Well mother fucker.
It was an exciting day at radiation today. The Radiation Girls were all chipper with me, saying I'm almost done, and they thought I was done on Tuesday next week. I was so excited, thinking that if I was feeling okay on Wednesday that I'd take the kids to La Leche League in Oshkosh because I feel like we haven't been there in ages.
Then they came back in and said, "We hate to be the bearers of bad news, but the Fry Doctor added on three more sessions, so you're done on Friday next week."
I just about burst into tears right there on the table. Mad tears. At least the doctor could have told me this when I saw him on Tuesday. Or if he didn't decide until he saw the xrays on Thursday, he could have called. What the hell? I thought that was a pretty shitty way to find out.
So I managed to get out of the cancer center (not without an ambush with the nutritionist, who I was very short with...sorry, nutritionist, I had to pee and I was pissed). I cried in my car for a little bit, ironically one of the songs I like and posted lyrics for was playing, Run This Town.
I'll just be honest here and say that the biggest reason I've been able to keep it together and not completely freak out is that I had The End Date. And The End Date is now pushed back three days. Shame on me for not being flexible, huh? I should know by now with this whole cancer thing that dates and appointments seem to be fluid. Changes may occur without warning.
I'm still pissed. But it's Friday, I have two days off, and I think I'm going to demand french fries this weekend.
Who's counting down with me? FIVE more. Sigh.