WOOHOO it's 3.2!

I have been noticing lately that on warm days, after my car sits in the sun for a while, and then I open the door and get inside, it smells like I'm going to chemotherapy.  Maybe it's that Yankee Candle "macintosh" air freshener I put in in August, or maybe it's just the warm car smell that permeated the 20 minute drives to and from the oncology office in the summer and fall.  In any case, I'm very much an olefactory person, and that smell takes me back.  (As do a few others - particular hand sanitizers, soaps, and definitely the alcohol swab they use to clean my port before poking me).

Yesterday was rainy and (relatively) cold, so my car didn't smell like it should, but I went to visit my oncologist anyway.  Dr. Hank was pretty excited about my bloodwork, bursting into the room to give me a "high five," before even telling me.  3.2 is my latest count, which is well in the normal range of AFP produced by the liver of a normal, healthy, cancer-free person.  It was especially good to see the nurses in the infusion room (although the less you get poked, the more it hurts, so my port is still a little sore from being flushed, which is almost refreshing to have such a miniscule, short-lived side effect), and they weren't so busy, giving us some time to catch up.  I don't have to go again till April, at which point we may schedule a date to remove the funny plastic lump on my chest, and then, one more month, and then I can eat GREENS!!

Otherwise I'm generally happy and healthy.  I'm very busy with work and school and life.  I'm doing well in all my classes, loving learning, and even the rote memorization is kind of fun.  I bike my commute whenever possible (generally twice a week), and some cousins are coming out to hike the grand canyon later this month.  My hair is almost to the point of just being "very short" instead of "coming back in," though I may have to achieve a pony tail before I'll abandon headscarves altogether.  There are hours that pass when cancer doesn't cross my mind even once.  And there are nostalgic moments when I open the drawer with all my cancer cards in it and pick out a few to re-read. 

I do miss the blogging thing.  I get a small fix posting for my online nutrition class discussions, but it really can't compare to the caring folks here at Getting Rid of Grazelda.  I hope, friend, that you are also well and in good spirits. 

Cheers,
margaret