I now have a newfound appreciation for Malcomb in the Middle. I <3 Dewey.
So much frustration/anger/disappointment/sadness stemmed over something so trivial.
I just...I accept there are things I cannot do because I am sick. I realize it is part of the grieving process or whatever. Meh. I just want to be able to make a date with one of my friends without worrying about my doctor's appointments. I want to make summer plans without worrying whether or not I will have survived my own damn stem cell transplant. I want to look at baby clothes and not be sad that I will never be able to bear children.
Life's not fair. Well, fuck that. I've done the best I can, right? Of course, my conscience kicks in and asks myself who I am trying to convince.
Just frustration. Pure and simple. But had a good conversation with B and he calmed me down a little.