One of the things that bother me is how little understanding what it is like to go through chemo. The first is for me, and what I am experiencing is it is all right to admit how scared I am. Crying does not come naturally for me; I am not a crier. Never have fear gripped around my heart so strongly in any experience than discovering cancer. Anger swollowed common sense, questioning God on why he would allow a rough trial to come upon me. What lesson did He mean to give me? Was I not trying hard enought to follow His commandments? Indeed, perfection is a hard thing to ask of an imperfected being easily tempted by the Adversary. But I try. For what little faith I do have, I will give it to my heavenly father in exchange with help for my unblief.
I watched as the red chemo traversed out of the source, through the small tubular link to my new friend named "The Tick with a Tail" or what is called a port. The nurse administering my medication laughed. "I have never heard someone call that before," she said. Well, she had a writer in her mist. I think I personally would have been insulted, but that is just me.