This is fatigue on chemo.

I can barely describe it. It is thick. Murky. Black Tar. 

Unpredictable. I can't really make plans because I'm like a faulty battery. I will be going along, feeling pretty good and then suddenly the fatigue kicks in and I am so tired that I can't even walk. I am serious. It is that sudden and that unpredictable. Once, it hit when I was sitting in a chair and I suddenly could not muster up the strength to lift my cup of tea to my mouth. 

The sheer fatigue is unimaginable. Moving is like trying to walk through sludge. Listening to others talk is like watching those old Charlie Brown shows where the adults talk and it is like "blah, blah,blah, blah...."

It is easy to just sit and stare. Instead....I force myself to get up...if it is during the day...and do something, anything. Walk to the bird bath outside. Rub CBD oil on my legs. Mail a letter.

It's like a fog, though. It creeps in, swirling around me. Sometimes, I just succumb. I lay down and sleep. Tell myself that sleep is healing. It is also almost smothering. The sleep I fall into during the day, is a deep ocean. It's dark and heavy. I sink. Sink some more. And then even more. 

And then...WHAM! I will be in the middle of a bright dream. Often members of my family are there. Their voices are exaggerated, their mouths stretched too wide. An Aunt that I haven't thought of in years will suddenly appear with a large bright orange cake and throw it into the air where it will dissipate into thousands of bright yellow and pink bumblebees. Or balloons will be everywhere and I will be searching for one of the children in them. I will hear their voices singing old Raffi songs...

Down on Grandpa's farm there is a big brown cow
Down on Grandpa's farm there is a big brown cow
The cow she makes a sound like this: Moo! Moo!
The cow she makes a sound like this: Moo! Moo!

Some dreams are scary with Death Eaters flying around while I hide in various buildings. Or zombies will be in my house, except it isn't my house...but the house that my cousins used to live in on Cass St. 


Other dreams are just nonsensical. I will be in an old car, driving with my cousin Meg and we stop at a Willie Wonka candy store. We go in and there are clowns everywhere. I don't like it and try to find her but she is gone. In her place, my old kindergarten teacher comes up to me and asks me what kind of cake I want her to draw for me. She draws a cake for me on a chalkboard and suddenly I notice that small fireflies are zooming out of it and we are laughing, except that it hurts to laugh. Everything is hurting and I will be trying to reach the teacher's outstretched hand but it is just too far away. I will wake up and the pain in my legs will be relentless.

The dreams are deep and memorable. Full of bright colors that hurt my eyes. Waking up is excruciating. I will hear T's voice calling me, at first far away and then closer. Slowly, I will swim up and out of my sleep, but it takes deep concentration and I am just so tired. 

When I finally awaken, there is no feeling of refreshment. It feels like there is a humidity in the air that is more August than February. I mouth breathe, sucking in air. I will sit up and allow T to help get my shoes on and then she will try to get me to eat something...preferably green and good for me. 

This rarely works. I will tell her that I am only hungry for a bowl of rice krispies or a piece of bread with goat cheese smeared on it or sometimes....just an Orange Julius. She ALWAYS obliges. 

The thing is...I never feel completely alert. The tiredness is always there. Sometimes it fades to a dull fatigue, but it never really goes away. 

I tell myself that I am lucky. My last bout with chemo involved the fatigue, pain and ALSO nausea. I puked. A LOT. This chemo does not make me sick to my stomach, it simply makes me uncaring about food. I no longer crave food. It is fuel. When I was on arsenic treatment, it was like being tortured. The pain was unique and terrible. 

This is different. This is just....never ending tiredness. I force myself to write each day but the words rarely spill out of me effortlessly....like they used to do. Now, I have to think out each sentence and then engage. I am careful. Slow. My words seem dull.

I seem to have lost my bigger emotions....except when it comes to T, S, C, and L. And maybe a few cherished family members who just fucking refuse to let me slip away, when it would be so easy to let me slide into my self induced hermitude. But...truly? Mostly, I am losing the ability to....let's see....how should I put this? 

I am losing the ability to give a fuck. 

My body is letting go. My soul is letting go. I feel a sense that I have not felt before. I feel a sense of...preparing. I am not sure what I am preparing for, but nevertheless...I persist in preparing for it. 

When it comes, I will hold my arms out wide. Welcome.