The Fill That Wasn’t

The Fill That Wasn’t

🌼 Date: Wednesday, June 24, 2026

⚡ Energy: Deflated, and not just on the right side

❤️‍🩹 Status: Plastics appointment did not go as planned

😣 Outlook: Apparently cancer recovery still gets veto power

Today I was excited because I had my plastics appointment.

Excited.

For a doctor appointment.

Who even am I?

But I really was hoping for another 150cc fill on the right side before we leave for camping.

That would have put me at 300cc on the right and 515cc on the left.

Not equal, but a whole lot better than 150cc versus 515cc.

A little less uni-boober.

A little more “we are getting somewhere.”

A little closer to feeling balanced again.

So I went in feeling hopeful.

My last appointment with the plastics nurses was back in March when they deflated the right side before radiation, so of course we had to play catch-up first.

How are you?

What has happened since we saw you?

How did radiation go?

How is your skin?

How are you healing?

You know, the usual cancer highlight reel.

Then it was time to get down to business.

But first, they checked my recent lab work.

Cue the horror movie music.

I already knew my numbers were still low.

My doctors told me that could happen after radiation.

Apparently counts can continue to decline even after treatment is over because, as we have established, cancer recovery enjoys taking the scenic route through hell.

But I was still hoping they were good enough.

They were not.

At my last plastics appointment, when Dr. Murphy was able to fill the right side to 150cc, my neutrophils were 1.48.

Today?

1.37.

Not close enough to the 1.50 cutoff required for them to poke me with a needle and add more saline.

And just like that, all the air whooshed out of my sails.

Along with one very heartfelt word:

Fuuuccckkk.

Because seriously?

Now cancer is in charge of my fills too?

WTF?

Will this circus ever end?

Is there a point where I get to tap out?

Can this become a tag-team event?

Can I slap someone else’s hand and let them take over for a few rounds while I go sit in the corner with ginger ale and my emotional support rage?

Because I am getting really tired of this shit.

But of course, I put my nothing-bothers-me-warrior mask in place.

You know the one.

The face that says, “I understand,” while the inside of my brain is flipping tables.

So I calmly said, “I understand. The last thing I want is an infection my body can’t fight off.”

And I do understand that.

I really do.

I do not want an infection.

I do not want to create a problem my immune system is not prepared to handle.

I do not want to take a risk just because I am sick of being uneven.

The nurse was right.

The rule makes sense.

My logical brain understands.

My emotional brain, however, was throwing glitter-covered profanity confetti.

After that, I went into full Tina the Detective mode.

What numbers are you watching?

Mainly neutrophils and platelets.

Okay.

What can I do to get those numbers up?

Apparently, my platelets are golden.

Go platelets.

Nice work, tiny blood clots.

To keep them there, I need to keep drinking 64 ounces or more every day.

Great.

That one is hard for me because I have never been someone who can just guzzle a glass of water like a normal adult with functioning hydration skills.

But fine.

I will try harder.

The neutrophil answer was less clear.

The nurse said she would ask her team and suggested I ask oncology too.

So that is my next mission.

Ask oncology.

Ask plastics.

Ask my Google team.

Ask anyone who can explain how to gently encourage my neutrophils to get their little white-blood-cell butts back to work.

Because I have another fill appointment scheduled for the day after we get back from camping, and now I have a new goal:

Get the numbers up enough to get poked.

What a weird life sentence that is.

I took off the circus tent medical gown, put my clothes back on, and left feeling defeated.

My head was definitely hanging lower than it was when I walked in.

I had gone in hoping to leave with more volume.

Instead, I left with no fill, a new lab requirement, and one more reminder that I am not in charge of this timeline.

Before every fill appointment now, I have to do bloodwork to make sure my numbers are high enough.

Which, fine.

Safety first.

But also…

Don’t I have to get poked to do the bloodwork?

So I cannot get poked unless I get poked first?

Cancer logic, everyone.

Make it make sense.

Today was frustrating.

Not because anyone did anything wrong.

They did exactly what they were supposed to do.

They protected me.

They made the safe call.

They looked at the numbers and said not today.

And I am grateful for that.

I am.

But I am also disappointed.

I am tired of delays.

Tired of numbers.

Tired of limits.

Tired of waiting.

Tired of my body not being ready when my heart is very, very ready.

I wanted to go camping with 300cc on the right.

Instead, I am going camping still uneven.

Still waiting.

Still trying to build my body back up one lab result at a time.

So today, the fill did not happen.

The right side stayed at 150cc.

The left side is still sitting pretty at 515cc.

My neutrophils are apparently on strike.

And Tiny Tina has a new mission:

Hydrate.

Ask questions.

Avoid germs.

Get bloodwork.

Try again.

Because apparently, even my boobs are subject to lab approval now.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time