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His first round of chemotherapy had gone so much better than Lee had expected. He'd been sick, but not overly so, and at the end of it the results had been so positive that Lee had been even a little excited to start round two.
Four days in, however, and Lee was sure the way he felt during round one was a fluke. He'd been miserable since Monday afternoon, had no appetite of which to speak, and anything he had managed to eat (mostly because of Eric's insistence), had come back up not long after. He was given some anti-nausea meds on Wednesday which were helping take the edge off, but his entire body was still aching, his head had been pounding for days, and his gastrointestinal tract was a wreck. This was exactly what he remembered from the last time he'd done chemo years ago, and it hadn't mellowed at all with time.
On Tuesday he'd gone into the woods with Kavinsky and his compatriot, and while they'd made some good progress, the things they'd tried had ultimately failed, sending his would be saviors back to the drawing board. He had two more weeks of treatment, and while he knew he could get through it (he had before), he remembered that his friend Molly Carpentered had told him that she was going to look into some magic of her own when he spoke to her last, and now seemed like a reasonable time to see if she had any ideas. Even if she can't cure his cancer, she might be able to do something about the pain.
So this morning he sent her a text message, and she'd replied not long after, telling him of course she remembered him and that she'd be glad to come by and see what she could do for him. He'd replied with his address and many thank yous, then settled onto the couch to rest while he waited for her to make her way over.
Four days in, however, and Lee was sure the way he felt during round one was a fluke. He'd been miserable since Monday afternoon, had no appetite of which to speak, and anything he had managed to eat (mostly because of Eric's insistence), had come back up not long after. He was given some anti-nausea meds on Wednesday which were helping take the edge off, but his entire body was still aching, his head had been pounding for days, and his gastrointestinal tract was a wreck. This was exactly what he remembered from the last time he'd done chemo years ago, and it hadn't mellowed at all with time.
On Tuesday he'd gone into the woods with Kavinsky and his compatriot, and while they'd made some good progress, the things they'd tried had ultimately failed, sending his would be saviors back to the drawing board. He had two more weeks of treatment, and while he knew he could get through it (he had before), he remembered that his friend Molly Carpentered had told him that she was going to look into some magic of her own when he spoke to her last, and now seemed like a reasonable time to see if she had any ideas. Even if she can't cure his cancer, she might be able to do something about the pain.
So this morning he sent her a text message, and she'd replied not long after, telling him of course she remembered him and that she'd be glad to come by and see what she could do for him. He'd replied with his address and many thank yous, then settled onto the couch to rest while he waited for her to make her way over.
