Everything is a blur right now, thanks to the mental/cognitive fog from the chemo drugs combined with serious sleep deprivation. But that morsel of insight, right there, is the sort of thing I wanted to know when I was headed down this tunnel.

Forget everything I've complained about thus far as being 'the worst.' The last three weeks top that list and I'm deeply worried the aftermath of this round will be more of the same times two.

There's fatigue and there's tiredness, and together they make a nasty Mobius loop from which (it seems) there is no escape.

Procedurally, the order of the day was: consultation, measurement, a CT scan, and getting inked. First, however, there was paperwork.

Uniformly, everyone who has spoken to me about it has said, "It's so much easier than chemo!" That's reassuring, don't get me wrong. But it's not a terribly descriptive answer.

As much as I want to look ahead and I have been making plans for what comes next, the here and now is just too much. I have to stay mindful and be present, here, with what is happening in this blurry unmoored moment and take care of myself.

From the very beginning, I've been blessed with several people giving me advice on cancer treatment. Now that I've got more of my own experience to add to the mix, I thought I'd write for the readers who are going through their own treatment.

I learned that I'd lost three pounds, but my blood pressure test set off the alarms again. I realized I was seeing a pattern: good things paired with bad things. One step forward, one step back into place. Sort of.

The oncology nurses took my vitals, flushed the port, and did some bloodwork to make sure my liver and kidneys are functioning well. Same old, same old. Except not.

I wanted a coffee and a ham and cheese croissant for second breakfast, goddammit, and I wanted to fetch it with my own two hands.