My friend asked for an update since chemotherapy did what it did. She asked if Cigna or the hospital had arranged for a visiting nurse.

(We are arranging for one by holding a fire under Cigna’s feet. I’m 80 minutes or so from my oncologist.)

“I can’t change my own clothes most of the time so I’m confused, but Timmy and Gwyneth are on fire with how well they are doing coordinating their lives around me.

I watched Timmy’s heart break for me in the hospital. I’ll never question how much he loves and is utterly confused by me ever again.

He’s quickly adapting and I’m proud of him. He was an autistic wife line backer when providers stood too close or tried to examine me while they were being loud or disrespectful.

I won’t know answers until Friday. I just know I’m not going to let a doctor’s opinion make me take more chemo. If they figure out the allergy, they can go back after radiation.

All dates have changed because everything was contingent on successful chemo. For all I know, radiation will be sooner, but we haven’t seen what my chest wall looks like yet.

(The deformity meant I should get proton radiation to limit exposure to my heart and lungs. If Cigna refuses proton radiation; and I will fight ridiculously hard to demand they tell me why they want me to die, I’ll likely transfer my care to a closer hospital because proton radiation was why I decided to drive to Penn to get treatment. I knew I was born with a hole in my chest from birth.)

The testing to see what radiation is best for me was to be two weeks after chemo. I was supposed to start radiation a month after chemo ended. Now that’s up in the air.

A case manager from Cigna called today but I promise, it’s not in me to speak to my dogs coherently, let alone Cigna. I’m sure they’d send someone. I’m just so tired that I can’t care if they do.

I’m not on death’s door, so I’m thinking a bit more time off the chemo will help bring some energy levels back. My labs scream of why I feel so fcking sick. I am so fcking sick.

I’m the sick that makes my family pinkie swear they’re masking and I’m secretly angry inside just imagining that they may not have done it. I’m the kind of sick getting very afraid of germs and it’s making me a snoodge paranoid. I don’t honor the feeling often, but it’s there. That’s new for me.

I just sort of exist right now waiting to feel better and focusing on drinking and eating and being proactive with yoga when I can. It helps.

My finger tips all sort of peeled off today. This is all so, so weird.”