When I’m not feeling well, as has been the case for several days, I think about how well I would be feeling if I weren’t on chemo and how, despite feeling completely normal, I would be moving ever closer to death as the tumor inside me grew. That I am now cancer-free and feeling ill is the contrasting benefit to my wistful thoughts of wellness, the longing for the pleasure of spring planting and days working beside a big, open coffee shop door.

One of the strategies the oncology therapist has been trying to drill into my head is – conserve energy. Use a terry cloth robe instead of drying off after a shower. Sit to chop the veg for dinner. Take naps. Exercise in brief sessions throughout the day – three 10-minute walks instead of a 30-minute one. It’s hard to acknowledge that some things have to change. I’m not sick but damn this chemo is kicking my butt. 

Today, it’s warm but my toes are suffering from chemo-cold. My fluffy blue socks were a gift from a friend who beat breast cancer. It’s a common theme – apparently – the cold chemo feet. The socks are great and include a non-slip message to cancer: something about me being a bad bitch. I highly recommend them. They’re very snuggly. I also hate them because they too are a marker that all is not as it should be. Instead of socks, I should be padding barefoot through the house and out the back door to sit on the deck. Whine, whine, whine. I am grateful. I AM. But feeling unwell messes with my already chemo-fogged brain, making rational thought an occasional visitor rather than the constant companion I prefer.

My chemo break week has been something of a chemo-tastrophe. I got another infection. My blood work shows that my body is still fighting it. On top of that, I’ve been so drowsy and irritable that I haven’t been able to stand myself. I honestly don’t know how my kids are putting up with me. It’s so bad that I’m almost looking forward to going back on the chemo on Monday. Almost. 

I was warned by those who came before that chemo break is terrible for everyone, which makes it no break at all, you know? I do feel somewhat better today, of course, because it’s the day before chemo starts again. 

We’re getting a new roof, something I put off longer than I should have. I’ve been meeting with contractors about the work and it’s been a right pain in the patootie. One of them tried to bully me. Another gave me a quote of $40,000. Seriously. I mean, my roof is going to be expensive but really? One of the roofers told me to talk to my husband about the quote. 

Back to the point, one of the contractors insisted on socializing with me, a bonding effort perhaps, and I finally said, “hey, I apologize but I’m on chemo and it’s kicking my ass. I’m going to sit during this.” How does he respond? By telling me about all the people he knows who have died of cancer. What? Don’t tell me that people die from cancer. This is something I already know. It’s like when I was pregnant and people told me all of their delivery horror stories. Let’s not, my friends. I already know that cancer is a killer. That’s literally why I’m on chemo. 

Earlier in the week, I was re-watching the Barbie movie with my daughter and I kept thinking that I was too tired to do any of the things they were doing. Jump out of bed and make breakfast? Nope. Go to the beach? Only if I can lie down. Escape to the real world? Maybe if they put in more benches so I can sit. 

Even with all this, I’ve been walking as much as I can. It’s a challenge to hit the step goals I set for myself but I’m trying. Last night when I went up to bed, I accidentally left my water bottle on the first floor and then had a little mental discussion (argument? pep talk?) about whether I actually needed to drink water during the night. The answer is yes. Chemo dehydration is dangerous. It causes fainting and dizziness and other bad stuff. So, I walked the two flights to the first floor and back up to bed. Hit my step goal too. 

Much love. And naps.