The Thanksgiving weekend in the country was wonderful. It was great seeing the kids; hearing how Harry is taking a computer programming class next semester so he can write a killer app, quit school and make millions; and listening to Mariel and Mark come up with ways to improve public education. This generation needs all the good ideas it can get.
Last year, I ruined the turkey. This year, I was back in form, and all my traditional dishes, including the bird, were yummy.
The low-dose lasix did its job slowly, so I felt much like a stuffed turkey for most of the weekend. All was well until about an hour after I returned to NYC with Turbo. I began to feel awful, like I'd been hit by a truck. I got into bed, shivering. The next day I had a doctor appointment to assess the water retention. When the doctor took my temperature it was 102.7. He thinks I have the flu even though I had a flu shot. He sent me for a chest x-ray, and gave me a prescription for Tamiflu. I feel much better now.
For the first time in a long time, my thoughts went to the Dark Side. The leukemia was back and the flu was proof. Of course this makes no sense, unless you've had the disease and it's taken you completely unawares in the past. Then, any little sign can set you off. Many of you know what I'm talking about.
I popped an ativan and went to my second doctor appointment of the week, to my oncologist. I was a Dead Woman Walking. When she read my blood counts, which were fine, the Grim Reaper turned and walked away, searching for the crosstown bus. The iron unload continues. I was at 8000 units and am down to 4000. 300 is normal. Prednisone taper continues.
I asked my doctor what she thought about me working full time. She didn't think it would be possible right now. She's right of course. If I had a job, I'd have been fired.
So, I'm fair. That's what my grandfather always said in response to inquiries about his health and well-being.