I was really looking forward to my monthly round of Rituxan today. I’ve been so busy with the scandal, my little girl and this wretched divorce that I was actually relieved to have a day to myself with nothing to do but lounge in a big ol’ recliner, sleep and watch TV. Everything went so smoothly. I haven’t been feeling very well lately, but I contributed that to all the emotional garbage I’m experiencing. Since my “working” diagnosis in January, I’ve been handling this cancer like a champ.
So like I wrote before, everything went smoothly today. No infiltrations, six hours as opposed to eight, woke up froma long nap and Bon Jovi was on “The Katie Show”. (Disclaimer: I have never, ever, watched “The Katie Show or any daytime TV in my life, but it was Bon Jovi, for Chrissakes!)
My doctor wanted to talk to me after my treatment, which was cool. I’ve been doing so much better, I haven’t spoken to him in a while.
Not Cool. Bad News.
When I had surgery to remove a lymph node back in February, it came back positive for Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia/Follicular Lymphoma. It was explained to me that they are practically identical, and can change from one to another. He treated me for the lymphoma.
Then we had a talk.
I strolled into his office all smiles, like I just walked out of a Goddamned spa rather than an infusion room when he told me that he wanted to add another treatment to my Rituxan.
Just hearing the name I knew it was bad. I asked him “what is it and why?” He told me that the Rituxan just wasn’t doing the job on it’s own and with my symptoms and “numbers” he thinks the lymphoma is turning into the leukemia. He explained that the Cytoxan is more of a traditional chemotherapy as opposed to the Rituxan.
My first question: “Am I going to lose my hair?”
Long story short, I probably will–at least some of it. I’ll most likely puke a lot and feel really, really shitty. My scumbag (ex)husband will probably use this to try and gain primary custody of my girlie, even though he doesn’t really want it, as it interferes with his drinking and whoring around. He earns a lot of money and child support is 17% of his yearly salary. We’re talking money here, people. That’s all it is to him. Money.
I tried really hard not to cry in the doctor’s office. I’ve always been so positive and fun around him. He calls me “Hollywood”. He calls me “Trouble.” I walked out to the reception desk with an appointment slip for an office visit next week.
Maybe things will change between now and then?
Anyway, the horribly vain part of my is hoping that if I DO lose hair, it’s only on one side of my head so I can rock the new half shaved, have long look that’s so trendy right now.
My stomach hurts.
But you gotta stay hot.