No more melodrama.

Thanks to each and every one of you who have been supportive in myriad ways over the past six months.

The oncologist says that it is safe to assume that I am now officially Cancer Free! Yay! This is the hopefully my last entry. Ever.

Top Ten Things To Do Now That I Am Cancer Free:

1. Divest home of all things pink.
2. Do another cancer walk.
3. Eliminate Hefty Cinch Sack full of Chemo Week meds.
4. Donate shower sleeve and heating pad. (any takers?)
5. Get fit again.
6. Re-acquire taste for wine.
7. Extend pro-bono psychotherapy to cancer patients.
8. Have a party. Have many parties.
9. Grow hair.
10. Live Happily Ever After.

I dreamed the other night that I had hair. I had three inches of dark luxurious hair, darker than its ever been. I ran my fingers through it and it was as cool and silky as the river when I cool my hands off when I am kayaking, and it didn't fall out.

One last chemo week/shark week/descent into darkness, beginning with my last day in The Chair Tuesday. Can't wait to have this over with. My sister Judy is coming down to do yet another caregiver stint, and to help me celebrate the end of all this nonsense.

Awesome weekend, feeling quite normal.

Chemo Week is almost over. I think of it like Shark Week on the Discovery Channel (Jaws theme sound here please). Except I'm the one going in the shark cage, and the sharks seem to have figured out where they can find me.

Yes, now that I temporarily have cable TV, I am acquainted with not only Shark Week, but also endless re-runs of Law & Order, and worst of all: Jersey Shore. Maybe it's not chemo-brain that makes my IQ smaller, maybe it's TV Brain. Just to change things around a bit, it seems that Thursday after chemo was the worst day. Friday I slept most of the day, and Saturday seemed to approach normal.

Bjorn has made a career of being my sole caregiver this week and I am a pampered princess, thanks to him. I may forget how to cut my own food at this rate. We have walked daily, except for Thursday, and he has reminded me about pills and put food and beverages in front of me every two hours whether I am interested or not. Really good food, too.

So every day should get better from here, with return to work on Tuesday, and only one more round of chemo left!

If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it still make sound?

If hair falls out in the shower and I can't hear it, does it still make me bald?

If hair falls out in the shower and why yes, that does make me bald, does that make it so I can't savor the sunrise?

Ummm, I don't think so. The sunrise is amazing, whether or not I have hair, whether or not I have chemo, whether or not I have cancer. The river is still as glossy, the laughter with friends works its chemistry, putting in a full day's work is no less meaningful, good books are just as enjoyable. It is just as awesome to put my body in motion walking or kayaking.

Okay, the tastebuds are temporarily shot, but all of life's other pleasures are there to be wallowed in.

Sunrise. Coming daily to a venue near you.

The most recent Chemo Week seemed to go better than the previous one. Don't know why. Lower fever and lower level of pain throughout. I didn't miss any days walking, although sometimes I didn't get very far or move very fast. Maybe that made a difference. Or maybe it was the continued use of Claratin, which is rumored online to ameliorate the pain from that pesky Neulasta shot. Or having Bjorn around full time, recuperating from his shoulder surgery, so that he could wait on me hand and foot. That always perks me right up.

Fatigue, now that's another story. It's almost narcoleptic.

I went back to work on Monday and all is well. Now I'm halfway through this chemotherapy process, and that much closer to living happily ever after.

An eventful two days. Bjorn's surgery was at 9 yesterday. It went well. Phil was there and got us home by noon. Bjorn's right arm is in a sling. At the post-op appointment today the doc said he would start physical therapy this week, and will be back at work in four to six weeks. Like me with my picc line, Bjorn has to keep his incision dry in the shower. I feel so much better that I'm not the only one wearing saran wrap and tape in the shower. In fact there are probably hundreds, yea verily thousands of people routinely taking the Press and Seal out of their bathroom cabinets on a daily basis.

Then I saw the oncologist at 4:15. Among other things he said "I have to check your heart and lungs" and I said "I still have them" and he didn't laugh. Well, I tried.

Bjorn's post op was at 8 AM today, and then I had to be at the chemo lab at 10:30. It turns out that Sue is really good friends with two of the four chemo nurses who were present today, so it was a big lovefest, and passed quickly.

So after an afternoon nap we went for an ambling beach walk and got in about two miles. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Or is it the bald leading the lame?