Minor setback.

Sometimes, I can't help but feel that life is really not fair.

I am in the emergency room right now. My right hand and arm are so swollen that the ring started to cut off circulation on my right ring finger. My hand, which is usually thin and bony, is thick and dimpled. Like it belongs to my toddler, not me. I spoke with the oncologist on call, who suspected that it might be a blood clot and was basically like, "Get thee to the ER." And so, here I am.

I am not happy that I am in the ER. I don't want to be here. I have managed to avoid this place even after five rounds of chemo, with the sixth round just around the corner. The risk of me getting a severe illness is enhanced here. And then I threw up while in triage. It was utterly humiliating. Right now, I'm waiting for the results of the ultrasound to determine whether or not the blood clot is legit. My port was accessed through an IV, blood was drawn, nausea medication was administered. It's late, and I'm tired and impatient.

My poor, poor husband is sitting here next to me: eyes bloodshot, fingers tugging at beard hairs, leg shaking. To pass the time, he reads to me. "The Little Engine That Could." I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Seriously, a children's book? And yet. As he reads, I think about this little blue engine. Her desire to help others in need and her perseverance to overcome even the most difficult obstacles. I am becoming one of those people who chant self-help mantras to boost morale. I think I can, I think I can.

When I start to feel even a little sorry for myself I am reminded of Nepal and Baltimore and ISIS, and what is real suffering compared to that? Yes, I have cancer, but my privilege allows me access to top-quality medical care. I may be in the ER, but at least there's a hospital close to my home to which I can go for emergencies. I have a full-time job, which provides both an income and insurance. I have family and good friends who are watching my children while I am here.

So I may be sick and life may be unfair, but this is nothing compared to the big picture. Just a minor setback. I am grateful to be alive. Holding on to the hope of recovery.

I think I can, I think I can.