Is It Wrong to Love Chemotherapy?

I'm sitting in a wonderful reclining chair, watching TV and glancing out at the Charles River every once in a while. Mike just finished giving me a massage. He just bought a condo in Dorchester, the top floor of a three-story Victorian. We agree that it might be the next, up-and-coming neighborhood. Everyone is so friendly that it feels a lot like visiting the Midwest: almost very passerby smiles, looks me in the eye and greets me. Many are Black and I wonder what makes this neighborhood different from Ferguson, Missouri. I have no sense of any racial tension. Is definitely different from moving into the Lower East Side of Manhattan in 1972, when I armed myself with a black German shepherd and a fistful of keys sticking out through my fingers. I am channel surfing. We haven't had any TV for the last few weeks during this move. If I find the cable box, we may actually have TV later today. But for right now I'm catching up on the news and "What Not to Wear". I love the before and after, so I set my timer to see the end of each episode. Whatever happened to that makeover show with the plastic surgery? Extreme Makeover? I've loved hospitals ever since the ninth grade in LA (The tonsillectomy at age 6 or so didn't bode well). I had a wonderful private room. I didn't feel sick. I'd been taking anabiotics for pneumonia but they didn't work. After any tests, the doctors determined that I had psittacosis, parrot fever. Sheila (of whom I was always jealous because she had a song named after her) had a slumber party. Her parakeet joined us at the dinner table and walked all over my plate. It must've been before there were restrictions on importing wild birds into the country. I had a huge room overlooking a sunny garden. I had lots of visitors, including our school bus driver who brought me some stuffed animal. It was the end of the year and I did not have to take any exams. My mother was on Password with Alan Lunt, I think it was, and I got to watch her. That was long before DVR's. I love having to sit still, not having to cook and being waited on. In fact, I don't really understand people's urge to have visitors during this process. It is relaxing to be alone and to be responsible for nothing. Andy feels very guilty about not coming with me today, but it's over five hour process. He is coming later to pick me up, which is perfect. I even was able to make a couple little stops on my way here this morning. I am looking for some sort of system to support the end of our bed on the gears I got last week. So I stopped in at Olde Boston, an architectural salvage place, where I got our mantel for the North End condo years ago. They don't really deal in any metals, but I did see some sink bases that I considered and I found a welding shop on my route. Did I mention I love the little lady putting warm blankets over my cold hands and arms. Of course, those chemicals and proteins attacking the cancer cells is The best part, resulting in that lump in my armpit being nearly undetectable now. The oncologist said some people actually feel some sensation in those cells that are being attacked, but I haven't.