They didn't arrive today, either.
This afternoon, mostly out of curiosity, I called Pharmacy B to find out what happened. I got no answers, but the woman on the phone was suitably apologetic and promised she'd get them out to arrive tomorrow. We'll see. Maybe they'll surprise me -- third time's the charm -- but if I was laying odds I'd say it'll be Tuesday at best. Hard to see either the Idiot Insurance Company or Pharmacy B paying the freight for weekend delivery.
Anyway, the good news is it doesn't matter. I was already close to stepping off the chemotherapy train, and between my recent hassles with the Idiot Insurance Company and Pharmacy B, the hell that this most recent infusion has been (trust me on this), and the fact that, movie trailers notwithstanding, I couldn't come up with a single reason to continue, I've decided I'm done. So the pills may eventually come, but I'm not taking 'em.
I'm tired of feeling like shit all the time.
I'm tired of looking like one of those caterpillars Indiana Jones had to eat in Temple of Doom -- fat, white and hairless. It may be stupid and shallow, but I want my facial hair back. I want to look like me when I die.
I'm tired of taking handfuls of pills everyday. Hell, I'm tired of having to keep track of literally dozens of prescriptions.
I want to get a tattoo.
Mostly, I just want to feel normal again -- even if it's for far less time than I could continue feeling abnormal.
Granted, I'll probably give my oncologist the chance to object. Last time I was going to opt out he gave me the pill option, so maybe he'll have some alternatives up his sleeve. Or maybe after a few months off I'll forget how bad all this was, or the Wonder Woman movie will seem close enough to warrant an effort to extend my life, and I'll climb back aboard.
But in truth, I sort of doubt it.
At my check in this past Thursday, I mentioned to my PA that I was getting close to needing a break. She was surprisingly supportive, and made some mention of my treatment being "a marathon, not a sprint."
It occurred to me later that, as I proved at the 5K, I have never been a runner.
Can you consider getting someone to have these aggravating conversations in your behalf? Would that make the decision different? I am happy to be that person. I'm 3 hr ahead and can swear away in the privacy of my home.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the offer. At this point, there's no need for further conversations. But when the swearing starts up again, I may reach out :-)
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