This week I took the ONS course to become chemo certified (rather, chemo "competent"), which was somewhat terrifying.

Terrifying that we are responsible for managing some complicated therapies in the midst of the usual floor chaos? Yes.

Terrifying that that we wear a special gown and gloves to be sure we don't come in contact with even a drop of the medication, yet we are infusing it into someone's veins? Yes.

Terrifying that certain chemo drugs almost guarantee hypersensitive - possibly anaphylactic - reactions at some point during the infusion? Yes.

...and that the management of that hypersensitivity involves more benadryl, epi if it's really bad, then continuing the infusion? Yes.

It's probably the most terrifying that, without warning, at any moment, any one of us could be facing this sort of situation. And really, that is an incredibly cliche statement to make. We have all said or thought at some point in our lives, maybe after a "close call" of sorts or prior to the yearly turkey/mashed potato/pumpkin pie nirvana, but truly. Truly. Have you thought about it lately?

This morning I ran 10 miles. I'm about a month and a half deep into half-marathon training with Rogue, and we run our long runs together on the weekends. I cursed this fact when my alarm went off at 6:15. At 6:30 I prayed to Grilled Cheezus that my usual pre-run toast/peanut butter/banana combination would still be good to me this week. At 7:15 we looked over our course maps and discussed how the ugliness of our toenails is is directly related to our mileage per week. At 7:30 we were off, and the continuous beeping from everyone starting his/her watch was, per usual, ridiculous. In the first 3 miles I found out that someone has a job interview next week, someone else is going to a wedding tonight, and another has a 4-year-old daughter that cut her own hair yesterday, cried, and asked if she had become a boy. Someone else already had to pee, and I sympathized with her impatient tiny bladder. We split up after mile 4 when the 8-milers hit their turn-around point, and I still had another mile out. Other runners from the marathon group passed me on their way back from their turn-around point, and I wondered how far they were going today. After 5 miles: water, gummy bears, and turn around to do it all in reverse. The rain actually felt sort of refreshing, though it did nothing for my attempts to distract myself from the fact that I had to pee. I was too far behind the runners in front of me to talk to them, but close enough to have someone to follow. I wondered if they, too, had to pee. I pulled out a few more gummy bears around mile 7 or 8, and I felt ultra guilty because I ate them near a homeless dude. I got back just before 9:30, joined the masses for foot drills/streching/recovery chocolate milk, wondered just how sanitary the community ice-bath so many were soaking their legs in really is, and went on my merry way.

Work life and normal life are two very different things.

"But isn't it depressing seeing people like that every day? I don't think I could do it."

Well, it's work. It's a matter of context. Lines, drains, tubes, neutropenia, nausea, numbness, pain, fluids, narcotics, incontinence, transfusions, complications, blah blah blah - everyone's got something.

...But isn't it weird that a normal day at work consists of everything that would not be normal in someone's life? It's nice to remind myself of that every now and then. And it's humbling.

The ability to get out of bed in the morning.

The ability to walk across the room without thinking about it.

The ability to eat and have an appetite.

The ability to talk to people.

The ability to pee.

(...and the ability to control when that happens).

So truly. Have you thought about it? Today I was intensely aware of my health and the thousands of components that contribute to it.

Love yourself. Love your body. Give thanks.