Right? (well, maybe I thought so just a little, if only because It made me happy to imagine it were true, not to mention the excuse it gave me to bust out my old moves and incessantly chant "BE AGGRESSIVE ..." over and over and over and over. And over. Really. I am obnoxious.)
Well, whether or not my pony-tailed, short-skirted, spirit-fingered trot down memory lane had anything to do with white cell growth is irrelevant.
Dr. B told us today that the wait-a-week-and-see-what-happens strategy is not one we'll be repeating. Seems that in the time the good cells grow back, Mr. Rogue Cancer Cell can find his way back in, too.
So-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o, while I will not stop cheering (really? give up a perfectly good excuse to dance around with Nurse Tilly and be irritating? I think not.), it seems we will be adding a new member to the squad.
Her name is Neulasta. Just that. Like Madonna. Or Cher. Or CatCon.
I'm told she's pretty tough, so I think we'll put her on the bottom of the pyramid, and I'll hop my dainty little self up to the top ... Wait? What? Okay, Tilly has just pointed out that she is a petite 17 pounds to my ... well, all you need to know is there'll be spirit-paws instead of fingers in the top perch.
But I'm taking the middle.
"Go Neulasta! Go, go, Neulasta! Go Neulasta! Go, go, Neulasta!"