The Clock Is Wrong

Warning: This blog was written under the influence of Darvon. Side effects include: shortness of girth, goofiness, impotence, impertinence, self-importantness, silliness and, sudden pimples.

Do not adjust your set. The clock pictured here (to the right of me in my silly hat receiving chemo) is wrong. As are ALL clocks at MD Anderson. Do not, I repeat, do not blame this phenom on the unsolicited time change. The clocks at MD Anderson are ALWAYS wrong.

Anyway, as you can tell, I am fine. All of the terrible side effects I feared are either 1) not happening now or 2) not ever happening. I choose case number 2. (Though I'm not taking the deal, until I know the million's not in MY case...if you know what I mean.) Actually, I AM taking the case and I'm taking it now.

There's a fellow, the research nurses tell of who received his transplant and hit the road. Thought he DID come back for his allogeneic (this spelling, by the way, is straight from THE horse's mouth, which happens to be THE book written by MDA who ROCKS--apparently--in the transplant world.) I now understand this fellow's feelings exactly. Since I am now planning MY escape with running shoes already on. (If you happen to be someone from MDA and you are reading this please know: THIS IS A JOKE. I am NOT taking off. Really. I'm not. I'm staying right here where you can take my blood repeatedly for as many days as your heart desires, you vampires you.)

So, the clock is wrong, but notice I am smiling with my furry little hat planted firmly on my head. Meaning: It's all good. At least for now. Signing off, your fine and furry friend, Sherry.