On a fundamental level, every cell in my body is telling me to RUN THE OTHER WAY because THE MEDICINES ARE POISON. At the same time, my sentient, higher-brain functions are telling me GO GET IT DONE OR ELSE.

Here's my list of helpful tips I've gathered from all the people who have been kind enough to share their experiences getting chemotherapy, and a couple of things I'm doing, too.

Primarily, everyone said, "Here's the long list of what might happen." Now I'm approaching the halfway mark - treatment #3 - and I do have a decent idea of what's in store ... except ... that I don't.

Cancer is still on my mind: I have accepted the fact that it will be, to some extent, for the rest of my life. But right now, on this day, cancer isn't calling the shots.

When I can't do anything for my body except hang on and coast, the only thing that helps me is to turn inward and ask myself, "What's next?"

Should I drink more water? Juice? Some sort of tea? I wish I understood physiology better so I understood how medicine migrates through the body.

Most importantly, I'm going to ask my doctors if they have any further advice. The worst they can say is, "No, there are no resources or alternatives, you're stuck," and thus far that hasn't happened.

Yesterday, I spelled out all the drugs I'm taking. But I didn't really delve into how this weird handful of days, immediately following a chemo treatment, actually feels. 

It's very weird to realize I've been talking, eating, and even getting up to use the lavatory with little to no memory of those events. Maybe there's something extra in this chemo cocktail that wipes memory on purpose.