Another Day of Terrible

Capping the worst couple days of my eighteen weeks of chemotherapy, I spend Monday in the Oncologist’s office, bleeding and miserable in a crowded waiting room.

When they finally manage to squeeze me in and squeeze some blood out of my finger for a hemoglobin test, I am informed how severely low on the red life-force I am. A blood transfusion for the following morning is scheduled.
Passing me down the line, I am sent to a neighboring city to see a Gynecological Oncologist who can work with my hormones to stem the bleeding (this round and during future rounds of chemo.) 

We drive to the OB/Oncologist’s office, have another long waiting room stint and I'm told the doctor is actually in the same building we just came from. Unbelievable!  We drive back, pay for parking for the third time, and, shockingly, have another hour in a waiting room.
I’m starting to lose it. Waiting room number 3, hour number 6, emotional breakdown number 1.

I’m working at passing the minutes to turn the day into tomorrow.
Lacking blood, energy and patience, I finally meet the newest specialist to my growing team of medical experts. I can’t bring the corners of my mouth to upturn into a smile as he introduces himself. Just give me the prescription. The patience has been bled right out of me.

As I’m standing in front of the building, waiting for Bobby to pick me up, two women stop and comment on my “amazing complexion.” Good Lord, I’m about to keel over right here on the sidewalk for lack of blood. But I’m glad it shows flatteringly in my pallid complexion.

My life really has become odd.

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