I should have known better than to title a blog post “Champagne and Sunshine.” Clearly that was just asking for a smack-down, and oh, did I get one! Before chemo yesterday I had gone to see the Palliative Care people at my hospital. Do not panic – I am not throwing in any proverbial towels – I just went to see them to help me get my pain under control, since that’s kind of their area of specialty. In fact, the first thing they tell you when you go in to see them is that they are not “end of life care,” but are rather specialists in symptom management and in particular, experts in pain management. Sounds good to me (but I still think they'd better change their name or invest in a big PR campaign because no matter what you do, the words “Palliative Care” are still going to give 90% of the population the willies.) Anyway, the point is that I came out of that meeting with a whole new drug program designed to manage my pain, one that would hopefully keep me functioning and pain-free after a few days of adjustment. I was very excited – the idea of feeling mostly normal again was thrilling! What happened instead was that last night was one of the longest and most painful of my life. My body didn’t respond well to the drugs, which never got the pain under control, and I ended up throwing up and writhing around in my bed for 12 hours. Good times. It was like the cancer saying, Take that, miss champagne-and-sunshine. Cancer is such a jerk. Anyway, today is a new day. Or I should say, this evening is a new evening, since I slept most of the day away. The PC people have rewritten my drug program and I will try something new tomorrow – not tonight – because I have decided that if I’m going to embark on another 12-hour narcotic adventure, I’m doing it in the daytime. For now it’s just me and Big Daddy, plodding along as before. Not the ideal marriage, but we’re comfortable with each other and know what to expect. It may not be champagne and sunshine, but it sure beats all that barfing.