To continue. . .
Beau and Dana hang up and Beau texts mom, asking if I'm okay. Natch, the freak-outs begin. Dana and mom, Beau and mom are all playing telephone with my life.

I find it most humorous that a non-Jew, Beau, is the one who started the worry chain. Perhaps our mishegas (sp) are rubbing off on him. By the time I awake, the whole Eastern seaboard is ready to bang on my door.

Dana tells mom that if I'm not reachable by 4:15, she's coming over to the apartment. By the time I call mom, the first thing she says is "Boy, Beau was sure worried about you."

Oh, and to backtrack, in one of her conversations with Beau, Dana came right out and asked him if we'd had a convo the previous night that would have upset me. Coming up with no diplomatic way of saying this, she came right out and asked him if we'd fought the night before. Natch, everyone was thinking OVERDOSE, SUICIDE, SLIP AND FALL, etc. etc. All the while, I'm sleeping somewhat--given the pain--peacefully.

It was a modified Bermuda incident all over again.

So now mom's here, I go to the oncologist in two hours and the pain is a little better. I still have rocks in my chest and look like shit. But I've got my outfit all planned--pink cami, pink jacket, pink purse etc. And mom is wearing a pink Hanro under her shirt.

Guess I'm off to chemo. More adventures to come.