The next few deliveries of Amphoterrible weren’t that bad really. They properly bombed me beyond the point of the shakes, and I mostly slept through the courses. I had been discharged and again stayed at Chet Ronald and only had to visit the outpatient clinic every few days in the mornings to get the treatments; it wasn’t necessary to waste my Dad’s Insurance on expensive hospital stays.
After the first week of hospitalization, I was told that I was a pleasant patient; I never made a commotion, was absurdly polite, and most importantly, did what I was told.
I was also commended over the course of my various treatments about how well my body was reacting to the chemotherapy. Sure, I had the requisite amount of nausea, lack of hunger, and hair loss, but overall, the astounded nurses and doctors reassured me that I had had it better than most of the kids they had treated.