I have such a smorgasbord of meds that I just had to Google "hydrochlorothiazide" to make sure it was the diuretic. I swear I'm retaining like 5 lbs of water from this chemo, no matter how much I sweat out. Imagine your PMS symptoms on steroids and you'll get the idea. The shrink, whose clientele is about 50% cancer-ridden, told me not to take them, that I'll be amazed how my body will bounce back right after chemo ends. But fuck, I need to get this water out. I used to piss about 8-10 times a day. Now I go about 3 or 4. Who would've thought I'd lament about not having an overactive bladder? I can't fit into my fucking jeans thanks to my water belly. And that's not a delusional an excuse I'm psyching myself into, as I've got no appetite and am at the gym at least 4 days a week again.

Sigh. I just have to remind myself that these side-effects are better than hugging the toilet.

I just returned from Sally Beauty Supply to get my "men's grooming tape" for the wig, which henceforth shall be named Roxy. The dead, diva grandmother may get a kick out of that. I'm sure if she needed a wig, she would've gone to Ralf. She made Doris Duke seem very normal.