December Daily Filler Cards . . . and a cancer update

Mainly, any filler cards that take place in my journal (after the date card, the journal card(s), and the photos) will be cut out of adorable scrapbook paper. Maybe I will write down a quote if I am feeling frisky.

However, I did want to make a few filler cards based on one of my favorite childhood memories: driving around in the old Chevy looking at Christmas lights.

We grew up on back country roads, where many houses (not ours) couldn't even be seen from the road. And some were way, way out in the distant darkness, but they still made an effort. No neighborly competition out there in the sticks, just people celebrating with a light display. I will admit, I still go around checking out light displays, some which are now set to music and collect donation money and light up whole streets. It was a tradition with friends that was broken last year, but I will not let cancer take it from me this December.

I love how imperfect this tree came out. 

Speaking of cancer, here is my routine (which hasn't changed much in 3 months):

1. I arrive Wednesday morning, they take vitals and they take blood via a port that was inserted into my chest last year.
2. I wait 20 minutes for my blood work to come back. I usually spend this time "checking in" with Facebook.
3. The oncologist goes over my blood work and any issues I might be experiencing. He updates my prescriptions if needed. He then gives the thumbs up for chemo.
4. I head back to infusion room, where I had earlier placed my bag to reserve my seat. I receive 11 pairs of stink eyes for being the person who sneaks in and reserves a seat.
5. I wait in my coveted chair for the pharmacy to get my meds, check them, double check, triple check.
6. I receive premeds to prevent allergic reactions and to prevent stomach aches or nausea.
7. Chemo starts, and almost immediately puts me asleep.
8. I wake up having to use the bathroom urgently.
9. 10 minutes later I urgently have to use bathroom.
10. My infusion nurse puts a container of chemo into a fanny pack looking bag and attaches my port to it. By then I have to use the bathroom again.
11. I carry the bag around for next 46 hours, as it slowly drips chemo into me. I don't see my son during this time, as an accident involving chemo would be disastrous.
12. The first few hours I feel like a zombie. I have dripping night sweats even if I nap for 20 minutes.
13. The second day (today) I try to stay hydrated, stay in bed, and ignore the pump, which I have named "Alfred." I hate Alfred, but he's good at not bothering me too much. Sometimes I forget he's attached and get up and walk away . . . and then realize he's pulling me back.
14. On the 3rd day, Fridays, the alarm starts to beep that the battery is dying and the chemo is nearly gone. When it does totally run out, a lovely alarm will sound.
15. The infusion nurse pulls the tubing access out of my port and send me on my way. Lately I have been bouncing back quite quickly from the chemo, but not sure about this week - I feel a headache starting that could be here a while. Drinking water is key!!
16. repeat every other Wednesday - Friday.