It's all good.

Every time I go to the hospital it's like walking into battle with a butterknife. I become helpless. Literally, the sight of the word "infusion" displayed in bold letters on the back wall caused tears to well up in my eyes. This visit was much calmer than last time, though, partially because I was prepared for my feelings, and partially because I had a comforting shoulder to lean on.

CT results are N.E.D. My scan is showing improvement of the inflammation that radiation has caused. All looks good. My oncologist won't let me take my port out until the next scan in January.

All looks good...

The physical seems to be healing faster than the psychological. I'm trying my best. It's hard watching my Ewing's friends fall; I feel guilty for being so lucky. I wish there was more I could do, I wish I could change things for all of us.

I've recently organized all of the self portraits I took during treatment and have posted them to my FLICKR. It's interesting to see my range of emotion... the cute to the terribly ill. You can see a weight in my eyes during the chemo sessions. My eyes look like anvils. Perhaps my documentation will help some of you... look! You're not the only one who has had a disgustingly mangy half-bald head.

My friend and I are working on an art project to raise money and enrich the experience of other cancer patients. Remember Cancer Girl? We want to make her into a full-length comic that will give you something hilarious and uplifting to read while getting poison pumped into you. I remember my attention span being shit when I was getting my chemo... a comic would have been perfect.

Let me know if any of you would like to be involved in any way.

I hope you all are doing well!