On Monday I had an appointment with my doctor, I have to see him every Monday now, it seems. I still don't have a date for my next round of chemo, as it all depends on when a bed in the ward will be freed up, and who's next on the list. As they're looking for room for me asap and it's April 17th right now, and the Muse concert is April 23rd, it looks like it's almost certain that I'll be missing the concert. I'm not giving up my ticket until I know for 100 percent sure, but it's looking more and more certain. I'm so heartbroken over this. I had been looking forward to this since last fall. This sucks so much.
I also have a ticket for Sherlock on May 5th, and I doubt I'll be able to go to that, either--even if I'm out of the hospital by then (they're not keeping me in for observation this time, they're kicking me right out after the chemo's done, unless I have an infection), I'll be neutropenic so I won't be allowed to go to a fucking theatre, of all things.
And I'll most likely be missing my husband's birthday, too (May 4th).
Fuck fuck fuck. This on top of missing my OWN birthday, Nuit Blanche, and St Patrick's Day. Fuck you, cancer. Fuck you so hard!
I swear, this summer I'm going to throw the biggest party EVER. Like, HUGE. It's going to be a combination of a FUCK cancer party, belated birthday celebration for myself, and making up for missing all those other cool things that I waited months upon months for. Maybe I'll even rent a hall, I don't know. Cuz I don't wanna just have it in a bar or something, and my apartment is too small to hold more than 3-4 people at a time. I don't have money to rent a hall, but IDGAF. I'm gonna go all out. I'll figure something out.
The appointment bummed me out in multiple ways. My doctor felt the need to remind me that I only had a 40-50% chance of beating this thing, reminding me that neither chemo nor a transplant would necessarily save my life. He told me this right when I finally, finally, FINALLY got the stupid statistics out of my mind, which took so long to do. Now I'm feeling down and kind of deflated all over again. I don't know why he felt the need to tell me that. I don't wanna hear that shit. I ALREADY KNOW THAT. Now I'm home and finally feeling good...fuck you. Apparently he hadn't known that I had already signed the consent forms for the transplant, so I guess he was trying to tell me that a transplant wasn't a guaranteed failsafe solution or whatever. But still. Fuck you doctor, for bringing me down. You're a nice guy, but fuck you!
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