I'm alive, barely

I've not had much time to post and for much of the last couple of weeks I've been a little consumed with myself.

It's time for my 3 month check up and I need to have blood drawn at least a week before I see my Onc. My cholesterol has been very high for over a year. I was warned last time that if it didn't improve I'd be put on medication. I stroll into the lab and I get the same tech I saw the last time. I forget her name but she is a large, bubbly black woman and is sweet as can be. (is it PC to say black woman? I can't keep track) I had a cookbook with me then and she asked if I liked to cook. 'Oh yes' I say, 'when I have time, I love to try new recipes and challenge my skills, or lack of them. Do you like to cook?' 'Oh Lord! I never cook anymore! I married a Jamaican man who LOVES to cook.' she adds 'And he cleans up after himself, it's heaven girl!' The last time I saw her he had made this awesome stew or soup, I forget now, and this time he's trying to cook goat! She is a little concerned. It's not easy to get goat meat out here. I've heard it was tough and gamey. She thought so to but her hubby insists it is tender and sweet.

Three days later I get a call from the nurse I need to take my blood test over. Ok, sure, do I need to fast again? No, it's not the cholesterol test. It's Dr. Ruby's test. It appears my tumor markers are in question and they want to rerun the tests. I immediately shift into panic mode. It's not helpful but somehow it seams appropriate. I go back in and Jamaican's wife is in the next stall. 'I'm here for a do'over. Did you fool with my blood?' I say. 'Oh no no no, I take it and hand it off, what they do I don't know!' she says. My tech has trouble drawing my blood. I go through this with every new tech. The vein in my right arm is visible but moves around to much and is hard (impossible) to get. They have to use a vein in my hand. 'You know it will hurt more in your hand.' she says. 'No, it hurts more when you fish for a vein that you can't get and then end up using the vein in my hand.' I say. I worry about bruising but I don't. I run into my dog groomer. We chat a little, he wonders if I'm ok. I tell him I won't know till next week. I'll let him know.

To be continued. . . . (the boss is calling)