It will forever be known as the "bologna incident".    Thankfully, I'll still be doing treatments at Thanksgiving so it won't be one of the embarrassing stories told then, but by Christmas, I'll be done with chemo and won't be able to escape it.  Of course my husband won't intentionally embarrass me, but I can definitely see it now.  We'll all be sitting around the dinner table after stuffing ourselves with too much turkey and ham, and the conversation will turn to the latest in job problems, school issues, and all the other funny things that happened in our lives over the last few months.  My husband will turn to me with a sideways grin and ask with his eyes if it's OK and I'll know that it's the "bologna incident" that he wants to tell, and I'll have to nod  yes because it really is funny.  But so embarrassing.  Good thing I have an understanding and supportive husband.

You see, I've got chemo fog.  Big time.  For those of you who don't know, it's when the chemo affects thinking.  You have a hard time concentrating, forget things, and in general feel like you're brain is in a fog.  It's a true side effect of chemo and has been documented.  No, I never heard of it before doing chemo either.  I've read that this "fog" can last to some degree for years after the end of chemo treatments , but for me, mine went away after just a few weeks after my last chemo.  I hope it'll go away again this time around too because once more, I have chemo fog.

Seems like I can just concentrate on only one small thing at a time.  I'm aware of other things around me happening, but  it's all sort of secondary to what I'm doing.  I may pick up on a word or two of conversation but not all of it unless I'm only concentrating on the conversation.  Which as in this case, lead to the embarrassing incident.

It's the middle of the evening and I'm sitting in bed watching some mindless summer rerun on tv.  I'm hungry and go into the kitchen to see what there.  I'm pleased to find that my husband who has taken over grocery duty has stocked the refrigerator with lots of tasty snacks choices.   There's bologna and fresh bread, perfect for a little sandwich.  I'm back in bed, halfway through the sandwich thinking how many years it's been since I've had a bologna sandwich and that I used to eat these all the time as a little girl.  Well my husband sees how much I'm enjoying the snack and proud that I had the energy to get up and make sandwich myself, and he sweetly tells me "I love you".  Well my brain is deep in chemo fog and I'm concentrating on eating the sandwich, but I do realize that my husband has said something and the only word I hear really is love, so I respond with "I love bologna sandwiches!"  He bursts out laughing and that's when I put together what it is he really said and I laugh too.  You have to keep your sense of humor while doing chemotherapy!