However, the blast cells that had everybody all worked into a lather earlier, continue to decrease in number in my blood. So I guess that's good.
The docs are watching my numbers like hawks, trying to decide whether or not another biopsy is necessary. Personally, I think they are all sadists who just want to torture my poor pelvic bone.
So I need to motivate my pokey bone marrow to start cranking out the white blood cells, double-time. My dear readers came up with some great mental images to help me envision the chemo crushing the stupid leukemia cells. Now I need something to visualize so I can compel the creation of white blood cells. I've been wracking my brain to come up with something good but with no avail. Wonder why it's so easy to envision destruction but not creation? Any ideas out there?
Tomorrow, I'm shaving my head. My hair's thinned out pretty considerably. I'm borderline mangy. Plus, I'm just sick of seeing my hair everywhere: covering my pillow in the morning, inside my shirt, all over the floor. I can sympathize with my poor shedding kitty cats. Every time I touch or move my head, a sprinkling of hairs comes raining down. Ick. I am ready to be done with my hair. I just hope my bald head isn't too weird or lumpy.
Today, I discovered the turkey salad sandwich here isn't too bad, meaning I can eat it without making a face.