The Dirty Pink UnderBelly

I have been neglecting my blog for a month and a half now! I have had twinges of guilt. I have felt things well up inside me, begging to be blabbed out all over the blog. Somehow I have talked myself out of sharing some of my depression and frustration on facebook, on my blog, and even on my last private refuge, where I can say anything I want, Inspire.com. The longer I go without ripping it out, the more I seem to hold on to it and feel private about it (though my close friends know it's there), and not want to write it out.

Actually, writing it all out sounds exhausting to me. Not writing it all out just leaves it there to gather strength. Nothing unusual, just your run-of-the-mill cancer and can't work worries and stresses. 

I did get to visit my doctor at the newer office. It is a new office, and the infusion room is nicer, with private cubical-type walls dividing the chair spaces. As suspected, however, staff rotates, and I saw many of the same faces that I felt like I needed a break from. It was nice to be in a different place than I've been visiting regularly since March of 2006 though. Even though many people were the same, the place was new and less depressing. 

I'm only seeing the doctor every six weeks now, instead of four, and Zometa is stretched to three months instead of every month, unless I can talk the doctor into stretching it to six months when I see him in March. He'll probably want another scan after that to make sure I haven't had any backsliding. I can't afford either the treatment or the scan. 

My CEA tumor marker was up slightly at my blood draw from December. I forgot to call this week and see where it was last week. I guess I still have tomorrow. I hate phone calls.

I have nothing clever or even snarky on which to sound off, and for that I sincerely apologize.