Is it worth it?
I can't say yet. What I can say is that I don't believe that I have ever been this tired in my life. I tell myself to hang in there, that each day away from the chemo will be better.
Yet, the bed calls to me. And when I sink into my sleep, it is like dark magic pulling me so hard. The pillow under my head is as seductive as a lover. I crawl into dizzy wakefulness, full of all the water that I have been drinking that now needs to come out. Getting up to pee, I stagger like a drunk to the bathroom, holding on to furniture as the floor sways beneath my feet.
My head is newly shaven. It took only two days for my hair to start falling out in droves, leaving silver tracks all over my pink pillowcases. It fell down my back and front in itchy swirls. T shaved it all off, remarking how lovely my head is.
It isn't.
But, she is kind.
Then, the diarrhea came. The vomiting. The blisters are starting to form on my fingertips, the bottoms of my feet.
Is this life?
T and I have conversations and I weave in and out of them, barely able to understand. Chemo brain, extraordinaire. I think about how I am going to drive to my doctor/lab appointments. Can I do this? Is it safe? I truly want to get through this on my own if I can.
Too much to think about and that bed is calling me.
Today, at the grocery store, I waited in the car for T and suddenly felt the urge to pee. I got out of the car carefully and walked slowly into the store. The bathroom in the front of the store was closed off. An employee told me that it had "overflowed" and that I could use the bathroom in the back of the store.
I looked to the back of the store. It looked like too many miles to travel, but my bladder was insistent. I walked slowly, pushing a cart in front of me like a little old lady. When I got to the bathroom, I made it by seconds. Sat and rested. Got up. The cart was gone. Such efficiency! I made my way to the front of the store, weaving and swaying.
Is this life?
Made it to the car. Sat and tried to read my book, breathing carefully in and out of my mouth. T came out with groceries. We made our way home.
She stopped in the driveway.
"Can you manage without me next week when I go back to school full time?"
I assured her that I would be fine.
Will I? Is this life?
Right now, I feel as if I am disappearing, piece by piece. Maybe I will wake up and half of me will be gone.
Or maybe I will just carry on. Maybe each day will see me stronger.
Fingers crossed.
Yet, the bed calls to me. And when I sink into my sleep, it is like dark magic pulling me so hard. The pillow under my head is as seductive as a lover. I crawl into dizzy wakefulness, full of all the water that I have been drinking that now needs to come out. Getting up to pee, I stagger like a drunk to the bathroom, holding on to furniture as the floor sways beneath my feet.
My head is newly shaven. It took only two days for my hair to start falling out in droves, leaving silver tracks all over my pink pillowcases. It fell down my back and front in itchy swirls. T shaved it all off, remarking how lovely my head is.
It isn't.
But, she is kind.
Then, the diarrhea came. The vomiting. The blisters are starting to form on my fingertips, the bottoms of my feet.
Is this life?
T and I have conversations and I weave in and out of them, barely able to understand. Chemo brain, extraordinaire. I think about how I am going to drive to my doctor/lab appointments. Can I do this? Is it safe? I truly want to get through this on my own if I can.
Too much to think about and that bed is calling me.
Today, at the grocery store, I waited in the car for T and suddenly felt the urge to pee. I got out of the car carefully and walked slowly into the store. The bathroom in the front of the store was closed off. An employee told me that it had "overflowed" and that I could use the bathroom in the back of the store.
I looked to the back of the store. It looked like too many miles to travel, but my bladder was insistent. I walked slowly, pushing a cart in front of me like a little old lady. When I got to the bathroom, I made it by seconds. Sat and rested. Got up. The cart was gone. Such efficiency! I made my way to the front of the store, weaving and swaying.
Is this life?
Made it to the car. Sat and tried to read my book, breathing carefully in and out of my mouth. T came out with groceries. We made our way home.
She stopped in the driveway.
"Can you manage without me next week when I go back to school full time?"
I assured her that I would be fine.
Will I? Is this life?
Right now, I feel as if I am disappearing, piece by piece. Maybe I will wake up and half of me will be gone.
Or maybe I will just carry on. Maybe each day will see me stronger.
Fingers crossed.
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