Fill This Glass to the Top, Please ...

I'm getting ready for a date night. Yeah, you read right: Date. Night. Last weekend, my dear friend H very gingerly asked if it would be at all possible to meet up tonight for martinis. Jamie was scheduled to start round two of chemo this week, but we found out Tuesday that his white count was still too low. When we began treatment, sweet Nurse Tess stressed that while we did have a planned schedule of doses, nothing is ever set in stone. Everything was dependent on how Jamie's body reacted to the side effects of the chemicals coursing through his veins. So, we now are scheduled for dose one of round two next week, then dose two a week later, then an injection to boost white cells 24 hours after that. On one hand, I am nervous. Low white cells can't be good. On the other hand, apparently, this is not unexpected. Right now, it's difficult to see that anything might be wrong. Jamie's energy is high and his appetite is strong. He's worked his way through a box of Drumstick ice cream cones in a day and that makes me happy. He's developed a craving for dill pickles and, given that I've eaten every pickle off this man's plate for the past 12 years, that has me scratching my head ... but it makes me happy. He's swilling Gatorade like it's going out of style, and after a week of forcing fluids, that makes me happy. And that the first thing he said to me after the clinic rescheduled his chemo was, "Let's go out with H Thursday night," makes me very, very happy. To hell with half-full glasses, being nervous, and second-guessing. Here's to full glasses of Gatorade, cocktails, and hope. Fill 'er up, please.