Generation "Y (Are You Here?)"

You can wrap up my idea of happiness and sprinkle it with powdered sugar.

(...and then give my future self diabetes? Candy-coat me, baby.)

It is fortunate my baseline for happiness is the ability to stuff my face with fried dough without the worry I will involuntarily throw it up. I'd like to thank San Sebastiano for having a feast day so perfectly timed, rolling every unhealthy Italian food I could want into my (almost) backyard during this period of able-to-chew-and-swallow. I'd also like to thank my potassium levels again, for their cooperation in getting me temporarily kicked off the trial long enough to be able to sneak away from the house for a few hours without (physical or mental) collapse. This must be what the kids who cut 8th period in high school felt like: some bliss, some adrenaline, slight touch of guilt.

Eating. What a joy! Being able to take large bites, knowing the digestion thing will just sort of "happen"...magic.

Anti-nausea medication -- what a whirl. Big ups to you too, my man.

I'm in a good mood. Mind is a-buzzing. Living it up while I can.

By living it up I mean my day-to-day included the casual blood test, because they forgot to check if I was pregnant during Monday's. 

The conversation went a little like this:
Me: Dude. I have one vein left. And it is still bruised from the past 3 blood tests.
Clinical Trial Nurse: LOL, fuck your veins!

During said blood test, the nurse gave my mother the low-down on her 22-year-old daughter who lies around all day and the stampede of 15-year-olds on welfare coming in with children and expensive shoes and all I could think was "Oh god this woman thinks I am some vicious combination of her hack daughter and every pregnant adolescent she's ever encountered." It is at such times I wish I had some sort of membership card, stamp, tattoo that signals to the world that I am not living in my parent's house by choice, omission, lack of job offer. Do they offer these things? And can I get it with the Penn crest? Something that implies "This person accomplishes shit occasionally. Also, she is totally not pregnant." (...as of last week's blood test.) 

But le sigh, there was no time for me to "accio" my degree, as indignant nurse was busy going off on the laziness of Gen Y (which she made sure to  clarify as "Why are you here?") I was fuming, which happens to look a lot like smiling and nodding.

Sometimes I wonder if this thing is just one big joke.

Drug Vacation

I've missed my brain.

I know, what a strange thing to miss. Surely it is always present, except during the occasional romantic fling in which it flees? For most yes, but mine had officially "left the building", as they say. I am uncloudy-ish for the first time in weeks. The strange thing is, I'm still on pain killers. Just (temporarily) off the study drug. Who knew how nice a drug vacation could be? Especially when it's potentially life-saving cancer treatment... but I'm happy, I am. I think I needed this. To reminded that I can in fact, compose sentences without drooling (it was getting weird) and stare at words for extended periods and have them make sense to me. So thank you, shoddy potassium levels, for giving me this required break from the clinical trial to pop candy-looking (not candy-tasting, sadly) potassium supplements. Compared to the study drug-oxy-vicodin combo, oxy-vicodin is a walk in the park. Like wow. You don't appreciate what you have until you're given the equivalent of an ACME mallet to the head in the form of a pill. yeesh.

So I suppose I should inform you that yes, I made it into the clinical trial. (that I was then "temporarily" taken off of. See Above.) I went to Ohio alone for 6 days and, with newfound nausea and poor appetite, (what a stellar combination!) force-fed myself whatever it is Midwesterners refer to as "food". Day 1 I attempted the cafeteria, only to discover it was in fact a Wendy's. It was at this point (and many others) I had to ask myself: is this real life? 

Dear god, it is. 

Anyway, so I go off my coffee/caffeine kick (suck it, doubters!) while in Ohio and developed a taste for apple juice. Yes, I traded in coffee for apple juice. 

...I was on drugs, okay?! Sheesh. 

I haven't fully recovered from the transition, that is, haven't been having much of any coffee mostly because there's no point in even pretending I'm going to be productive on the toxic combination of study drug-painkiller. I basically spend the days sleeping or counting the hours until I get to sleep. Or watching shitty TV. 

Also, I really like juice.

So I really just wanted to get in this tiny bit of writing before study drug starts back up again (potentially later today if EKG goes well) and makes me an actual dope. (Is panobinostat-lenalidomide dope? Meh.) If I can squeeze anything else out before the mallet falls, I'll send out another update. 

This is (Probably) Your Brain on Drugs

The key to becoming a master writer?
Hemingway: Writing drunk and editing sober.

Upon hearing this, the glowing bits in my liver were like:
- HA HA!
- Sucks to suck

...among other things, because I am sure they are sentient beings and can like, talk and stuff.

But I now realize I don't need to drink, because I am in a state of perpetual confusion! Prescription pain killers: the pregame of choice!!! I now get to double up on the fun because my doctors pity me and I admitted to feeling anxious over having to take Vicodin every 4 hours because that is hardly enough time for a good nap or to forget one is about to be in pain. So, now we have a once-every-12-hour "base" of Oxy and the occasional Vicodin.
I have gone from 0 to Real Housewives of Orange County in a matter of days. Truly impressive.

Once upon a time, I could say: All I need in life is Gatorade and Tylenol. Then it became: I run on Gatorade and Vicodin. Now it would be most accurate to say: In my bloodstream one will find Gatorade and (insert any narcotic Prep school boys snort in the locker room). Oh, and pita chips.

Oh lord, I cannot think. I just want to make weird sounds, roll over, and take another nap because really what else am I capable of these days? I must say I have become fantastic at napping, sweating, and "totally not crying" as in "I am totally not crying during 'Prince of Egypt' because of my newfound narcotics-inspired appreciation for music". I don't know why people take painkillers when they're not supposed to because I actually feel crazy. Maybe I am just a "high functioning crazy".
I should not give myself too much credit. We will go with "functioning crazy".

Lately I've been giving myself points for interacting with human brings outside of the house. This requires me to actually leave the house, so... fuck? Is it socially acceptable to walk around in a blanket as Linus so artfully did? I don't want to be a style-biter or worse, bullied by a tyrannical 9-year-old girl with a bad haircut.
These are the things I concern myself with.

Back to the point system -- Doctors and hospital staff aren't supposed to count but today I've decided that they do because my doctor and nurse told me they loved me in two separate instances. I don't know if it was to see if they could get a react out of me, drug zombie, or I am actually in a relationship with my hospital as I've suspected all along. It would make sense, as I've felt guilty "cheating" on hospital with the other hospitals I've been visiting.

If people can fall in love with ostriches and mailboxes, surely I can be in a relationship with my hospital? Let's not even explore the logistics of that as I've already carried this a bit too far for my liking.
Besides, I'm only back at my hospital to do screening tests for a clinical trial I'm ditching it for next week (hopefully). And get more drugzz, obviously.
The screening tests cover a host of things, but they're mostly concerned with how not pregnant I am. Under the clinical trial's exclusions, amidst all the blood, goo, heart, mind specifics that can disqualify a person, for those who still have some shred of a uterus one must be really, really unpregnant. If there are degrees of "not being pregnant", clinical trial patients should be on the "vagina dentate" end of the spectrum.
Me, clueless, is all: So uhmmm, do I just pick up a pregnancy test?
...Because I have long awaited the day my mother and I would go pregnancy test shopping together.
*drinks bleach*
Clinical trial facilitator: Uh, no.
She informed me I had to go to "legitimate testing center" where they send the requesting facility a report indicating if the eggo is in fact, preggo.

Unfortunately, the testing center we went to was run by a woman who, even after being corrected multiple times, was convinced I was born in 1998. So I am a little bit worried about the results getting...anywhere. Or getting a call from child services. Fortunately the other tests are being handled at a facility where the receptionists have proven themselves capable of entering numbers/can read and stuff.

Things are looking up.