And just like that –

The Wall Meets Udenyca

Within 24 hours of slamming face-first into The Wall, it retreated.
I give full credit to the tiny (yet monstrous) contraption known as the Udenyca On-Body Injector—a device slapped onto my arm right after chemo. Supposedly, it waits 18 hours before releasing its magical (and slightly terrifying) payload of medicine. If you’d like the medical mumbo-jumbo, you can check the official site here: udenyca.com.

But if you’d rather hear it the way it really went down, buckle up.

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How It Works (According to Me)

On Friday, they stuck this little white box on the fatty part of my arm (nurse’s words, not mine). Imagine half a computer mouse, only bulkier, and now imagine me banging it into every wall, chair, or doorframe in my house. Chemo makes me clumsy; add a plastic box to my arm and I become a human demolition derby.

The device waits. Then, exactly 18 hours later—2 p.m. on Saturday in my case—it explodes into action. Note the description explodes please!

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The Moment of Truth

I was napping, minding my own business, when suddenly:

• A jet engine fired up inside my arm.
• A samurai sword stabbed me in the exact same spot.
• And then, as if I’d just licked a battery, I could taste the medicine.

For one delirious second, I thought I’d dreamed it all. But the little green light that had been flashing turned solid—meaning the beast had done its job. No dream. 100% real. WTF.

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The Aftermath

Once the pain subsided and the device wheezed its last mechanical breath, I lay there still trying to understand what happened

Of course, being the overachiever I am, I immediately read the list of possible side effects. Big mistake. (Pro tip: if you don’t want to imagine yourself sprouting hobbit-feet hair or growing elf-ears, don’t read the fine print. These are not actual side-effects, but they are more desirable than the actual possible effects. Just saying.)

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Today

This morning, I realized something shocking: I actually felt better. The nausea and exhaustion that had pinned me to the floor the day before started lifting.

So here I am—up, moving, and cautiously optimistic. The Wall may have knocked me flat, but with a little help from science, samurai swords, and jet engines, I got back up.

This cancer fight is brutal, unpredictable, and weirdly comical at times. Yesterday was down. Today is up. Tomorrow? I’ll keep fighting.

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👉 Every day is a battle. Some days I hit the Wall. Some days I walk away from it. But I’m still here—and that’s what matters.