I've always been a bit of a mysophobe. I fear germs. I see them everywhere; like that kid who sees dead people. It's become worse. I no longer go to movie theaters because I know the person behind me is host to Influenzavirus A through C. If I have to use a public bathroom I do it Madonna style. I wash my hands with OCD frequency.
Having Chemo takes your phobia to a pathological new level. Your immune system is low. You can't fight germs. You can barely insult them. Your little, white blood warriors have met their Waterloo. And so you have to avoid germs like The Plague. Literally.
The days following my first Chemo infusion I steered clear of all public places. To me restaurants became Bird Flu hubs; Supermarkets were cesspools of Pulmonary Tuberculosis. Even my kids scared the hell out of me. Because let's face it, kids aren't the most hygienic of people. And, even if you could bathe your kids in sanitizer, you know their friends are still having a jolly good nose pick and then playing clapping games with yours.
Of course you can't put yourself into a plastic bubble. Although, I did buy those face masks you saw on TV during the H1N1 lets-have-fun-with-the-phobic crisis. Sooner or later you have to venture out. Lucky for me there's that Neulasta shot. It actually elevated my white blood count. So now I have more than I need. Way more. There's a partaay in my body and the white blood cells have invited their whole disease-brawling posse. It's like the Jersey Shore in there, a fight a minute. And I'm all for it. I can go out. I can eat food prepared by someone who may or may not be wearing gloves. I can pump gas. I can handle money. Best of all I can kiss my kids and husband good night.
Unfortunately white blood cells have a short life-cycle. A partying lifestyle will do that to one. So I'm taking advantage of my Superwoman powers while I still have them. And no evil, viral, fungal or bacterial pathogen is going to take that away from me.
Having Chemo takes your phobia to a pathological new level. Your immune system is low. You can't fight germs. You can barely insult them. Your little, white blood warriors have met their Waterloo. And so you have to avoid germs like The Plague. Literally.
The days following my first Chemo infusion I steered clear of all public places. To me restaurants became Bird Flu hubs; Supermarkets were cesspools of Pulmonary Tuberculosis. Even my kids scared the hell out of me. Because let's face it, kids aren't the most hygienic of people. And, even if you could bathe your kids in sanitizer, you know their friends are still having a jolly good nose pick and then playing clapping games with yours.
Of course you can't put yourself into a plastic bubble. Although, I did buy those face masks you saw on TV during the H1N1 lets-have-fun-with-the-phobic crisis. Sooner or later you have to venture out. Lucky for me there's that Neulasta shot. It actually elevated my white blood count. So now I have more than I need. Way more. There's a partaay in my body and the white blood cells have invited their whole disease-brawling posse. It's like the Jersey Shore in there, a fight a minute. And I'm all for it. I can go out. I can eat food prepared by someone who may or may not be wearing gloves. I can pump gas. I can handle money. Best of all I can kiss my kids and husband good night.
Unfortunately white blood cells have a short life-cycle. A partying lifestyle will do that to one. So I'm taking advantage of my Superwoman powers while I still have them. And no evil, viral, fungal or bacterial pathogen is going to take that away from me.
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