My voice cracks when I talk on the phone to the receptionists and chemo administrative director and the nurse who called me back after she was (allegedly) paged twice in 45 minutes. And so now it is 11:52 and I have been called back and told I have my appointment at 1. I can't tell you how momentous the last day of chemo is. It is, well, the last day of chemo. The end of the beginning. The end of feeling you are blasting the cancer away and now you are left up to your own devices and tamoxifen. P said her father became angry when his chemo ended and I understand why.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I Hate Fancy Hospital
My voice cracks when I talk on the phone to the receptionists and chemo administrative director and the nurse who called me back after she was (allegedly) paged twice in 45 minutes. And so now it is 11:52 and I have been called back and told I have my appointment at 1. I can't tell you how momentous the last day of chemo is. It is, well, the last day of chemo. The end of the beginning. The end of feeling you are blasting the cancer away and now you are left up to your own devices and tamoxifen. P said her father became angry when his chemo ended and I understand why.
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