Bad Math

This is, of course, chemo week. Last week was Cycle 7 and for some reason I had it my head that it was the halfway point, but it's really not. If I can stick to my decision to limit chemo to eleven cycles, I'm down to my last four. 

With just four left, I'm more like 2/3 of the way through than half. 

And I like four. Four fits on one hand. Four is one away from three, and three is just a hop, skip and a jump from zero. And I really like zero. So while i'm not at all excited for this week's cycle, I am excited to get down to my last three. Frankly, last week I was ready to just throw in the towel and call this process done. I was tired of feeling lousy, and tired of not being able to drink iced beverages.* But three more cycles I can do, and since after this week I'll be down to three I might as well go ahead and get through this week. 

And, yes, the thinking prompted by chemotherapy is a lot like negotiating with a toddler. It's not terrible logical, but it gets the job done. 


* I'm really starting to miss margaritas and sidecars -- neither of which is the same at room temperature. And then there's Tully's espressso shakes, which are also quite tasty and also impossible to drink while under the influence of neuropathy-causing chemotherapies.**

** Yes, it is sort of sad how much I'm impacted by the impact of chemotherapy on what I can eat or drink, but at this point eating and drinking are pretty much all I have left of the enjoyable parts of life.