Those who know me will know I like to get my grammar right. (I can almost feel some form of Muphry’s law implementation stalking me in this post now.)
I won’t shy away from jovially correcting someone for saying “drug regime” (“regimen” is the word you want). However, chemotherapy is different. 6 + 7 weeks of IV, combined with the constant travel, 80 hour hospital stays, being immunocompromised and all the other stuff that goes along with it makes you wonder if you’re not under some new, dictatorial, chemotherapeutic regime.
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- By July of that year, I’d gone full chemo. No hair, steroid bloated, really quite miserable.
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- My 16th birthday. I remember this, because it was the first time I had an epileptic fit. Everyone’s gotta have a first time, right?
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- This machine would be the bane of my life for the next year or so. Responsible for pumping the right amount of chemo into me, it also had a tendency to beep incredibly loudly when there was the smallest bubble in the tubes (which happened often).
