It’s only been 47 days since the doc kicked my back door in and surprised Colon Robinson in his slumber. 46 since the party in my liver was rowdy enough to discover. Feels like a year.
It’s 2am and I am awake because I am always awake in the middle of the night because the days after the various chemo infusions are just a constant struggle with nausea. It hit while I was 2.5 hours into a 6 hour infusion and still in the chair 4 days ago and has always lingered since. If I am weirder than usual, that’s why. I probably mis-timed a dose of something to keep it at bay and it’s crawling up inside me.
The primary other side-effect so far is massive fatigue. This isn’t helped by sleep deprivation, but it’s also not just being tired. It’s my blood being depleted of hemoglobin and such so that I get exhausted sweeping a floor or folding laundry. I normally walked at least 5 miles per day before all this. I walked to Daily Bird and back (did not go inside) yesterday and felt like I tried to do a marathon without training. That’s maybe 1.5 slow shuffling miles. It’s really frustrating.
Cancer is fucking frustrating. There’s so little to grab onto to focus on because it’s always changing, and it’s also always tedious and uncomfortable and there never seems to be any break. The breaks are sad shit like feeling good enough to put my bikes away for the winter in early September. And finding some joy in that accomplishment. Which is still on the todo list btw. Tomorrow.
That finding happiness in small things, even chores, has grown so important in my daily life. It’s why I may cry at you if you see me more than a block from my house and we get a fist bump. Life has narrowed so much but it feels so deep. Seeing a friend is like a teenage house party in my head.
It’s raining and I have Zofran hiccoughs so I am going to put this little glass box down and listen to the sounds while I munch on saltines.
I love you all so much. Thank you.