2002-09-09

12:37 a.m.

Currently polishing off a gas-station cappuccino and fighting off all those creepy �what if I have to have more chemo?� doubts in my head. I should be visualizing health and running that half-marathon and achieving academic publication but instead I am seeing myself prepping for a bone marrow transplant in a ghastly greengrey gown. I am mentally sizing up my siblings as if I could tell which one would be my marrow match.

Caffeine is not relaxing, especially after midnight. The thing is that I am not in need of marrow or stem cells yet or probably ever. I didn�t suspect that this week, the last week before my last chemo treatment would be so cerebrally taxing. It seems my OCD has had a flare up. I am obsessed with creating scenarios that involve obstacles for my last treatment. The scenarios range from general health issues such as low blood counts to oncology nurse conspiracy to hospital sabotage. That trailer for the season premier of ER isn�t helping either.

Along with creating these helpful images I am also taking up valuable brain space by intricately combing through the past four months of dealing with doctors and nurses. I spent thirty minutes fuming about a minor nurse mistake that took place back in June. I am convincing myself that these seemingly minor mistakes will take the ultimate toll on my treatment outcome.

If all of those Bernie Siegel worshiping self righteous new lifers are right I am so screwed.

Truth be told, I am not a subscriber of the positive mental attitude changes all things club. I am more of a believer in passion and energy, maybe even zest or being zesty, sometimes it comes from a happy place and well, sometimes not.

I am not able to visualize my chemo gobbling up bad cancer cells but I can picture myself holding the oncology clinic hostage if they delay or add on more chemo.

What does this mean? Can cancer be cured by anger and obsession? Must love and miracles be the only answer?

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