Tears falling—
Drops in the vein.
Never staying, never staining,
Never easing the pain.
Drops sliding
Through the vein:
Maybe a cure,
Maybe more pain.
Tears, fears, flips—
Drops, stops. Cancer quits.
Category: Same Me
blogs about the things I do and refuse to let my battle change
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Drops of Fears
Photo by Ali Hassan on Pexels.com -
Dry Mouth, Dark Humor, Still Alive
The day after: the poison comes back to visit like an unwanted in-law.
It wades where it pleases — stabs, jabs, puddles of outrage in my bones.
The shoulder cedes first, a tiny drill bit burrowing in until it’s bored its way to the middle of my back.
My head’s a foggy TV zone and all I want is a long nap, but then the hips join the pity party.Is there a silver lining? Sure — it’s passing through. Slowly. Like a moving train that refuses to be quiet.
Nausea tags along like a bad joke. Dry mouth, too. The more I drink, the more my stomach stages a protest.
I don’t want to sleep away the days I still own. I don’t want chemo to be the weather report for my life.No Tylenol, no Motrin, no miracle dime-store fix. The pain pools and pounds and nobody gets to leave early.
But here’s the part I keep repeating until I believe it: I am stronger than the fear in my head.
I can fight harder than my doubts allow. I am more than a count on a lab sheet.
More than nausea. More than a chair in an infusion room.I want to live — not someday, not after the list of “ifs” — today.
I will live. And if the poison thinks it can make me quiet about that, it can try. -
Chemo Chronicles V3 Pattie Presswoman Report
Dateline: Infusion Center, Day Two of Chemo
Remember how I once reported that some folks draw the lucky short straw for chemo—zip in, zip out—and others get the long version? Well, folks, yours truly drew the very, very, very long straw. I arrived bright-eyed (okay, half-eyed) at 9 a.m. and was still there when the lights dimmed at 5 p.m.. Yes, I closed the joint down. (Closing the joint down sure brings different memories!)
But here’s the breaking news: it all went smoothly. No adverse reactions. Just hours and hours of people-watching, chair-swapping, and enough drowsy naps to qualify as a full-blown slumber party.
Morning Beat
When I arrived, chairs were 80% full (give or take, I don’t actually count). I parked myself on the TV-off side. Snoozing in front of me was a woman clearly shorter than me—a clear sign the universe was sending things in the right direction.
Within minutes, the room was its usual scene: patients knocked out cold from the pre-drugs, myself included. I lost the first two hours without even trying.
Midday Shuffle
By the time I woke, the cast had rotated. The self-appointed Chair 11 Lady was back in position, keeping silent watch over the room and the halllway. A few men had joined the section—both out like lights.
And then—finally—real entertainment. One nurse strutted in wearing head-to-toe yellow scrubs with matching socks, topped off with a black jacket and black shoes. She proudly declared herself a “bumble bee.” Who was I to argue? For all I know, that’s the official undercover bee uniform. 🐝 She buzzed around until—wait for it—her twin-in-disguise arrived: a regal patient escorted by her husband/guardian/possibly fellow bee agent. I dubbed her the Queen Bee—weary but still dignified. The nurse buzzed, the husband checked charts, the transfusion wrapped, and the hive emptied out.
For a moment I wasn’t sure if I was in a chemo chair, a bee convention, or halfway down the Yellow Brick Road with Dorothy. Either way, I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.
Evening Edition
As the afternoon crawled on, the chairs emptied. Patients left. Nurses clocked out. Until—just me. And three nurses. They never abandon ship, even when they’re itching to go home. By then, I was cranky and this close to bawling like a toddler denied her juice box.
Finally, my husband was called back, the finish line in sight. I jumped out of that chair faster than a short woman whose feet don’t reach the floor should be able to.
Tears waited until I got home. Then they came fast, like Biff the Cancer Boy himself screaming “I’m dying!”—melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Closing Statement
This is Pattie Presswoman, reporting live from the frontlines of chemo. The day was long, the straw longer, but the news? Still good.
“Good day, and may the good news be yours.”
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Tired to the Bone
Yesterday, tired to the bone, I slept in.
I took a shower.
I cooked some breakfast.
Tired to the bone, I rested.
I changed the sheets on the bed.
I washed and folded clothes.
Tired to the bone, I rested.
I prepared and cooked supper.
And by the end of it, I felt like I’d spent 24 hours digging a trench with a spoon.
I used to do all these things without thinking—without effort, without stopping.
But that was before Cancer Boy moved in and Chemo showed up to kill him.
Today is Chemo Day.
And tired to the bone, I’ll fight.
✨ Because even when my bones are heavy and my body says “no,” my soul still says “bring it.” -
The Power of Female Friendships
Every now and then, my friends and I manage to pull off a miracle—we get together. Not the everyday friends you bump into at the grocery store. Nope. These are the women I see maybe three times a year, if the planets align and nobody’s kids, grandkids, or husbands derail the schedule. We missed some friends this time, but we will catch up next time.
But here’s the thing: they are my friends. The kind that, when you finally sit down together, it feels like no time has passed at all. This time, we even had a new lady join us—and boom, instant friend. That’s how women work. We don’t need a blood oath or a secret handshake. Just pass the coffee, and welcome to the circle.
We started with breakfast, and when the sun hit us full in the face, we moved tables. When the sun found us again (because apparently it was stalking us), we moved again. And we just kept talking—about life, kids, grandkids, husbands, hopes, frustrations, the whole messy, beautiful pile. I never really thought much about cancer at all that day.
There’s something magical about these kinds of conversations. They flow so naturally with women who care, who understand, who aren’t afraid to be real. You don’t need warm-up questions or polite small talk—you just jump right in. And somehow, even though we don’t see each other all the time, there’s always too much to say and never enough time.
Because here’s the truth: women need other women.
And I need these women.So thank you, my friends, for the laughter, the honesty, the tears, the shifting tables, and the reminder that I’m not doing this life , or in this battle, alone.
I love you all. (You too Dougie.)
Third Act With Pattie 