I probably should have alerted the world to this fact about a week ago, but to perfectly honest, I've been trying not to think about it. Granted things went quite a bit better. Namely, there were no trips to the emergency room, which means that none of the nurses there had a chance to recognize me again. No horrible trips is a benefit of no horrible allergic reactions to Taxotere. Unfortunately, the no allergic reactions is brought to you by loads of preemptive steroids and Benadryl. But they have a pleasant side effect of making me pass out for most of the chemo. And I can't stare at IV bag and panic if I'm asleep.

The week after was remarkably similar to round one, except all instances of Mommy were replaced with Daddy. Oh, and the role of infection was played by thrush! That's right, instead of a bacterial infection, this time I went fungal! Just in case I wasn't having enough problems eating, my tongue swelled and grew three sores, each the size of a New England state. Useless.

The intense pain and nausea were better managed this time, with the help of my new transdermal friends Fentanyl and Sancuso. Despite being more potent than morphine, the Fentanyl was not enough to make my legs stop hurting, so Percocet was called back up from the minors. The combination of the two pushed the limit of safe dosages, so it's a good thing it was enough to brighten my mood, if not fully dull the pain. It was not, however, enough to pry me off the couch, where I spent all "waking" hours for nearly a week.

Since you read through all of that, you have earned the right to learn of the tragedy that has befallen my head. That right, however, doesn't say you find out right now. You have to wait for a certain Matt to send me certain pictures first. He knows what I'm talking about. You hear that Matt? Send me the damn pictures already! Or the intartubes will riot!