Hi all. So last week when I went into chemo, they weighed me, as they always do. Each time I go in, I gain a few pounds, and then I turn to Neil (or Laura, if she's with me that day) and start doing this dorky little spastic clap, because it has been my goal for many months to gain weight.
Well, mission accomplished, friends.
Last week I was up to 154. This is my old fightin' weight. My pre-cancer, pre-baby/ post-baby-fat -days weight. And this is up from my ghastly 129 lbs., in December.
(Side note: it might SEEM like it'd be neato to lose a ton of weight and to see what it's like to be crazy skinny, even just for anecdotal purposes, but the truth is, when you can't keep weight on due to serious medical issues, there's nothing interesting about it. It's actually terrifying.) (In fact, I even had to buy new pants, and I was a disgusting size FOUR, with a 34-inch inseam. Why would they even MAKE pants of those dimensions? Who fits that size? YOU FREAK!) (For the record, those trousers are now gathering dust in the back of my closet. And they could be yours for just $9.99!) (RIP.)
So then I go into my doctor's office and he tells me that since I've gained so much, IT MIGHT BE TIME TO UP MY CHEMO DOSAGE.
"More poison, Shelly?"
"Yes, please. Pile it high and deep."
He reviewed all my blood counts, etc., and happily, didn't raise my dosage last week. THANK YOU JESUS. But I'm going back in on Thursday for some more. I believe this will be Round 12. And I've been eating a lot of Skittles this week. And ice cream. So. We'll see.