Three-quarters done. I went in feeling SO GOOD yesterday. I hate that. Cancer makes you submissive, that's for sure. "Here, take my feel good. I'll trade you for yuck." Oh well, it's just a few days, right? Luckily I have all of you to buoy me up. Like this poem by my friend Karen that I found waiting for me to not to sleep.
Well I can't find a card to celebrate your 9th treatment...so here's like a completely random, lame poem that literally I'm writing like...right now (notice the nine stanzas...wow...i'm good). I would probably rate this as PG-13. I will try for a more sappy, inspirational poem...for No. 10. More stuff might rhyme then and plus you have cooler side effects then. Hmmmmm.
Number Nine, oh it's so fine
Kills my cells, but not my mind
At least not yet
Number Nine, I'm almost done
Shoot me up like coke and rum
Ok, that's a bit much
(remember kids, say no to drugs)
Number Nine, you've done your job
Making me feel like one big blob
thanks a lot
Number Nine, just do your deed
attack, attack with all your speed
Number Nine, you're such a bore
keeping me down is quite a chore
(like how is that spelled anyways?)
Number Nine, it's not about you
Cause I got way too much stuff to do
like boss people around
Hey Number Nine, you're not so tough
So do your worst, you ain't so rough
well, maybe a little.
Number Nine, you make me swell
and bloat and sleep and feel like hell
but I still look good -- oh snap!
So here's to you Oh Number Nine
Our date is over, step to the back of the line
(envision two snaps and around the world, with a flip of the head as you turn out the room)...sweet.