Who Needs Clothes When You've Got Ridiculous-looking Pyjamas?

I really must start updating this more often so that it doesn't just become a running commentary on what's wrong with me week by week and I can do some rambling about actual topics and stuff. Like prayer. I have so many people praying for me constantly, and not just my family and the people at my church but people I never met before. It makes me feel so grateful, because I don't see prayer as a last resort kind of thing, I really do have faith that God listens to and answers prayers. I've had lots of little answers to my prayers during this whole ordeal. I figure with enough prayers and faith I can get the miracle I need to get better. With the amount of prayers being said for me, I imagine the situation to be kind of like that episode of The Simpsons - all of us down here are Bart and Lisa asking "Will you take us to Mt Splashmore? Will you take us to Mt Splashmore? Will you take us to Mt Splashmore?" and God is Homer who will eventually give in and take us. Hmmm, that kind of puts me in the mood to go on a waterslide. I'll put it on my list of things to do when I get better.

So, now that I've had my little kooky religious moment, here's what's wrong with me this week:
I was admitted to Gosford Hospital last Monday and due to start my chemo on Tuesday. Unfortunately since leaving hospital the last time my abdomen had swollen up to several times its normal size. I'm talking eight months pregnant size (that's no exaggeration, Mum had to buy me new clothes that fit and some of them came from the maternity section). As it turns out, the cancer cells have spread down to my belly now and are making it all fluidy like my lungs. My friend who works as an oncology nurse (very conveniently) suggested that I ask to have the fluid drained from my stomach before starting chemo because they wouldn't do it for a week once I'd had the chemo. The doctors agreed, so I spent all of Tuesday waiting to go down for an ultrasound and drain, only to be abruptly informed by the radiologist that the fluid was separated into too many separate "pockets" and therefore couldn't be drained. I was pretty upset by that, because it's really uncomfortable, it makes it even harder to do things for myself and I'm stuck with it for at least the next two months until the chemo possibly starts working. Thankfully to compensate for this new bit of crapness in my life, something finally went right: the chemo went pretty smoothly and the side effects weren't too awful, just a bit of fatigue. I shouldn't get too cocky though, because they did give me a lower dose just to be on the safe side, so I'm still going to be prepared for it to be worse next round. But anyway, it was nice to have something go the way it was supposed to for once. And I guess there's even an upside to the giant swollen belly - I'm too big to fit any of my old pyjamas, so I got Mum to buy me a whole bunch of those giant T-shirt nighties from Kmart. You know the ones that have the hilariously daggy slogans printed on them? My favourite is the one pictured above. It makes me feel like I'm wearing a lolcat.

So that's what's wrong with me this week. What's right with me? My little sister came home from college yesterday, so she'll be doing a lot of my caring for the next couple of weeks. So now we can play Scrabble online while sitting in the same room and watch Better Homes and Gardens together on Friday nights. Sisters are awesome. Oh and she got home in time to celebrate my little brother, Liam's birthday. It was a fairly entertaining evening that went kind of like this:
Mum and Courtney, Liam's girfriend, light all of the candles in the kitchen. Courtney picks up the cake and begins to carry it over to me, on the couch. I start flailing my arms and yelling "No, no I can't be near that, my oxygen will explode!". The rest of the family gather in the kitchen with the cake and begin singing Happy Birthday. Before they can finish the song, Mum and Dad dash to the pantry to stop what looks like something burning but turns out to be the kettle. Both try to restart the song with no success before Dad asks "Who's birthday is it anyway? Liam? Oh, happy birthday Liam. I thought it was Courtney's. I wondered why you were singing to yourself." Everyone has a good laugh and Dad goes to bed early out of embarrassment. Fun times.