Golden Gate Bridge Memories

A couple of weeks ago I had plans to visit my friend Bella who lives across the Golden Gate Bridge in Petaluma. I was to go to her house on Thursday and stay through the weekend to hang with her adorable baby Brooklyn, watch movies, eat good food, and be pampered by her family, who I love love love.
One thing I have discovered as I'm going through my treatment is when I wake up in the morning, I never really know exactly how I'm going to feel that day. I might feel full of energy and ready to take on the world, or I will feel like laying on the floor for hours, staring at the ceiling and praying for it to stop spinning. On this particular Thursday, I woke up feeling more or less like shit. Even though I told myself that I am allowed to cancel plans if I'm feeling bad, I thought if I could get the hour long drive over with, I would be in the clear to just lounge on the sofa with my BFF. The minute I arrived at her house, through the night, until the next morning, I felt like I was on a tiny boat being tossed around by waves the size of Mt. Everest. I didn't let the sickness get the best of me until the next morning, when, after stealing Bella and her husband's bed for an early morning nap, hoping that would make the earth stop rotating so hard, I announced I would be leaving to go back to San Francisco to be nauseous in the comfort of my own home.
I prayed and prayed and prayed that the 3 saltine crackers and can of 7UP I had before my drive wouldn't come up on the way home, until, they did. If you have ever "gotten sick" while driving, I will say kudos to you because it's really hard to drive and throw up at the same time. And then naturally I had to text my sister about it, so I really got some work in.
I realized as I was driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, getting sick in to an empty doggy bag for most of the 8,980 feet worth of bridge, that this just might be the most uncomfortable I have ever felt in my entire life. It also hit me that, as hard as I've tried to ignore it, I am quite sick. Like really actually sick inside. It was a scary realization because it's been about 4 months since I've been diagnosed with cancer, and I haven't really thought of myself as being a sick person until now. It's this unfortunate incident that has kicked my butt in to understanding that it's OK to cancel a plan if I'm feeling like my stomach is a *little* weak. Or to ask someone to make me macaroni and cheese, or to hold my hair back when the nausea is lurking (just kidding I have no hair). And I think everyone should follow that rule - sick or healthy. We can all get by with a little help from our friends.
When I finally got home, I walked in the door, literally did a face plant on to my bed, and didn't leave that bed for 4 days. 
The photo below is Moby getting a little too comfortable with a sick me (he's obviously exhausted from the trauma - his thumb nail is in my mouth and he is dead asleep).
(And I have a boob pillowcase)