That's been a fuckin year

So yeah, 2023 has been the year of My Fucking Hip.

I'm in so much less pain than last year, omg.

I spent this afternoon compiling several hundred pages of Ask A Manager comments so I can read through the entire My New Job Is A Nightmare Built On A Hellmouth saga. (Hellmouth has been safely in a new job for a while now.) Purely for my own entertainment.

I have an appointment to fix my port on the 3rd, and my next chemo on the 4th. Last chemo is near the end of January. Then it's immunotherapy and some other things. I should ask Dr. Chemdrips some more questions about the osteoporosis drug he's recommending, since I have the Dad's Family bones, not Mama's.

The anemia is obnoxious and a limiting factor. I have more peripheral neuropathy after this round, including phantom toenail pressure and the sensation that I have been describing as ( ow )

. Which will unerringly get me to chug a painkiller in the middle of whatever the F I happen to be doing at the time.

At least the buzzing sensation in my hands has receded?

Belovedest and I have moved on to the audiobook of Harrow the Ninth, and I am doing my best to be enlightening without too many actual spoilers. Other than the ones that they'll have picked up from my various enthusiasms about the series. Such as the discussion of whether the Locked Tomb's version of Mr. Musk is actually less of an asshole than John. (I'm choosing Mr. Musk by name because he's a billionaire spaceship guy, and also an asshole.)

Now that the fireworks have mostly stopped, Yellface has come out from behind the dragon-sized chair and has started yelling at us about bedtime.