I am looking forward to getting out of this swamp tomorrow and going to the Cape, but first I have to get out of here, which will be no small feat.
The people I need to interview for the two stories that Mount Holyoke wants for a Monday posting are available tomorrow only. The stories are both due tomorrow, and I am due to leave on time to meet Diane in Newton at 6.
Also I am the World's Worst Packer, even if it is only for a short visit. So I better get my act together tonight.
This is all under the shadow of Patricia's death. First and foremost of course I feel terrible about her and for her family. It is not surprising, however, that it makes me worry more about myself, especially in light of the slightly low red count and platelets that I had at my last test.
I am going through one of those phases where pools of blood form under the skin on my arms (the skin is thinned by prednisone), showing up as red blotches. I know what these are, but that doesn't mean I like looking at them. Plus the other night I was holding my face up close to an area on my upper arm where there are a few tiny red pinpricks. I wondered whether they were petechiae, those tiny red dots that signal low platelets. As I used to say to my children for emphasis when they wouldn't stop badgering me, No, no, and no! They were just tiny burst blood vessels.
I will get all this settled when I go for a checkup at Dana-Farber the day after we get back from the Cape. These days I usually breeze in, but a little tinge of anxiety will accompany me. My next visit wasn't supposed to be until August – my big three-month break – but it hasn't turned out that way.
Also on Monday, I am going back to the dermatologist to have her look at the spot on my left arm. I am sure that when I pointed it out to Dr. Neel about a month ago, he said it was nothing. But really I think it is another squamous cell. I have to stop myself from thinking that in the meantime it has turned into something more serious, thoughts fueled by the squamous cell cancer that has spread to Ann's internal organs.
Hopefully the ocean breeze will blow some of these thoughts out of me.