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Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Spring Cleaning

And yes, this is a Cancer Post™.

Because the old chemo cocktail (FOLFORI, pronounced Full Fury, which sounds like a drag racing movie) isn't working any more; in fact, the liver masses are growing again. So they put Laston on FOLFOX (pronounced Full Fox, which doesn't sound nearly as fierce, but also does not bring to mind moody teenagers with guyliner and anger issues and fast cars).

It's a stronger weedkiller for our dandelion patch.

So far, Laston feels better on the FOLFOX than he ever did on the FOLFORI (no runny nose! No twitchy eyelids! Less nausea!), but the chemotherapy-infusion-massive-benadryl-dose isn't out of his system yet. That's why they thought it was a good idea for me to stay home with him this afternoon rather than going back to work; if he has a delayed allergic reaction they want another adult nearby, to administer benadryl and call 911. Both the kids living here can actually do those things, but they shouldn't have to, so we're playing it safe. That's what FMLA is for.

And the Pregnant Lady Parallels continue: in addition to the fatigue, irritability, nausea, frequent bathroom breaks, and food cravings, they also want him to get more folate (folic acid; remember needing extra, ladies, when pregnant and/or nursing?) in his diet.

They suggest Cream o' Wheat.


Also in this Spring Cleaning Post, in addition to cleaning the dandelions out of Laston's personal yard, we're going to try to clean a rather large number of pounds out of my body. Screw the expense; I'm going back on Weight Watchers.

I've always done better on WW than on any other "diet plan" or "lifestyle choice," such as Sparkpeople (they're great but online only) or even Weight Watchers Online (same deal).

Weight loss seems to be the one thing for which I require my own cheering section, in person, and with lots of back pats and kudos. Everything else I do just fine in an online space, from personal stories to a bachelor of science degree. But for this, I need more support than my family can give me.

And I'm tired of feeling like crap, and tired of having month-long bouts of bronchitis (weight exacerbates asthma, which in turn exacerbates illness).

We may not be able to do anything specific about Laston's health besides what we're already doing, but we can about mine.

So there, dammit.

I'll find the fifty bucks a month somewhere, because our insurance, while lovely for things like chemotherapy and well child checks and even chiropractic and aromatherapy, does not pay for "weight management."