Fever

 This blog will finally explain why I had to be in the hospital and what is this crazy thing with my wound that won't heal...and why I need another surgery...and all the other medical mess I have been wading through since July...it's a long one so it might be good bedtime reading...

Hello  Darlings...

it's been a while...

We are still in the middle of a global pandemic, an election year and fighting for racial justice and equality...I'm not well versed enough on these things to discuss them here and that is not what you come here for...

no you come here to find out what El Diablo has been up to and what life with cancer is about...just about as much "no fun" as politics!

So I finally got to have a little summer vacation...

IN THE HOSPITAL...

6 days worth of vacation.

I don't recommend it...

the food is terrible and being attached to an iv pole is certainly no fun...

there are no fun activities and sunsets are blocked by all the medical buildings...

there is no bar and no pina coladas...

no pool to lounge by or have cute cabana boys bring you umbrella drinks...(but the nurses are adorable)

no beautiful room with a view and a fabulous bathroom with a tv to watch while in the tub...

you can't even wander outside your room because of COVID...

but the nurses were truly amazing and wonderful.

But honestly I would have far preferred a trip to the lake or the beach or Kauai...

I woke up one morning feeling just awful...had my coffee and ended up napping. Felt worse after my nap and suspected I had a fever...the cat suspected too because she was all over me.

I went to my bedroom to take my temp and given that I managed to buy a thermometer that only reads celsius it made it a little tricky.

(I'm sure there is a way to make the thermometer read Farenheight but it has escaped me and it came with no instructions)

So after a little conversion via my phone I found out I had a fever of 101...woo hoo that was gonna earn me a trip to the ER (because when you are a cancer patient you can't get fevers like that). Do not pass "Go". Do not collect $200. Go straight to that space on the board marked "hospital".

I called my doctor and she said to come in...when I told her my temp was climbing and I had some shortness of breath she said "go to the ER...the doctor will have alerted them by the time you get there".

Called my daughter, took a shower and washed my hair (because God knows when that was gonna happen again once I had my port accessed and meds going in), packed a bag (I knew there was no way I wasn't going to be admitted because this is about my 5th rodeo with this and not my first), threw on my favorite dress of the moment (a bright turquoise Mexican dress given to me by sweet Nurse Jamy), and off we headed to the hospital.

She had to just drop me off...

no going in with me...

so I got "screened" (by then fever had risen to 102.5) and was sent to the desk so I could tell the man there that I needed to be seen and needed a COVID test. 

Out comes a nurse who pretty much assumes by my garb that I am just some desperate housewife looking for a rapid COVID test.

I explain that my doctor had called ahead and wanted me to be seen but it fell on deaf ears. I was delirious with a climbing fever so I'm not sure I explained it right but in any case I was told where I could go get a test...

pppfffffffttttt....

I went back outside and sat on a bench and texted my doc where I was and what was up...

She sends back a message that they are sending a resident for me.

So I sit patiently on the bench and out comes the triage nurse and a man who appears to be a resident about 10 minutes later. They go around asking everyone BUT ME if they are me...I wave...not noticed...

I'm a pretty big turquoise blob so I am still not sure how they missed me...but there I was...with a big pink suitcase, a walker, a big pink purse and a big turquoise me...

Doc calls and says they are looking for me and I tell her I am outside on the bench and I am pretty sure they just looked over me...I go back in and the screener says "Baby they are looking for you" and back to the guy at the desk who is suddenly flustered (seems my doc went a little nuts with the department for leaving a woman with a 102.5 fever and cancer to sit in the valet area).

Stickers are printed...like he literally had the stickers (with my name and codes) right there...

now in medical world when you have a STICKER you are being seen...no maybes...you are getting attention.

Nurse finds me and apologizes profusely and so does resident...by then my fever is 103.5

needless to say I am taken right back

The ER at the hospital is a new space...and it was FULL of people...some even in beds in the hallway.

As I am a suspected COVID case I'm put in a room with another person separated by a screen.

I am masked the whole time.

So now they have to figure out why I am sick...maybe COVID or maybe the wound on my stomach.

I'll back track a bit because this might be the weirdest way I have ever gotten a wound.

Back in July a few days after my last Keytruda infusion I went over to GOTT and GOTTESS's house to pick up mail and use their pool while they were out of town. I was sitting outside reading a book when I felt an intense burning on my stomach. It felt like a laser beaming down to this one particular area on my belly where 8 months previously I had injected myself with blood thinners. The area was fully covered by a black bathing suit. When the burning became too intense I jumped into the water. A few hours later when I got home I could see it had blistered and popped. It was red but not awful but 5 days later it had turned into a wound despite my cleaning and care and application of triple antibiotic. It looks like a second degree burn. The cancer chemo pills I am on impedes healing so that was not helping at all. Prior to my visit to the ER my oncologist saw the wound and stopped all chemo meds and did a biopsy and had me treating it with topical antibiotics. So we knew I had a wound...we just didn't know what it was doing to me...

So back to me in the ER...

I'm laying there and they are poking me with multiple iv's and heart monitors and ultrasounds and x rays and no one can figure out what is wrong with me---except thankfully my COVID test was negative.

I do not do well with needle sticks. My veins are delicate and blow very easily. I have an iv in my ONE GOOD VEIN in my arm and one that is super painful in my hand (which I cry when she sticks me but she had no choice...I had to have 2 iv's and they can't access a port in the ER).

My temp stays at 103.5 and I'm on fluids but able to get up and walk to the restroom myself.

ER doc is not sure what to make of the wound and how I got it so he takes a culture (earlier that week I had a biopsy on it as well). He's doing his best to get me stable so I can go upstairs.

Everyone who asks how I got the wound is flabbergasted. 

Yes I just used the word 'flabbergasted"...it's the only way to describe it...

At some point while I'm fever delirious (and with the chills) they bring in a very sick man and put him on the other side of me.

What transpired was over an hour of about 8 people working on the man. What amazed me was how extremely calm they all were. One guy seemed in danger of getting a little antsy about it and I noticed the doc that was running things let him go "find something" as a way to get him to chill out.

I have no clue what was wrong (nor was it my business) but I did know they were saving his life and that he was very ill. But the calm that presided over his care was impressive---nothing like Dr Green getting really excited and yelling at Susan in an episode of "ER".

At some point I had been there about 5 hours and I hadn't eaten for 24 so my nurse made sure I got a meal delivered to me on a tray. No clue what I ate. I just felt bad eating with the guy in the bed next to me possibly dying. But my nurse said I needed to get something in me.

They were running an antibiotic in me that turns me red so I looked like I had spent a week in Cabo without any sunscreen and was burning up and chilled at the same time. My hair which was never fully dried was piled on my head with a scrunchie and it was a rat's nest from not being brushed but rather hastily thrown up on top of my head so that it could be out of the way for medicall stuff. Yeah no photos of me looking dreamily (and filtered) laying in bed being attended to...

A new nurse took over and she was also awesome...she kept checking in with me and telling me she would get me upstairs as soon as the patient next to me was stable and that the room and nurse upstairs were ready for me.

I also had a tray sitting on my lap for an hour and half and she was horrified to realize she left me like that...I was so out of it I didn't really notice.

We get me upstairs and I am put into what amounts to the tiniest room in the hospital...last time I had the Princess suite so I'm gonna call this the Pauper's room. I actually preferred the smaller room since I couldn't have visitors and it meant it was small enough I could pretty much get all around the room without unplugging my iv pump...

it's the little things people...and in this case I mean little...

My awesome nurse gets me set for bed and drugs me up and tries to control my fever.

I'm fevering so bad I have the febrile shakes and am literally shaking all over---that's when I know it's a bad fever.

I get feverish sleep that night and as usual just about the time I am sleeping it's time for meds, vitals, or labs or I need to pee from all the fluids they are pushing in me...and I  am drinking as much water as I can to flush all of this out of me...

I'm still itching and red from the vancomycin so that makes it all extra fun.

The next morning I can finally get my port accessed and my arms are free of the iv's that are hurting and I have more freedom but still fever...it goes down to 100 but then pops up again.

Docs still can't figure out what the heck is going on and I'm being pumped full of antibiotics and Tylenol. 

Shall we discuss hospital food?

On second thought....no....

I just order whatever I think I can choke down which is not much while I am very sick. 

Being that sick you don't much care for what you are given to eat...but I do remember enjoying some ice cream and I don't recommend ordering fish in a hospital...and I think grilled cheese was a safe choice one day...

You have to order by 7 pm or you won't get dinner...so most nights they call if you forget to call in your order. I wish they let me order for the day but this isn't regular room service and I am glad to have them remind me to order (most days).

All my food is delivered in paper boxes and with plastic ware. It's not terribly warm but again I'm not there to eat...I am grateful when they decided I was no longer an incubus of the viral plague and started bringing my meals on a real plate under a plate cover and with real forks and knives.

I spend the next 3 days shaking, peeing (from all the fluids), and watching tv that I have no clue what I am really watching...

I do recall Golden Girls and Frasier in the wee hours of the morning when I could not sleep.

I'm extremely grateful they took QVC off the chanel lineup so that I don't end up ordering things while drugged up...again...

Once when I was on morphine in the hospital I managed to order a few things with the handy app on my phone as I watched QVC. Days later when I am finally home boxes appeared. In my drugged up state I had ordered a primer, an eye shadow pallette and a dress. 

Thank goodness I liked all of them...

But this time I was not on morphine but delirious so it was good that there was no QVC...heaven only knows what might have appeared on my doorstep...

Doctors on my team rotate in and out...they are doing the best they can.

Dr. Rockstar comes to see me and she is full of her usual sparkle and love. Dr. Sweetmeds also comes by and I cry because she is always so incredibly thoughtful and kind. 

They tell me that apparently the infection I have is a GOOD sign about how the chemo drugs are working in me and so despite the fact that I am stuck in the hospital it is not a terrible thing.

So weird to have an infection of unknown origin be a good thing but at this point I will take whatever good news I can get.

And I am relieved it's not shingles because at one point they thought I had it...

But then they tell me that I am overloaded with antibiotics (I think my red skin and itching all over might have given them a clue) and that now I am apparently a walking yeast infection since the antibiotics have killed all the good flora in me.

Oh and I have staph in the wound---but it's the good kind? 

I stop asking questions and just focus on getting fever free so I can get sprung.

And I call myself a walking bagel when I text Aunt Jane the latest...I'm just one huge round thing of yeast...super fun...or maybe I should have called myself a mushroom since I'm a fungus? In either case it's not good...

I'm super blessed to have amazing nurses each day and I even get to see my beloved Adam and Mimi...I honestly would check into the hospital just to be under their care.

I have to wear a mask whenever someone is in the room but otherwise I don't have to which is a relief.

On Saturday night I am reunited with one of my favorite nurses: Lorena. 

She was fairly new to nursing when I was in the hospital in November but by now she has been deep in the trenches. She used to be a school counselor but felt her true calling was nursing. She was right to follow her true calling. 

Last time I gave her one of my bracelets...she keeps it in her car and tells me she thinks about me daily...I believe her. 

On Saturday afternoon I get a fun new symptom: peeling and incredibly dry skin. I couldn't get enough moisture on my lips---they were peeling like they have been sunburned. And my face was peeling too and so was my hairline...I kept putting on moisturizer and drinking but the peeling kept happening...

My fever finally breaks on Saturday and I feel like a new person...albeit a new person who's skin is peeling off like a snake and still has to lumber around with an iv pole in my tiny little room.

I'm not allowed to wander the halls or even go to the nurses station...the COVID precautions are very strong...that keeps the nurses safe from me wandering about and doing my usual nonsense on the floor...

Precious Chizoh is my nurse tech that night and once again, as she did in November, she offers to bathe me and changes my sheets and helps me to feel human again. The woman is a saint. So is Elysee. I cry with their kindness and love...

Sunday morning fresh hell is delivered in the form of 60 mg of prednisone. I thought it was 10 mg but find out later I was mistaken.

Let me describe my relationship with prednisone:

HATE

yes hate...I literally detest it and I know it's going to be a while before I can get off.

The jitters start, my face turns redder and I can feel my body swelling by the moment.

I'm literally turning into a live balloon animal...I feel like the snake in the movie "Shrek" that he blows up and makes into a balloon...

If prednisone was a tv character he would be Joffrey Baratheon (and for you non Game of Thrones people lets just say BARNEY...annoying and makes you want to throw things...)

If prednisone was a food it would be unseasoned white rice because it makes you want to binge on carbs but nothing tastes all that good...

If prednisone was a color it would be red because it turns you into a heat machine....

I think you get how much I hate prednisone....it's like having to eat liver every day...and the pills are super bitter...

So I get the whopper dose of prednisone on Sunday and things start to go all kinds of sideways but thankfully no fever.

The high point of that night: another sponge bath...the low point: no sleep and I forget to order my dinner.

Let's start with dinner fiasco...Elysee comes into my room to take vitals at 6:58 and I realize I had forgotten to order my dinner. 

It was the one night they didn't call to ask if I was going to order. I had this exact problem back in November. I have a plan for the next time: a timer on my phone.

I call and get put on automatic hold and then the phone abrubtly ends the call. I call back and it is 7:01 and no one answers. 

So much for dinner.

I call the nurse and despite the fact they are understaffed and having patient issues Lorena swears she will get me dinner even if it is just a sandwich from the cafeteria. Honestly I don't care and I offer to take myself down there but she isn't having it.

They are so overwhelmed with patients no one can go down until almost 9 and when Chizoh gets there the cafeteria is closed for the COVID cleaning they do several times a day. It's not until 11 that I finally got food. Trust me I wasn't starving and honestly I should have just cancelled but Lorena again wasn't having it and knew I needed food with all the drugs.

I eat and then become so engrossed in a Ryan Reynolds movie that I lose track of time...Lorena comes in and says I need to get some sleep and gives me a sleeping pill. I am determined to find out who Ryan falls in love with so that doesn't help the sleeping matters. But I take the pill and pray it works...

It worked...

KIDDING!

at least I found out who Ryan ended up with...

Finally around 3:40 am I start to drift off...thank you prednisone...

At 4 I am woken to take vitals and can't get back to sleep until 4:45 and at 5:00 poor Lorena has to come in and take labs...she feels awful for me...

So I got two 20 minute naps that night. Thank God for Frasier...I also check out to see if my friend who  does the early news is on and what she has on (she's always super gorgeous even at 4:30 am)

On Monday the doc declares I must be fever free 48 hours to be released (so 6 pm on Monday) and that the prednisone is going to continue for some time.

I have a meltdown.

Total meltdown.

Like crying my eyes out...hiccuping...having a HUGE pity party...

I am on no sleep, my skin is peeling, I have a fungal infection all in my body so that I am a walking mushroom, my hair is a rat's nest so I look like a very blonde version of Bellatrix LaStrange, and I can't go home until evening...

My nurse for the day, a precious girl named Jeanna (who I immediately bonded with over my nail polish color...she's my kind of girl) comes in to find me weeping uncontrollably (thank you Jeffrey Baratheon prednisone) and calls the doc and insists that I get some Adavan so I can calm down and maybe nap.

Doc orders Adavan and Jeanna brings it and hangs another bag of God knows what...I order fish for lunch (bad idea) and finally get about an hours nap in the afternoon.

I feel like hell.

I'm finally done with iv's so dearest Adam comes in and takes out my port line and can tell that the prednisone is doing a number on me. 

Doc orders a higher dose sleeping pill so that I can maybe sleep that night...one can hope...

Finally at about 6:30 I am released into the wild again and I get to go home.

Aunt Jane is there to pick me up and to come stay at the house with me to make sure I don't have any issues. The woman is a saint and I am beyond blessed to have her as my aunt, best friend, caretaker and "person".

As much as I want to get home to my own bed and my kitties it is a bit scary to leave the hospital...as much as I hate it in there I always feel very safe and cared for. 

I get home and take my temp every hour...thankfully no more fever but I do feel like I have been put through hell.

I get a real shower and Aunt Jane makes sure I am good and settled and we dig in to watching Hamilton (me for the 5th time...still loving it) and I finally relax but continue to reach for my imaginary iv pole every time I stand up and walk about...when you are attached to one for 6 days you tend to feel like it is an extension of your arm.

Being home I finally rest better but sleep is still elusive until about 2 am because of the steroids...but at least I am in my own bed and I don't have anyone coming to take my temperature and blood pressure every 4 hours.

My cat, who has been very sick herself with kidney failure (which by a miracle and the support of friends we were able to stop further damage from but she still needs daily hydration via a needle under her skin), hangs with me as close as she can so she can watch over me. Dragon, my other cat, insists on sleeping on my legs to anchor me down and keep me from leaving again.

Pets know when you are ill...

they also know the difference between when I have returned from a fun few days at the lake with KuteKaren and when I have been in the hospital. 

So I have been home for a while and the aftermath of the hospital stay was not much fun either...the prednisone continued to bother my sleep and is caused me to have the dreaded "moon face" (where your face gets even rounder and puffed up) and I have swelling so much in my left leg that the cat literally leaves footprints in my skin unless I take a diuretic (which makes me spend all day in the bathroom).

The drugs also did some unspeakable things to my gut that as open and honest as I am I will draw the line at discussing that here but suffice it to say "mortified" is the best way I can describe what happened to me.

I couldn't work out because of the wound and the continuing gut issues and I really really missed being on the bike.

COVID continues to keep me locked in the house except for the occasional jaunt to the Cancer Center or to pick up things curbside. I haven't been inside a restaurant since early March when KuteKaren and I had a visit to our favorite sushi bar (and yes I really miss sushi but bringing it home "to go" is not appealing).

So there's the story of what happened to me since I told you all it was too long for a regular social media post...I literally sat in the sun reading a book and ended up in the hospital.

Let's just all agree no more sun for me...

Most of the peeling finally stopped (after 3 weeks...yes 3 weeks) and weirdly it has taken years of sun damage off of my skin so although I eye my lounge chairs outside where I used to love to lay like a lizard in the sun I will not be venturing out again to do that. I'll just have dark roots and no tan...but my skin is looking great especially on my arms.

it's a spa treatment that I really do not recommend

As for the wound: I STILL HAVE IT...

as I write this it is October 11 and the wound is like a second degree burn on my stomach.

this has been going on since July 10.

After all the prednisone and antibiotics it still won't close so now I am seeing  wound care doctor and she is treating me with all kinds of wonderful things like honey in the wound and an antibiotic patch.

She also did a culture and I have some sort of "fancy" (her word) bacteria plaguing me that is hard to treat and between my penicillin allergy and chemo meds it is hard to find a drug that works but the team (onco, wound doc, pharmacy doc) decided to put me on Levaquin. It can lead to tendon tearing (so no bike for me) and heart rate issues (so no bike for me). I'm being careful still and I am glad I am done with it.

My onco also wanted me to see a dermatologist...

So she finds a derm she thinks is the right one to help with this wound stuff and gives me her name. I keep forgetting to make an appointment and they keep forgetting to call me.

Finally I get a call from them and I tell them I want to see a specific doctor.

Appointment made.

Aunt Jane comes to help me get there since I am now on a walker and we get there only to find out the requested doc is not there on Wednesdays and it is indeed Wednesday.

I pitch a fit and become very frustrated.

Yes, I became "a Karen"...(apologies to my friends KuteKaren1 and KuteKaren2 and KuteKerin)

Aunt Jane suggests we give the doc that I do have the appointment with a try.

Well in walks an angel and she is indeed the perfect fit...God was with me and I was fighting him.

She did a biopsy, a culture, blood work and gave it a good look and told me to continue with her and the wound doc.

BEST NEWS: she doesn't think that my wound should impede me from having surgery so pending the outcome of the biopsy and culture she plans to send Dr Muppet a letter stating I am good to go.

Glory Halleluyer!

She has me on another antiobiotic and some new topical med and it seems to be working...

Now on to other things---because wait: THERE IS MORE!

Because with me and the cancer it can't just be one little thing like fighting the cancer...

so here's the rest of it...

Just prior to going in to the hospital I had a scan.

I had my first scan since November....and it was a GOOD scan.

In November I had 10 measureable lymph nodes. At that time 5 had grown and 5 had shrunk. Dr. Rockstar and I were fairly pleased with that scan....and it was before we changed my drug protocol.

But then the spine stuff happened and everything went sideways and whatever was happening on the scan was less important than what had happened with my spine.

But then I got to start immunotherapy and a new cancer pill and my CA125 marker started going down and I was feeling pretty good except for some issues that continue to plague me with my spine...more on that later in this blog...

So back to the scan---this scan (from July) looked so much better than my previous few scans...

I'm happy to say only 4 lymph nodes were measureable and all were shrinking...

which in cancer world is a very very good thing...

I'm not NED (no evidence of disease) but it looks like I'm at least stable or that the cancer isn't growing right now...so it's still there but it's behaving...

El Diablo is in a time out!

So now onto the spine and the follow up for the wound...

And as it turns out my MRI I had on the same day as the scan in July has revealed that I still have a serious disk issue so I am in for another stay in Memorial Hermann very soon (probably in November) and there will be surgery to correct it. 

I have compression on a major nerve and it is causing pain and issues to my mobility. 

Serious issues. 

And a screw that is loose---and not just the one in my head lol...(reading that sentence should be accompanied by you hearing a drum rim shot in your head as you read...yes it is a corny joke but hey my onocology team LOVES it)

I have been in pain with this since the surgery last year. My left leg will not lift on it's own. I get horrible pain upon standing. I can only stand for maybe 10 minutes at a time.

And it's getting worse...I am more and more dependent on my walker again. Last weekend the pain was so bad I needed pain meds.

It's a miracle I can ride my spin bike at all (but not now) but it is the one place I don't hurt. And where I feel "normal".

I knew there was an issue after surgery because I could not lift my leg off the bed. I was practicing yoga 5-7 hours a week so my legs and core were strong but I could only lift the left leg about 2 inches off the bed while my right leg I could easily get into a full lift that was perpendicular to my body.

Ding ding ding...Houston we may have a problem...

Doc said to wait and let it heal because the cysts on my disk had put a lot of pressure on my nerve and I had some pretty bad spinal stenosis.

Had my 3 week checkup and it had barely improved...but we needed to wait...nerves are slower to heal.

Had another checkup prior to the shut down and Doctor Muppet (he looks like a Muppet but he's very kind) agreed we needed an MRI to see what was going on.

Then the shut down happened and I could not get an MRI.

So we waited...and waited...and then waited until it was time for a CT so that if we needed to do surgery we could see what El Diablo was up to.

The scan revealed the trouble but then I was in the hospital with the fever...and then recovering...and just starting back on my much needed chemo drugs and I wanted a few rounds in me before doing any surgery and then I had to wait 3 weeks to get in to see him.

It's been a long wait to deal with this and it is getting worse. When I was on the massive steroids I was not in pain from it but once they wore off the pain doubled down.

So now I stay locked in my house due to COVID-19, I need a walker to get around most of the time and I am just waiting on this damn wound to heal up.

 Plus the knee...but the poor knee still needs to wait...one day it's just gonna give out on me and that will be it...it's so bone on bone I can feel it...and my last round of gel shots did nothing because the chemo ate it up...but I'm going to try it again...

So it looks like in November (if the wound heals) Dr Muppet and I will meet in the OR once again. 

I have had surgery in November 3 times since 2016 so why not keep tradition. 

November 2016---hysterectomy to remove cancer

November 2017---hernia repair

November 2019---second spinal fusion

November 2020---possible 3rd spinal fusion

(in 2018 I decided to shake things up and had surgery in April...that was the first spinal fusion).

And yes, I acknowledge that it is a lot of surgery...spinal fusion surgery is horrific pain so I am really not looking forward to having to do it again.

I don't really have any wisdom gained from all of this---except that you need to set a timer on your phone when you are in the hospital or you might miss dinner or perhaps avoiding fish is while in the hospital is a good idea or maybe that we all need to keep thermometers around that read farenheit...

I do know that I am being cared for by the best medical team there is and that the nurses I had in the hospital absolutely rocked and my poor doctors still don't have a clue why it all happened but they have me back to being (relatively) healthy---other than the wound and my spine and knee issues. 

And a little issue of cancer. 

My body is really responding well to the chemo treatments so that is what is keeping me going.

It was not easy being in the hospital alone...and I have had several friends who have had to do so during this time of COVID and it is a very lonely experience to not have a loved one there to advocate for you or to bring you things if you need them. I very much missed having Aunt Jane there to hear things and ask questions and she's always super helpful at getting me water so the nurses don't have to all the time. 

And when I had my breakdown that morning it was such a feeling of loss of control and once again cancer robbing me of being "normal". I'm blessed I had a nurse who saw I was falling apart and needed help. I had tried to be brave in front of the doctors but when the reality of the situation hit me it was too much to bear so I am grateful that Jeanna came in and knew I needed some support. I feel bad for other patients who aren't as lucky or for those who can't speak for themselves.

I've survived a lot...and I will survive this...and with God's grace my body will continue to respond to the immunotherapy and chemo pills and my wound will heal and I will get my spine fixed before I damage it even more.

Cancer is a roller coaster...and trust me I want off this ride...

Inspiration Song: "Fever" by Peggy Lee...because no one sings it better...

Bye Darlings...this took me forever to finish...but there was so much to include. Thank you for reading this through because I know it was a lot. Next blog will hopefully be less of a mess...