All I’m saying is that I have never been done wrong by a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit with a small caramel frappe. They never taste weird, and they never make a second appearance. If you know what I mean. That’s it. That’s my favorite chemo breakfast.

Yesterday we took Boomer to the vet to have bloodwork done and see if his meds were helping. They are! His elevated liver enzymes are slowly improving. Plus, he is on three different medications, and none of them appear to be causing any negative side effects.

In other news, it was freaking hot here yesterday. I genuinely think I got heat stroke while walking from the car to the vet — so, like 90 seconds, tops — from the closest accessible parking spot. It was 93 °F yesterday, and it’s supposed to be 99 °F today. 

(Friendly reminder to never, ever say something shitty or leave a passive-agressive windshield note to ANYONE using an accessible spot. You don’t know what you don’t know.)

My body doesn’t do temperature regulation anymore. I don’t know if it’s the tumor or the chemo (maybe a little of column A, a little of column B) but there’s a range of like 3 degrees where I am able to live. 

We have AC, but aggressively check on people who don’t. Just because your Great Aunt Ethel survived the summer of ’77 doesn’t mean she’ll be fine.

I got a phone call from radiology yesterday saying they needed to reschedule my MRI, because I had been scheduled on a regular magnet but I need a more powerful one. 

Which reminds me…

I also learned during the related screening question last week that I do have a clip where my gallbladder used to be.

I answered no to the question, and the nurse said jovially, “You lied to me! You *do* have a clip.” Then he read the surgeon’s medical notes back to me.

“No one ever told me! I was under anesthetic! All I know is there was an ‘ectomy’ and I was glad to see that effer go.”

(I didn’t say ‘effer’ or the actual expletive. I just threw that in for flavor. But it was true to the sentiment of the exchange, which I cannot remember verbatim.)

Then he asked if I had both of my kidneys, and I was like, “As far as I know. But who knows what happened during that gallbladder surgery?”

“True. I hear they fetch a good price if you know a guy.”

If anyone ‘knows a guy’ it’s a surgeon. Am I right?

And lastly, all this talk of price fetching reminds me that we have received 12.8% of our fundraising goal for the renovation.

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