Lucius Jackson!

Meet Lucius, who came my way via Facebook connections, Betsy, Lou Lou and Wally. I think they sent him to me from doggie heaven. Seriously. He's a mostly-deaf, three-year-old Havanese. His first mommy rescued him and unselfishly brought him to me. He's a joy and even though it's soon, it just felt so right.

My final chemo of this cycle is tomorrow. I'm pretty fucking tired of this shit y'all. Physically, mentally and emotionally. My hair's thinning. My white counts are shot. I just need a break. I have a CT on Thursday; Friday we get the results.

There are three possible results. One: Chemo is still working, Cancer is shrinking. Two: Chemo has plateaued and the Cancer is stable—no worse, no better. Three: Chemo is not working.

Schwartz feels scenario three is very unlikely—no jinx—however, the first two outcomes are problematic as well. Good problems, but still.

Scenario one, which I'm hoping for, means more chemo. I want the shit Cancer to have remissed even further, but like I said, my body needs a break. A real break. My veins are shot. My teeth are horrible. My eyelashes are at half-mast and I'm really depressed. The L.A. vacay was supposed to be that break, instead I found out Wally was at death's door and spent my last day there gorging on baked goods from Whole Foods and the marijuana dispensary. I need a restorative break. A beach, cocktails, rest and relaxation.

Scenario two, results are stable. This is the most difficult outcome to interpret, Schwartz says. In this event, we must make the decision either to continue chemo—hey, it can't hurt!—or stop chemo and transition to Avastin only. Mom is coming in Thursday to endure the horrific, agonizing 24-hour wait between the scan and seeing Schwartz Friday. Though I'm pretty much off the Benzos, the Xanax will be making an appearance come Thursday.

Scenario three: Let's not even go there. I'm going to bury myself in writing, editing, eBaying and adjusting Lucius this week.