At least a week.
I got out on wednesday. had labs on thursday. Spent all of yesterday (almost) on the couch/hide-away bed either throwing up or feeling "ill" or crying my eyes out because I felt sorry for myself.
It's true. I'm scared shitless that I'm going to die. I have another biopsy in two days to decide what to do next: if we're ready for transplant, if I do another round of mylotarg (and I end up not really remembering a lot of it) or if it is that point in my life where I just say "fuck it" and do "comfort care." I'm not there yet. I get mad at myself for losing faith, but sometimes you can't do anything but live in that moment.
I thought I'd been doing that for the last three years, but it seems so difficult now. something about it just...I guess when you're faced with the insecurities of facing your own very real possible life ending, it's easy to get caught up in it.
And when I was in the hospital, they gave me oxycodone. I feel like I horrible person for needing it, but I can't function without it any more. "They" prefer it over tylenol, and I feel like I've somehow slipped through the cracks. ugh.
But today was beautiful, if not a little disappointing (I couldn't find any pants to buy.) Apparently, it is not a good idea for me to wear pants that actually fit (you know, chemo does WONDERS on your figure). I wish I knew why.