May the Odds Be Never in My Favor

The Immune System Games 

Let’s play a game. It’s called: Is It Allergies, a Virus, Chemo, or Just a Delightful Combo Platter of All Three?

Spoiler alert: I still have no clue.

Some of you noticed I went a little quiet last week. My symptoms? GI issues, a relentless pressure headache, dehydration (obviously), and a level of fatigue that’s less “I need a nap” and more “I’ve been recast as a human turtle.” Dana-Farber looked at my labs and basically said, “Honestly, we’re surprised this didn’t hit you sooner.” Hemoglobin’s barely hovering above 8, platelets have made a dramatic exit, and my bone marrow is curled in the fetal position whispering, “We’re out.”

Meanwhile, half the people I know were battling stomach bugs and the other half were sneezing their way through pollen hell. So when I had the GI drama, sinus pressure, a first-time stye (shoutout to that hellish little eyelid volcano), eyelashes jumping ship in clumps, and—shocking no one—dehydration, I had to wonder: pollen? pathogen? platinum-based poison?

Let’s be real—it’s not even dramatic anymore.
It’s just textbook diagnostic roulette.

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IV Games and the Two-Hour Club

IV fluids are now officially scheduled every Monday and Friday through June. Why mess with success?

Here’s where things got real cute. I showed up for my usual post-chemo hydration, and they started the drip to run over one hour. Ten minutes in, someone sprinted over, flustered, and announced, “Whoops! You’re a two-hour girl!”

Excuse me—that’s a category?

Naturally, I asked questions. Turns out I can be a one-hour girl, and just like that, I got drafted to the speed team. Still, IV fluids are helping. This is the first round I haven’t hurled, and as I sit here typing this mid-drip, I feel somewhat...okay. Which feels illegal.

 Hydration hustle it is.

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Facial Comedy, Metal Mouth, and Digestive Drama

Metal Mouth is still going strong. The inside of my cheeks feels like I’ve been gnawing on orange peels, and when I smile, it’s giving full Warner Brothers animation energy.

That said, I think I’m finally getting used to it. Closing my mouth no longer triggers a gag reflex, and I’ve given up chasing the mythical list of foods and drinks that might “work.” The reality? They change daily. If this is just a few more weeks, I’m not wasting my energy fighting citrus-cheek syndrome.

And while we’re talking about mouth and gut nonsense—let’s get into the digestive plot twist. My stomach has become the most unpredictable character in this entire chemo drama. Real food? Straight through me like gossip in a small town. Tootsie Rolls? Digestive miracle. Don’t ask me why.

Apple juice (watered down, of course) had its moment, but mostly food and drink are now just playing a prank war on me. At least the metallic taste has settled into something I can tolerate—no longer vomit-inducing, just… aggressively unappetizing. Between the metal mouth, orange peel cheeks, and my gut’s wild behavior, the theme here is clear: adapt, laugh, and never trust a Tootsie Roll’s power.

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Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow (But Not Everywhere?)

Let’s talk follicles. The hair on my forearms, hands, and fingers is still living its best life. Meanwhile, my eyebrows half-quit, and my eyelashes fully peaced out. But the top of my head?? Blonde baby bird fuzz still hanging on by a thread. They crack me up every time I catch a glimpse.

My new official emoji: 👶
Because this baby bird is bald, bloated, and oddly buoyant.

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Vision Problems, Brought to You by Chemo

My eyesight has officially decided to join the party. Thanks to chemo-induced dry eyes—yes, dry, despite the constant eye-watering and nose-running—my vision now changes by the hour. It can’t seem to decide just how blind it wants to be.

Contacts for distance? Not working so great. The irony? If I leave my distance vision alone, my near vision is actually crystal clear.

Little wins, people. I’ll take them.

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Why Can’t I Garden??: A Lesson in Immunocompromised Rebellion

I’ve been told—very clearly—not to garden, do yard work, handle pool chemicals, or clean the litter box. You know, all the things that used to pass as meditative or productive are now apparently fast passes to the ER.

Why? Because when you’re on chemo—especially the TCHP cocktail I’m on—your immune system is basically on a lunch break... indefinitely. Dirt, soil, compost, and even your average backyard flower pot are breeding grounds for bacteria, fungi, and other microscopic nightmares that a normal immune system might shrug off. Mine? Mine is too busy trying to make red blood cells to care.

So naturally, in a shining moment of rebellion (and impressive poor judgment), I decided to pot flowers for the home studio. No gloves. Just vibes.

Cue: splinter. My finger blew up like it had a personal vendetta. Swollen, red, and throbbing like it was trying to make a point. A bit of antibiotic ointment, a warm compress, a fair amount of profanity—and 48 hours later, we were back in business.

Message received: I cannot be trusted around flora, fauna, or unmonitored gardening supplies. Gloves are no longer optional.

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This Week’s Appointments: Buckle Up

This week is all about info-gathering:

• Tuesday: Appointments with the breast oncologist and radiation oncologist to map out what’s next.
• Thursday: Meet with Dr. Carty to talk reconstruction (and maybe kindly ask him to explain how fat grafting works when none of it stuck around in January).

Updates to come once this new plan takes shape.

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Thank You: From the Bottom of My Dehydrated Heart

• Flowers: My one true love. Annie, Alli, and Beth—you nailed it. They warmed my heart during a low moment and reminded me that beauty still exists, even when I look like I’ve been run over by a city paving truck.
• Meals:
• Jenn G, Ground Turkey Mongolian Beef, Salad and brownies alone could have qualified as medication.
• Elizabeth, your food gave me a run for my chicken lettuce wrap crown.
• Amy, that chicken pesto tomato mozzarella salad? I’m still thinking about it.
• Sourdough Surprise:
  Meredith, that 9 AM sourdough loaf was borderline spiritual. So good that we ended up doing Sourdough Pilates. Not a real workout, but a full-body carb experience. (10/10 would do again.)
• Peace Vibes:
  Jay, your bracelet was the perfect reminder at the perfect time. You always seem to know. And yes—the packaging was top tier. If you know, you know.
• Gifts That Made Me Laugh Out Loud:
  Alli, your socks were hysterical. Cheryl, the candle and the t-shirt? Straight to my VIP shelf of “Things That Spark Joy (and Mild Inappropriateness).” Thank you both.

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Challenge Question: Choose Your Adventure (Your answers bring me as much happiness as FLOWERS!)

As you may have picked up from above, gardening and pool prep are usually my happy places this time of year. Digging in the dirt, fluffing up the planters, making the back deck look like a scene from a lifestyle magazine I’ll never be featured in—it’s my version of peace. Or it was, before neutropenia turned every rose into a biohazard.

So now I want to hear from you.

What spring or summer activity brings you joy (and doesn’t require gloves, antibiotics, or a stern warning from your oncologist)?

Whether it’s morning walks, grilling, beach reading, barefoot backyard cocktails, or just sitting in the sun like a cat—tell me. I’m listening. Literally. These are the answers I scroll through when I’m hooked up to an IV pole and pretending it’s not weird to be so excited about saline.

Bonus points if your answer includes something totally random that brings you joy.
(Example: someone once told me they love pressure-washing ... EVERYTHING. That person is now my spiritual twin.)

Go on—your turn.