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I am at the center, 3 pm approaching and have yet to get my chemo, but it won't take as long as usual since I am not getting part of it today. A rash, which is expected, broke out all over my torso, especially my chest, so the doc wants to give me a break from it until January. I will be on some steroids and anti-biotics for a while, though. I can't have any alcohol on the prednisone, but aside from a stout or something special on NYE, I won't have any. I can skip the wine on Christmas Eve. Anyhow, it was my last meeting with Doc Baranda as she is moving away to San Diego. I gave her a thank you card that I wrote quite a bit inside of the card. I told her that the first time I saw her, she had me crying with the grim prognosis and I felt it was right that my card makes her cry the last time I will see her. She said she was sorry to make me cry, but I told her that I knew she had to tell me how serious my condition was and that I knew it had to be hard on her to deliver such news. I did ask her if she still felt like I had 3 years to live if I was lucky, since we're 16 months into thtis thing now. She said she thinks I will go longer than that, but didn't give me a number. That's okay, though. I think I am going to pass that 3 year mark, too, but how much remains to be seen. She said I am responding remarkably to treatments and my liver tumors are very sensitive to the chemo, where the big fear for patients is that their tumors become resistant. My cancer tumors, however, are wimpy in that regard. Fine by me; die you little bitches, die.
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