Epilogue to Last Friday

So, I kinda left that rope swinging in the wind didn't I?  Last I had mentioned, there was a potential and looming trip to the hospital and then I just vanished off the face of the internet.  Sorry about that.

Well, my temperature went up to 100.6, the doctor decided that as long as I didn't feel too bad, I should wait for the antibiotics to work and only needed to worry about the hospital unless I started feeling really off - which never happened.  So, that settles that.

This past Tuesday, I went in for fluids (sounds like Jiffy Lube) and whilst there, they ran my blood work again.  The white blood count had gone up to 4.5 from 1.6.  Looks like Friday is a go.  This will be the last cycle of three weeks.  THE LAST CYCLE.  I only gotta tote that bale for three more weeks and I will be:

1. Three steps closer to killing this SOB
2. Two steps closer to getting a break and getting strong again
3. One step closer to Jeffrey's official notice to VACATE THE PREMISES

I fully believe that my counts will be great on Friday and we will pick up that sword and come out swinging.  

Actually, I have had probably the best week in too long of a time.  I've felt good and continued to feel a little better since Tuesday and now on Thursday evening; I am feeling pretty fine.  I will enjoy the hell out of this evening and relish tomorrow morning and smile all night as I watch Claire perform in her school musical, Grease.   And I will get up on Saturday morning and I will say to myself: "Only 20 days to go, slick, get the hell out of bed and fight back." 

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'Death to Jeffrey!'"